Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Closed-Door Love Scene
Sincerely, Penny Reid
Nico’s hands and mouth were greedy and unrelenting. I purposely overlooked the irrationality of making love in an elevator. In fact, I didn’t care where we were. All I knew was that we were finally, finally touching each other the way I’d needed and been starving for.
I was blind to everything other than the fact that I needed him—his touch, his strength and caresses, his sweet words. As ludicrous as it was, my mind couldn’t fathom waiting another moment, not even the five minutes or less it would take to get to my apartment.
Nico seemed to feel the same urgency. At first, his movements were frantic, rough, focused, needy. He murmured words of desire and wanting, seemingly lost in us and in the moment; but then gradually, as though sensing his power over me, he became teasing and maddeningly, adorably arrogant.
Freaking Nico!
I couldn’t help but try to tease him in return. But his eyes and my name on his lips were my undoing. He looked lost, and in that moment, I was found. I waved my white flag of surrender almost immediately.
I soothed him by reminding him that I loved him. I repeated the words over and over until they became a chant. I loved this man. I wanted all of him, everywhere, surrounding me, always. I wanted to breathe him in and own him, possess him. I wanted to be everything to him as he had become to me.
He drew out my moans and sighs. His hands explored the peaks and valleys of my body with a covetous command. And when we found each other I was overwhelmed by our shared bliss as I gazed into his beautiful green eyes.
I hoped he witnessed the love I saw in him reflected in me. I hoped he knew how momentous and real my feelings were. I hoped he knew that what we did was not lightly done. It was a pledge. It was a gift.
And it was meant only for him.
We made our way back to my place shortly after recovering from the dazed euphoria that accompanies great lovemaking.
In complete honesty, I don’t know if we would have ever left the elevator if given the choice.
However, it started to move, and I yelped at the realization that all my clothes but my leggings were shredded—by his knife—and in tatters on the floor of the lift.
In typical Nico fashion, he allowed me to panic for a few seconds before offering me his T-shirt. I pulled it on along with my leggings just in time. When the doors opened to the lobby, Nico pulled me against his chest and improvised a ludicrous story to the waiting mechanic.
The man looked not at all impressed, never cracked a smile, and gave us both a knowing, annoyed once-over. Wordlessly, he sent us on our way.
We stumbled into my apartment, laughing and kissing and—at least I was—embarrassed.
“Unlike you, I’m not used to people seeing me without my clothes on.”
Nico shrugged out of his jacket, threw it over his shoulder as if he hated it, and kicked my door closed. He tugged at the T-shirt on my shoulders. “I’ve never understood why people in the US get so stirred up about nudity.”
“Maybe because we value modesty!” I swatted at his hands unsuccessfully; he, somewhat roughly, pulled the shirt off and threw it across the room, again as if he hated it.
“But why hide such….” His gaze devoured me, my bare shoulders, chest, stomach; he gripped the edge of my pants and used his leverage on the material to yank me forward against his chest. “Perché nascondere una cosa così bella?”1
And that’s when it happened.
In that moment, the world tilted, and I lost complete control of my female organs.
Apparently, my vagina, uterus, and ovaries were Italian and, when spoken to in Italian by Nico Manganiello, no longer belonged to me.
I had no idea what he’d said. Just the sound, coming from his mouth—no lie—was the sexiest thing ever of all time.
I felt woozy and leaned against him, my lashes fluttering like butterfly wings.
“Elizabeth…? Are you ok?”
When I spoke, I noted that my voice sounded strangely hoarse. “I—I didn’t know you could speak Italian.”
“Yeah, we all spoke it at home, and I learned formally a few years ago.”
“Why…why…would you do that?”
His eyes narrowed as they moved between mine. His big hands stilled on my waistband while his thumb rubbed little circles over my hips. “Does it bother you? O ti piace?”2
I shuddered, gripped his shoulders, and let my eyes drift shut. “Oh God….”
He chuckled, then tsked.
“Mi fai impazzire.”3He whispered against my ear. Nico licked my neck, then blew where he’d made it wet, which immediately made me shiver. “Ho cercato di dimenticarti, ma è impossibile.”4
“Guh…”
“I tuoi occhi hanno il colore del cielo in estate…”5 He trailed light kisses down my throat and removed my pants as he moved. “Ti amo da sempre.”6
“Oh!” I arched against him; my nails dug into his back. I fought another shudder. I failed.
He slid his fingers up my legs, his touch light behind my knees. “Il contatto con la tua pelle. Oh, non ne ho mai abbastanza.”7
I pressed against him like a cat and reached for his pants, frustrated. His words were seriously making me mindless. I was beyond modesty or shame. I was in an uncharted, murky realm of arousal where I couldn’t quite control the sounds I made or the movements of my body.
“Mmm. Il tuo fragranza….”8 He shifted out of my reach as he bit me. I could only moan my disappointment.
Nico pushed my shoulders and I fell backward. I didn’t realize until my back hit the mattress that he’d moved us to the bed. He loomed over me, stood at my knees, his eyes glittering with delicious wickedness.
“Please…” At this point, I was totally cool with begging.
Nico grinned. If I hadn’t been in a near coma of arousal, I would have been highly aggravated by the grin. It was colossally confident.
“Anche se a volte sei più testarda di un mulo.”9
He unbuttoned his pants very, very slowly. He was driving me to madness.
“Mi piace la passione che è in te. La tua lingua tagliente mi eccita da morire.”10
Nico’s movements were tortuously unhurried. With continued languidity, he lowered himself to me. “Non ti lascerò mai andare.”11 His eyes were suddenly sober and serious, and they held mine. I stilled my movements. “Ti amo.”12
I blinked at him. Even through the sensual cloud, I registered the meaning of his words.
Ti amo. I love you.
I swallowed, brushed my lips against his, and panted breathlessly in return. “Ti amo, Nico.”
He nudged my nose with his, his eyes wide, “D’ora in poi in poi non c’è modo di tornare indietro. Sei mia, per sempre.”13 His eyes lit from within with blazing ferocity, scorching satisfaction.
He claimed me with heartbreaking gentleness. When our breath met, I breathed him in. I held him to me, wrapped my arms around his neck, and wanted to be fully saturated and completely crushed by him.
As I returned to earth, I couldn’t help but brood over the fact that he could have just read me a restaurant menu and I would have been blissfully ignorant. He had a fatal weapon, and I was rendered stupid and powerless against it.
Italians who speak Italian should be illegal, or at least should come with warning labels—may make your panties explode.
1 Translation: Why hide such a beautiful thing?
2 Translation: Or do you like it?
3 Translation: You make me crazy.
4 Translation: I tried to forget you, but it’s impossible.
5 Translation: Your eyes are the color of the sky in summer.
6 Translation: I love you always.
7 Translation: The feel of your skin, I can’t get enough.
8 Translation: Mmm. Your fragrance. . .
9 Translation: Although, sometimes you’re more stubborn than a mule.
10 Translation: I love the passion that is in you. Your sharp tongue excites me.
11 Translation: I’ll never let you go.
12 Translation: I love you.
13 Translation: From now on, there is no way to go back. You are mine, forever.