Chapter 14 Este
ESTE
I’m never listening to my sister again.
Three. Days. It’s been three days since I stopped pushing Nico. Four days since he touched me. And it doesn’t feel like we’re any closer to him snapping.
Lack of touching aside, we’ve had a nice few days.
Now that he’s no longer avoiding me, we’ve been spending most of our time together.
I’ve been reading in his workshop while he finishes the credenza—he brought a space heater in to keep me warm.
We’ve cooked a couple of meals together, and he let me do more than hover around uselessly.
We even played a couple rounds of cards, and I know for a fact he let me win.
But we haven’t touched, and we’ve barely slept, and Nico might not be at his breaking point, but I’m sure as hell at mine. He’s unintentionally turned the tables on me.
I stare at him over my Kindle, the concentration on his face as he carves another panel warming my blood.
Nico listens to music when he works—classical music, specifically.
I don’t know if he notices the way he hums along when he’s concentrating, but I do.
Admittedly, I notice pretty much everything he does these days. I’m consumed by him, transfixed by him.
How am I supposed to concentrate on my book when he’s humming “Clair de Lune” and wearing an unbuttoned Henley with the sleeves rolled up? He’s a walking romance cliché.
“How’s your book?” he asks without looking up, like he can tell I’m not paying attention to anything but him.
“Fine,” I answer through gritted teeth.
He looks up, raising a brow, and I swear just a little bit of eye contact is enough to knock the breath from me. “Just fine?”
“It’s good, I guess. But the guy is annoying.” And by that, I mean, he’s actually a complete angel of a man who takes care of his love interest both in and out of the bedroom. Which is annoying, because he reminds me of Nico without the bedroom side of things.
“Would I like it?”
I give up, turning off my Kindle and setting it on top of the side table Nico set up for me.
Not only do I have a table and a space heater, but he brought a comfy chair and a footstool out here for me, and a few blankets and pillows.
On one hand, it’s good to know my presence isn’t annoying him, and he seems to like spending time with me.
On the other hand, him being so nice is fucking with my head.
“You’d probably like it,” I begrudgingly admit. It’s not a bad book, but every book is making me think of him right now. So much for escapism.
“I started that football one you recommended this morning. The sports stuff goes over my head, but it’s good. Funny. And there’s a lot less sex, so I might recommend this one to Shay.”
I recommended a few of my favorites that lean more romance than erotica in an attempt to be less pushy, but I still don’t think I’d suggest he recommend them to his sister. I would happily discuss it with my sister, but there’s not much that’s off limits between me and Sloane.
“Did you get to the pantry scene yet?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “Maybe hold off on recommending it to Shay, then.”
Nico raises his brows. “Noted.”
“I can give you some recommendations that are a little more tame if you want to read something together,” I offer, and a smile lights up his whole face.
“I’d like that. Thanks, angel.” His voice is soft and warm, wrapping around me like I wish he would.
I cannot be in this room anymore.
“No problem. I’ll put my thinking cap on. I’m going to take a nap,” I say, grabbing my Kindle and my water bottle and practically sprinting from the workshop before he can question me. We both know I’m not going to take a nap without him there.
It’s warm today, with sunny, blue, cloudless skies shining over the cabin.
The kind of sky I used to love flying in.
If I was home, I’d spend hours sitting on my balcony reading or watching the people of Chicago go about their lives.
Nico has a table and chairs on his porch, and I keep meaning to take advantage of them on the warmer days we’ve had, but that’s a little too close to him for comfort right now.
The dogs are napping on the couch and pay no attention to me as I walk past them and upstairs. I consider running a bath, but I’m too restless to just lie there, so I head to my room and let myself fall face-first onto my bed.
Ouch. Nico’s mattresses are soft, but my head whacks against the hairbrush I left here when I was getting dressed this morning.
The sheer amount it pisses me off is irrational. I’m tightly fucking wound, and if something doesn’t give, I’m going to explode.
