Spring Break Fling

Chapter 26

26

HANNAH

I stared down at my tattoo. The tiny initials hidden within the roses had certainly led me on a wild ride. I spun my fork absently in my pasta. The restaurant was crowded with couples and small groups of friends, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Meanwhile, I was here, sitting solo at a table for two, twirling marinara-soaked spaghetti and contemplating the most ridiculous existential crisis over ink.

Did I really need the cover-up?

Nikko’s initials didn’t bother me so much anymore. In fact, they had started to feel kind of nice. It was a secret that only he and I really knew the meaning behind. I had a piece of him etched onto me. It was probably going to be the only reminder of him I would have. Beyond the memories, which I would keep very near and dear to my heart. The ink was something I could keep when I left in three days.

The thought made my stomach flip—not like the charming swoop of a rollercoaster, but more like the stomach-plummeting dread of realizing you sent a raunchy text to the wrong person.

“Get a grip,” I muttered to myself, poking at a meatball. I was officially losing it .

Nikko was messy and I hated messy. It wasn’t just his job or his looks or the fact he rode around on a motorcycle. The guy had angry women showing up at his job. I could only imagine how many other ladies had been left in his wake. Nikko was a player. I knew that. I just never really considered the consequences.

Like scorned women. And damn, that chick was turbo pissed.

Just then, my phone buzzed. I picked it up without even glancing at the screen. With the way my day was going, I assumed it was more bad news. Apparently, it was impossible for a woman to enjoy a sad plate of spaghetti in peace.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” Nikko’s voice came through, rough and low.

I straightened in my seat, my pulse quickening. “Uh, Mangia’s. That Italian place by the water. Why?”

“Stay there. I’ll be there in ten.”

Before I could respond, he hung up. I frowned at my phone. What was this, some kind of ambush date? I signaled the waiter for another glass of wine. If Nikko was coming, I was going to need it.

The waiter delivered my wine and I took a long drink, steeling myself for whatever was coming next.

Nikko showed up exactly nine minutes later, wearing a black hoodie that hung just right on his frame, his hair still damp from a shower. When his dark eyes met mine, I immediately knew something was wrong.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the chair across from me.

“Hey, yourself.” I poked at my spaghetti. “Want me to order you some wine? Maybe some rigatoni?”

“I’m good.”

It was too weird for me to eat spaghetti if he was just going to watch. I sat back and met his gaze. “What’s going on?” I asked, trying to hide the dread.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I owe you an apology for earlier. That shitshow with Samantha… it wasn’t fair to you.”

“It’s fine,” I said, though it wasn’t really. “You didn’t do anything wrong. ”

“Maybe, but I’m responsible for her actions.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Too bad everyone doesn’t feel that way,” he muttered.

“Is everything okay now?”

His jaw clenched before he looked away. “Not exactly.”

I tilted my head, studying him. I had a feeling I knew what this meant. “Nikko, did this cost you your job?”

He winced, which was all the confirmation I needed.

“Oh no,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, though his voice was tight. “It’s not your fault.”

Still, guilt swirled in my chest. The ex seeing me couldn’t have helped.

“What was her problem?” I asked.

“Her boyfriend got picked up by the cops. She blames me. It’s not like I told him to break into the fucking shop.”

I nodded, understanding the issue. “She thinks you did it to get him out of the way. Like you were jealous of him.”

He visibly shuddered. “As if. That woman was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. I was happy to have her out of my life and I’d really love it if she would stay that way.”

I felt so bad for him. “I wish I could make it better,” I said softly.

I reached across the table to take his hand. I ran my thumb over his knuckles, noticing old scars from what I was sure was a scrappy youth.

He looked at me, fire flashing in his eyes. “You can.”

I blinked. “How?”

“Come home with me,” he said simply.

My heart stumbled over itself. I knew I should say no. I should draw a line, put some distance between us. In three days, I’d be on a plane, back to my carefully curated life. But when he looked at me like that—raw and vulnerable, like I was the one solid thing in his crumbling world—I couldn’t say no. And it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have one last time with him.

“Okay,” I said.

He grinned. “Lucky for you, I drove my car. ”

“I think that means lucky for you .”

When we pulled into his driveway, the house was dark. No welcoming porch light, no soft glow from inside.

“Want a drink?” he asked, keys jingling as he unlocked the front door.

I nodded, following him inside. The living room was sparse—a leather couch, a coffee table with a few motorcycle magazines scattered across its surface. Nothing personal. Nothing that screamed home.

He poured two glasses of whiskey, neat. Handed me one without asking how I took it.

“So, this is what losing a job feels like.” He downed half his glass in one swallow.

“Do you think Marcus will have a change of heart?” I asked.

He scoffed. “No. There’s too much drama. She made sure to leave her mark.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. It’s over. I don’t want to talk about my ex. She’s just, well, she’s her.”

“Will she be back?”

“I don’t know. That scare you off?” he asked.

“Samantha? No. I don’t live here. If she wants to come to Boise, whatever.”

