Chapter 15
JO
Even with Nico away, he still finds ways to make sure he’s never far from my mind.
My breakfasts show up every day with sunflowers.
Every afternoon, I receive a voice message about what he’s doing—going to take a nap, heading to the rink, about to board the plane—and then every night, he FaceTimes me after his game.
Today, the Iron faced Toronto and lost by two, but Nico played well. Although, according to reports, Fedorov will be back on the ice tomorrow, meaning Nico will have less time on the ice.
I assume he might be disappointed after the good run he’s had, so when his face pops up on my phone screen, the first thing out of my mouth is, “I’m proud of you.”
He grins. “Yeah? For what?”
“For your assist in the game today and how you stepped up this last week for your team.”
“Well, Josephine, it sounds like you might be my number one fan.”
I pan my phone down so he can see I’m wearing the pajama pants he bought me, the ones with his face all over them. I have no idea where he purchased them. Probably had them custom made somewhere, knowing him.
“You’ve got me in my favorite place. Between your legs.”
I angle the phone up to my face so he can see when I roll my eyes, which only makes him smile wider. He loves to be crude, and I love to pretend I hate it.
“So,” he says, settling back against the pillows in his bed with his arm behind his head, the top half of his naked chest on my screen. “What did you do today?”
“Went to the gym then took a walk and got some pictures.”
“I saw.”
Of course he saw. After the fiasco last week and my resulting breakdown, he hired a social media manager, a young college graduate who was recommended by the PR firm he works with.
Aside from helping Nico, she agreed to monitor my emails and DMs as well, pass on anything pertinent to my business, so I don’t have to worry about being bombarded with the dark side of it.
I’d briefly brought up the idea of stopping my personal photography altogether and only sticking to being Sean’s assistant, but Nico immediately talked me out of it, reminding me that my long-term dream wasn’t to be Sean’s assistant, but to sell my art.
Be featured in galleries. Josephine Atkins Photography, that’s my dream.
Nico and I talked a long time about attention and how I could harness good out of what happened. I could build an audience and create something positive out of the negative.
That’s what I’ve been doing the last few days. I’ve been focusing on the positive. Since I have so many new followers, I’ve made it a daily goal for myself to post one image to Instagram, showing off what I can do, my point of view, and Nico always comments. His are the only ones I look at.
Beautiful, babe!
You are so talented!
Or my personal favorite from this morning when I posted a black-and-white photo of a dog I passed, his owner having a tough time pulling him away from the trash. I snapped a photo of the scraggly looking dog, its mouth open, tongue out, like it was smiling. Nico commented Almost as pretty as me.
If there is one thing I’ve learned from the last few days, it’s that Nico Tremblay makes me happy. He has a way of knowing exactly what to say to make me feel confident or calm or excited. Sexy, even.
We haven’t touched each other in that way since the day I did the photo shoot with him and Gus in his apartment, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it. Didn’t miss how desperate he made me feel. Comfortable and unafraid.
Since I had never been with a man before, never had an orgasm with one before, I didn’t know what it would feel like to go without. But after learning what it’s like to be with Nico, I miss it.
I miss him.
Not only his laugh and his company, but his hands and mouth on me.
I’ve tried to make up for it, under the covers at night. I touch myself, but it’s not the same. We didn’t even take our clothes off that day, but I want to know what his palms on my thighs would feel like, the warmth of his naked skin along mine. I think it might be addictive.
And I would just be another girl who fell for Nico Tremblay.
Except right now, I don’t necessarily care.
Not when his blue eyes spark with a familiar lust on my cell phone screen, and his mouth quirks to the side. “What are you thinking about, Jojo? What’s got you chewing on your lip?”
“Nothing.”
He shakes his head. “Come on, tell me.”
“No.”
He gasps. “Josephine, are you thinking about something naughty? Is that why you won’t tell me?”
“No.”
He readjusts his position on the mattress, moving his arm out from behind his head so it’s out of sight, and my belly flips. He lowers his voice. “Two more days until I’m home.”
I silently nod, fearing if I speak, I’ll give myself away.
“Two more days until I can see you in person.”
I nod again.
“Two more days until I can touch you.”
“Nico.” His name is nothing more than a breathy whine.
“Has it been as difficult for you as it’s been for me? I’ve been thinking about you every day. Thinking about how you say my name just like that when you come.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, my skin prickling with desire. It’s familiar, the heat and the tingling sensation gathering between my legs, but hearing and seeing Nico makes it all so much better.
“Cubby is out for the night,” Nico says, setting his cell phone somewhere to the side—I assume a nightstand—so I’m able to view nearly all of his top half, from his gorgeous face with an impish smile to where a trail of golden hair leads down from his navel to a spot out of frame, bracketed by muscles above his hips.
He is art.
And I try to learn all the lines and planes that make up his body, so that when this whole experiment is over, I’ll still have this—the memories of when Nico Tremblay gazed upon me like I was the piece of art.
“Tell me, Jo, do you ache like I do?”
“Y-yes.”
“Can I help soothe it?”
“Please.”
“Then let me hear you say it.”
I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry, and Nico’s eyes track the movement, his pupils dilating.
He’s intimidating when he’s like this, quiet and almost catlike, ready to pounce.
He’s thousands of miles away, in another country, and yet with his quiet voice and gentle directions, it feels like he’s right next to me.
“Don’t be embarrassed. Not with me.”
I take a deep breath and tell him, “I want to come again. I want you to make me come, and I want…” My skin heats with embarrassment as I trail off, but Nico nods, mouthing Keep going, so I do. “I want you to come too. I want to know it’s good for you. That you…like what we do.”