Do I wish Nico would do something about it? Yes. But since he apparently has developed the willpower of a saint, I guess I’m going to have to do something about it myself.
I pull back the blankets and strip down to nothing but my socks before getting on the bed. I’ve barely slept in here, but I changed the sheets this morning, and they feel incredible against my bare skin. Cool and silky, my body sinks into them, the mattress enveloping me.
Reading has given me a vivid imagination, so it’s easy to pretend it’s Nico’s fingers skating over my skin.
I run my fingertips over my collarbone, down my stomach, brushing my thumb over my belly button since Nico seemed to like it so much.
My skin warms beneath my touch, more sensitive with every pass of my hands.
I avoid touching any of the most sensitive spots until I’m panting for it, just like I know Nico would.
And when I finally pinch my nipple hard between my thumb and forefinger, I imagine it’s his teeth.
My back bows off the bed, a cry I don’t expect falling from my mouth. I’m so on edge that I think I could come just by playing with my nipples, but Nico wouldn’t stop here, so neither do I.
I trail my fingers down my stomach and let my legs fall apart, whimpering at the tiny bit of friction the movement causes. Nothing prepares me for how good it feels to finally brush my middle finger over my clit. I choke out a gasp, my pussy clenching around thin air, wishing Nico was inside me.
My fingers don’t feel half as good as he would as I press two inside of me and push the heel of my palm against my clit. It’s both not enough and too much all at once. I twist in the sheets, grinding against my hand, fucking myself with my fingers and dreaming, wishing it was him instead.
I’m bite my lip. I’m doing a shitty job of staying quiet, but Nico’s in his workshop, and—creak.
My head snaps toward the door. Nico built this place so well that the floorboards don’t make noise. Not when I step on them, anyway, and certainly not when the dogs do. There’s only one person here whose footsteps are heavy enough. And he’s right outside my door.
I hold my breath, listening for the sound of his footsteps walking away in either direction.
But they don’t. Picturing him is easy—I’ve spent every second with him lately, memorizing every detail of him.
He’s probably leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, that tortured look I’ve become so familiar with on his face.
His fists are probably clenched because he’s desperate to touch himself, and even more desperate to touch me, but he won’t let himself have either.
He’s probably trying to talk himself into walking away, but he knows as well as I do that he’s not going anywhere.
So, it’s only polite of me to put on a show for him.
I let go of my breath in a long, louder-than-usual sigh.
My fingers are tentative as I run them over my clit.
I’ve never done this in front of someone before.
Over the phone or a video call, sure, but somehow, knowing Nico is listening through the door feels more intense than it would if he were thousands of miles away with his phone pressed to his ear.
All he has to do is turn the handle and push, and he could be on me in seconds. God, I wish he would.
I’ve done scarier things and survived, so I move my fingers harder over my clit, faster, and I don’t hold back the moan that makes its way out of my mouth.
I hear the softest groan through the wall, and it’s enough to wipe away any reservations I have.
Like he isn’t there, I bring myself to the brink of shattering.
It’s not as strong as it would be if Nico were the one touching me, but he’s still playing a part in this.
Small shockwaves of pleasure roll over me, one after the other, but I can feel them building. I squeeze my eyes closed, imagining his weight on top of me, pressing me into the bed, trapping me here to do whatever he wants to…
I lose it, my whole body shaking as I fall apart. I’m not totally sure, but I think I cry his name as I come, my pussy tightening around my fingers, wishing they were his fingers. Wishing they were his cock.
By the time I stop shaking, my wrist is aching, and my body is barely satiated. There’s no world in which my fingers could be enough when Nico is a few feet away.
I pant, glancing at the door, wondering if he’s going to break. I almost open my mouth to call him in, but that feels like it would ruin the moment, somehow.
So, I keep my mouth closed, and I shut out the crushing disappointment when I hear his footsteps walk away.