Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
ARRIANA
B ack at home, I sit at my desk, trying to focus on the job sites. But the bombshells Nico dropped on me hurt my head. First, he’s a killer, but he only kills, killed, bad people. But does that make it okay? Should I forgive the darkness? Insanely, it’s the second bombshell, all that dirty talk, that grips me. My body is aching, my core burning. I never knew I was such a sexual being. I never would’ve guessed it.
I pick up my phone, not feeling like myself, and text him.
Me: You did a real number on me today.
Nico: I did one on myself, too. I can’t focus on a damn thing. Even as I write this message, Arria, knowing I shouldn’t, I keep thinking about what I said. I keep thinking about how wild you looked. You looked like you were going to tremble with an orgasm just from me talking.
I smile, so we’re back to Arria, then.
Me: All that stuff you were saying, describing me as ‘curvy,’ ‘plump,’ making it sound like a good thing, and the way you were looking at me like you were obsessed, really triggered something in me. I can’t calm down. In fact, I’m having some bad thoughts.
I go to bed, biting my lip. What am I doing? What’s wrong with me, with us? I lie down.
Nico: Like what?
Me: Well, I’m lying in bed, so what do you think?
Nico: Tell me.
Me: That depends… what are you doing?
Nico: I’m in my home office, knowing how wrong it’d be if I took out my dick and started stroking it as I think about you. I’m thinking of you in bed, wishing I was there.
Me: What would you do if you were here?
Nico: I’ll only tell you if you agree to rub your horny pussy for me. If you agree to come for me. And when you have, you tell me what you did so I can explode as I relive you doing it.
Me: Yes, yes, yes.
I hold the phone in one hand, slipping my other hand into my underwear. In moments like these, when everything is so intense, it’s hard to remember that I was once a logical person. It’s difficult to remember being uninterested in men. Well, I’m only interested in one man. It’s like he’s turned me into a creature of pure lust. Even if I know it might seem silly after this moment has passed, it’s everything now. It seems important.
His text arrives. I gasp, move my hand up and down my pussy, over my pleasure points.
Nico: You’re my personal plaything, Arria. I’m going to lie you on your back and strip you naked so I can see every single perfect curvy inch of your young virgin body. But I’m going to stay in my suit. That’s because it gets me off, the difference, you naked for me, like you’re my private treat. You’re going to see how wild you’re making me, and it’s going to get you so, so wet. My obsession is going to make your pussy cream before I even start touching you.
The image is powerful. I stroke faster. My legs tingle, and my core aches deeply. My belly swirls with warmth, and an orgasm tickles at the edges of my consciousness, hinting, teasing.
Nico: Then I’m going to pull my pants down just enough so you can see my cock. You’re going to see my length drenched and glistening with precome. You’re so beautiful, so sexy, you have me leaking just by lying there.
I move my hand faster. My breath catches. I feel like I might scream.
Nico: Then I’m going to push inside of you, hard, fast. I’m going to fuck you so that your fullness shakes for me. With each thrust, we’re going to know we’re crossing so many damn lines. But the pleasure is too sweet for us to care.
I close my eyes, seeing it, seeing him, as the orgasm howls through my body.
Me: Oh my God.
Nico: Did you do it?
Me: Yes.
Nico: WHAT did you do?
I quickly type.
Me: I rubbed my hand all over my pussy. I was so horny; it’s the quickest I’ve ever had an orgasm. My body is still aching from it.
A couple of minutes pass, then he replies.
Nico: I just exploded, Arria.
Me: Do you regret it?
Nico: I should.
Me: DO you?
There’s another pause, and then his message arrives.
Nico: We should both regret it. You know that. I know that.
It’s not a genuine answer. But he’s not lying, either.
For the rest of the day, we don’t text each other. The time allows us to seriously consider everything that’s happened. Let’s face it. We unbelievably messed things up earlier. He told me he was a killer, and what was my response? To get myself off! That’s not something normal women do, surely. It’s got me questioning myself in every way. I was right before when I thought it seemed nuts when the moment passed.
I try to keep myself busy with a personal project. As I chat with Lilly on Facetime—relieved to talk about random, regular stuff—I go through old photo albums. My idea is to create something for Mother's or Father’s Day, maybe both, or perhaps a joint Christmas gift for Mom and Dad. I’ll review the albums, pick out the best shots, maybe touch them up, and then compile them into something beautiful.
“I think I’m done with dating,” Lilly says as I flip the pages, going further and further back in time. I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, my phone propped on my side table.
“Oh, yeah?” I say, smiling. It’s not the first time she’s made lofty claims like this.
“What’s even the point? All guys want is one thing… I know I sound like a cliché.”
“No, I’m with you,” I mutter.
“Theoretically—or are you speaking from some new experience you haven’t told me about?” She says, her tone curious.
I give her my usual response—an eye roll of epic proportions. Luckily, the idea of me dating is so alien to her that she doesn’t think to chase it up. It means I don’t have to lie to her. I’m not sure how I’d explain what happened with my uncle. Too much has transpired since the standoff in the club. I don’t even feel like the same Arriana anymore.
“How’s the project going?” she asks.
“Okay. I’ve just reached the photos from before we left for California.”
“Awesome. That’s a cool gift idea.”
“Thanks.”
I flip through the shots of one of my early birthdays. I don’t recognize a lot of the people. Many of them look exactly like the guys I saw in the club, though, when Nico took me to apologize—slicked back hair, leather jackets, gold jewelry. They look like mobsters. There’s no mistaking it.
A gasp escapes me when I spot him. Am I losing my mind? I stand in the foreground, but the photographer didn’t use pull focus so that I can make out everything in the background. Two boys have got their arms around each other, grinning. I don’t recognize one. But the second boy looks exactly like a kid's version of Enzo.
“Is something wrong?” Lilly asks.
I don’t want to let her in on this. She’s got her own life, her own problems.
“Just…” I shake my head. “Lilly, I’m sorry. I have to go. Uh, Dad’s calling me for dinner. I’m sorry.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” I hate lying to her. “Everything’s fine. Really. Speak soon.”
“Okay…”
I end the call, take the photo from the plastic covering, and turn on my desk lamp. I shine the light on it, remembering Enzo in his office, looking at his features. The eyes are the same—the shape of his smile, the douchebag smarminess of it. Thinking of a kid that way isn’t nice, but I know who he’ll become.
That’s Enzo. At my birthday party. I’m sure of it. I need to talk to Mom and Dad.