He finished his drink and put down the glass. A second later, he grabbed my glass and put it down next to his. Then his lips were on mine, urgent and searching, like he was trying to drown out the world in this one moment. I melted into him.

He pulled me closer. We stumbled backward, bumping into walls and laughing between kisses, and before I knew it, we were in his bedroom.

I knew exactly what this was: a distraction. Nikko was hurting. He lost the one thing in his life that was truly important to him. He wanted to lose himself in me, and selfishly, I wanted to be the person he turned to. I wanted to be his escape, even if it was temporary. Even if he had all kinds of drama coming back to haunt him .

I tugged at his hoodie, pushing it up until he jerked it over his head. His skin was warm beneath my hands, muscles shifting as he moved. I traced the line of an old scar near his shoulder, knowing there was a story behind it but not wanting to break the moment by asking. He pulled my shirt over my head in one fluid motion, his fingers trailing across my skin.

He quickly undid my bra and pulled it away. “Damn, I love these tits.”

He bent down and sucked one nipple into his mouth while his thumb and finger played with the other one. My breath caught in my throat as he lavished attention on my breasts, his touch both rough and tender. Every nibble sent shivers down my spine.

I threaded my fingers through his hair, urging him closer. He growled low in his throat, a primal sound that made my inner muscles clench with want. His hands moved lower, fingers tracing the waistband of my jeans, playing at the button.

“Off,” he muttered against my skin. “Now.”

I didn’t hesitate, pushing my jeans and underwear down in one quick motion. He watched me, eyes dark with desire, drinking in every inch of exposed skin. When I was bare before him, he made a low appreciative sound.

“Turn over,” he said. It wasn’t a request.

I knew this was about more than just sex. For Nikko, this was about control. About reclaiming something after losing everything. I turned over slowly, feeling the cool sheets against my flushed skin. His hand traced my spine, fingers pressing into my lower back.

His touch was firm, commanding. His life might be a mess but he was in total control of his body—and mine. It was like he cast a spell on me, bending me to his every whim and lighting my body on fire.

The bed shifted as he pushed my legs open. One hand slid between my legs, testing, exploring, making me ache.

“You’re wet,” he said, voice low and rough. Eager.

I bit my lip and pushed back against his hand, a wordless invitation. He didn’t make me wait. His fingers slid inside me. Two fingers, then three, stretching me, filling me. He moved slowly at first, building a rhythm that made my breath catch. His thumb pressed against my clit, making sparks dance behind my eyes.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You feel incredible.”

I arched my back, pushing against his hand, wanting more. He obliged, fingers moving faster, harder. The tension built inside me, coiling tight and hot. When he curled his fingers just so, I cried out. The sound was sharp and desperate.

He didn’t stop. His other hand pressed against my lower back, holding me in place as pleasure pulsed through me. I was trembling, overwhelmed, right on the edge of something intense.

“Nikko,” I gasped. “I’m going to?—”

And then I was. Crying out, muscles clenching around his fingers. I moaned into the mattress as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me.

He moved away and opened the nightstand drawer.

I stopped him. “Not yet,” I said when he reached for a condom.

“Baby, this is not one of those things we wait for.”

I sat up, my body still trembling. I slid off the bed, feeling languid. I went to my knees before reaching up and jerking his jeans off. His cock sprang forward.

I immediately reached for it. My hand wrapped around him, feeling the heat and hardness. I looked up, meeting his dark eyes as I leaned forward and traced the tip with my tongue. His sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement I needed.

I took him slowly into my mouth, hollowing my cheeks, using my tongue to trace the sensitive underside. His hand tangled in my hair, not pushing, just resting. I could feel the tension in his body, the tight control he was maintaining.

When I looked up again, his eyes were locked on me. Watching. Intense.

I pulled back, letting my lips trail along his length. “What do you want?” I murmured.

“Everything,” he growled. “Right now.”

I grinned and returned my mouth to him. I sucked him deep into my throat, feeling the thick vein throbbing .

His hand tightened in my hair, his hips starting to move involuntarily. I could feel the tension building in his body, muscles coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.

“Enough,” he suddenly growled, pulling me up by my hair. The movement was rough but not painful. Just dominant.

He pushed me back onto the bed, spreading my legs with his knee. No more foreplay. No more teasing. He positioned himself and thrust inside me in one hard, smooth motion.

I gasped, my body arching to meet him. He filled me completely, stretching me, claiming me. It was glorious. His face was buried in my neck, breath hot against my skin. For a moment, he didn’t move. Just stayed there, connected, letting us both feel the intensity of the moment.

“Oh shit,” he murmured.

“What?” I gasped.

“I’m inside you.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Yes. Trust me, I know.”

“I didn’t put the condom on.”

I blinked and quickly came to a decision. “You’re not going to give me anything, are you?”

“No. I use condoms. I just, shit, I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

“I trust you. I’m on birth control. And you’re the first man I’ve been with in a while.”

“So, uh, I can do this?”

I lifted my head and kissed him. “You’re kind of already doing it. Little late to close the barn door now, right?”