The rumble in his throat is one of the dirtiest sounds I’ve ever heard, and his shoulder moves, his hand out of the picture, but I can imagine what he’s doing from the way color rises high on his cheeks and he exhales audibly.
“I always like what we do, mama. I like spending time with you, whether it’s hanging out or cuddling or…
this.” He juts his chin toward me, ordering, “Put the phone on the pillow next to you. Stand it up so I can see your face.”
I do, and it strikes me that he wants to look at my face and not my body. He wants to look at the part of me that makes me most self-conscious.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs when I lie back down, head on my pillow, inches away from my phone so it’s like we’re lying next to each other. “Now I want you to touch yourself. Close your eyes and pretend it’s me.”
I take a deep breath and try to relax, listen to his voice as I close my eyes and tug the hem of my T-shirt up, drawing the tips of my fingers over my stomach and up to my breasts when he says, “When I come home, I’m going to repeat exactly what we do tonight.
So I want you to listen carefully, okay? ”
When I nod, he lets out a whispered, “That’s it,” and then a low groan. “First, I’m going to play with your nipples, lick and kiss them until you’re moaning.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Run your fingers over them for me, make them tight little peaks, pinch a little.”
I do. I follow his instructions, keeping my eyes closed the whole time, picturing what his hand is doing on his end, his long fingers wrapped around his erection. The veins in his forearm straining under his tanned skin, imagining his face might flush as his pleasure rises. I know mine does.
“I see you starting to wiggle.” Nico’s voice contains a trace of humor.
“You getting excited? You ready to feel my fingers between your legs, making you nice and wet, playing with your clit? Go ahead, slip your hands in your pants. You’ve already got my face down there, might as well make my dreams come true. ”
That earns a snort of amusement from me, but it’s cut off when he continues his direction. “I want you to use both hands. One to hold you open, the other to rub your clit.”
Doing what he says, I use the index and middle fingers of my left hand to reveal my already pulsing clit. Whenever I’ve masturbated before, it has never been like this. Never so fevered and eager.
Before, it was based on curiosity, mostly fumbling touches, but with Nico’s voice in my ear, I am desperate to get to the end, to find my release and go flying once again.
I stroke my clit once, my chest rising on a deep inhale, and Nico must see or hear it because he praises me, whispers more words about how well I’m doing, how he loves watching me, watching my face change with pleasure.
“You wet?” he asks, and I exhale harshly.
“Yes.”
“Push your finger inside. I want to know how wet.”
I slide the middle finger of my right hand down and into my slickness, a very slight intrusion, my body clenching for more.
“Look at you. Greedy girl. You using two? I can tell from how you’re squirming you must be.”
I bite into my lip, using the wetness to circle my clit until my neck arches.
“That’s it, mama. Just like that, do what feels good. You’re so fucking perfect when you touch yourself for me.”
His grated words, almost like he’s gritting his teeth, send a jolt through me. He’s enjoying this too. I told him I want to know that he likes what we do, and from his voice alone, I know he is. His breath is ragged, the sound of his hand moving over his skin faster.
“Are you close?” he asks, and I nod, my heart feeling like it might explode in my chest, while my skin is on fire. “Look at me, Jo. God, fuck, please look at me.”
I turn, eyes open, and his face is close to his screen, leaning up on his elbow, brows drawn like he’s in pain, although I know he isn’t. “I’m close too, and I want you to see what you do to me. I want you to see what I look like when I come.”
My throat’s dry as the desert from how fast I’m breathing, my orgasm barreling down on me.
“You gonna come with me? Yeah? When you do, I want you to say my name. I need to hear it, Jo.”
“Nico,” I whisper, and he nods, urging me on. “Nico, I’m almost…”
“Me too, me too. God, I am too.” He hisses out a breath. “Please, Jo. Oh fuck…”
He is as mindless as I feel, barely clinging to earth, and his whimpering undoes me. My back arches, fingers pressing harder as the wave crashes over me. “Nico!”
“Fuck yes,” he groans, voice thick. “Like that. Yes, Jo.”
I ride out the orgasm, spine relaxing, fingers slowing, and focus on his face on my phone as he comes too with a long groan before he drops to his mattress.
Both of us stay silent for a few seconds, catching our breaths before he grabs his phone in his hand, aiming it at his bare chest and stomach so I can see the ropes of his come. “Look at what you did to me, Jojo.”
I can’t help the satisfied smile I feel crawling over my face, and when Nico reappears on my screen, he arches his brow. “You proud of yourself? Making me come so hard I saw stars?” When I bite into my lip, nodding, he clucks his tongue. “Now let me see yours. Show me how wet I made you.”
I remove my hands from my pants and turn on my side, showing him my glistening fingers. He hums in satisfaction. “I can’t wait to taste it. You going to let me?”
I hesitate only a moment because, while I trust Nico and want to experience everything with him, the idea of his mouth on my most private place is…
wonderfully dirty. With him, I can finally do everything I’ve always imagined but could never follow through with in real life, too self-conscious and afraid of rejection, but here he is, asking—pleading—for those same things too.
It is almost unbelievable. Almost.
Because Nico smiles one of my favorite smiles, playful yet sincere, and tells me, “I hope that shows you how much I like what we do. You don’t ever need to question it, understood?”
I roll my lips over my teeth and nod, my brain still scrambled.
“Now, say Thank you, Nico.”
“Thank you, Nico.”
“For the best orgasm I’ve had in my life.”
“For the best orgasm I’ve had in my life.”
“Until Friday, when we get to do this all over again.”
I don’t repeat that part and instead ask, “Promise?”
“I swear it.”