Chapter Five
Gabriella
I wake up to a familiar scent—clean and crisp, a hint of fresh citrus and white musk beneath something warmer, woodsy.
Patchouli and vetiver. My eyes are still closed, my mind half-tethered to sleep, but something about that scent pulls at me.
Grounds me. I could get used to this, I realize—waking to quiet mornings and to the smell of.
..My pillow moves. A slight shift that makes my eyes snap open.
My eyes blink at the desert morning sun that is beginning to peek through the gaps in the curtains, painting stripes of gold across the plush carpet of the suite.
I blink slowly, trying to adjust to the light.
My head is a little fuzzy as I register the warmth pressed against my back—and the weight around my waist.
Oh my God.
Where is the pillow wall? I spent a solid ten minutes building that thing last night—arranging every spare cushion in a stern little barrier down the center of the bed.
And now, it’s gone, and there is a warm hand circling my waist, and I am very much pressed against a chest that is very much not a pillow.
I’m afraid to look down at the warm body pressed against mine, but I force myself to.
Slowly, I take in the tattooed pec cushioning my head—very firm, very naked—and feel heat climb up my neck.
Oh, and did I mention naked? I slap a hand over my mouth as I lift my eyes to the man the pec belongs to.
He’s sleeping, golden hair mussed against the pillow, lips slightly parted, a granite jaw that needs a shave.
I watch him for a moment, tracing the curve of his lips with my eyes and admiring the way the light catches the stubble on his cheek, but Christ, those lips…
And just like that, everything comes rushing back.
One moment, I remember nothing, and the next, I recall everything.
It’s almost like a blindfold has been pulled from my eyes, and the gasp that slips out is audible enough to wake the sleeping giant.
I’m half afraid it will completely awaken before I have time to process what happened last night.
He stirs slightly, mumbling something incoherent before the arm around my waist tightens.
We kissed last night. Oh, we did more than just kiss. The memory of Nico’s head buried between my thighs is enough to bring a flush to my cheeks. And my body remembers, too, as little aches make themselves known. The way he gripped my hips as he rubbed his erection against my aching core.
Oh God, it really did happen. It wasn’t a dream at all.
I glance back at the handsome man lying on the bed and chew on my bottom lip as I try to make sense of everything that’s happened between us.
Two weeks ago, Nico stole my first kiss right before he pulled away and left me confused.
But last night…there was such hunger in the way he kissed me, almost like he never wanted to let go.
Christ, will he wake up and walk away again like he did that night?
“Sometimes, I forget that you’re a morning person,” he grumbles sleepily, his voice hoarse and so freaking sexy. “You were always up and about in the mornings whenever I stayed over working late with Matteo.”
“You’re awake,” I whisper, my heart racing when he opens a single eye.
“How can I sleep with all those wheels in your head turning so loudly?” he grumbles, pulling my head back down on his chest and holding it in place. “Sleep. It’s still early.”
It’s tempting to go back to sleep, ignore everything, and just stay here, tucked against his chest. I can pretend the world outside doesn’t exist. But it does, and in it, I’m in bed with Nico—my stepbrother—who kissed me, touched me, pulled me apart with those hands.
He seems entirely unbothered while I’m silently unraveling.
“Nico–”
“And just like that, princess, you’ve shattered the illusion of perfection.
You just had to be a morning person,” he grumbles, pushing back with a sigh.
When I sit up to look at him, it’s to find those pale green eyes locked on mine, brows furrowed.
The way he looks at me is enough to make me melt. “No. No, I’m wrong. Still perfect.”
I flush at his words, brushing my hair from my face as I try to think of how to bring up last night. “I…we—”
He holds my gaze for a moment, something shifting in his expression—something warm, almost careful. Then he sits up too, and the corner of his mouth curves. “Last night happened,” he says simply, his voice still rough with sleep. “And I’m not sorry about it. Are you?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Good. Now, we need a shower.” He climbs out of bed, and I quickly look away—but quickly enough. I catch a glimpse of thick, corded thighs and a trail of hair leading to the erection standing long and thick. Sweet Jesus. Did he really spend the entire night like that?
“Gabby?”
I keep my eyes on the ceiling. “Yeah?”
“Sharing a shower will save us time,” he says. I hear a smile in his voice
“No, y-you go ahead, and I’ll—”
He takes my hand and pulls me out of bed before I can argue. I find myself dragged toward the bathroom, all my protests falling on deaf ears. When my back meets the door and his lips crash onto mine, I forget what it is I was arguing about.
God. Oh God.
I was saying something, but it all disappears as I push in to kiss him back, gasping into his mouth.
The kiss turns messy, wet and desperate, and I find myself clinging onto him, whimpering into it as every inch of my body awakens with sensitivity.
My nipples pucker painfully, and I rub them against his chest to relieve the ache, but that only causes it to double.
I want… I’ve wanted… It’s been so many years of wanting and craving and needing.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and arch into him, flushing when I feel his erection press against my stomach, hard and heavy.
I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like inside of me.
To have Nico inside of me. Finally. Last night, we came close.
“Fuck!” Nico growls against my lips when we pull apart, his eyes heavy-lidded, his pupils blown wide with lust. “I want you, Gabriella,” he rasps, cupping my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek.
“I don’t think I can stop.” He buries his face against the side of my throat and sucks hard at my skin, sending a storm of heat between my legs.
He nudges the door open behind me and reaches in to twist the shower on. Steam begins to curl around us as he peels my sleep shirt over my head, his eyes dark as they move over me. “Get in,” he murmurs, and there’s nothing soft about the way he says it.
I step in, and he follows.
The water is hot, and his hands are hotter.
He crowds me against the tile, his palms sliding slow and deliberate over my wet skin—my shoulders, my waist, the curve of my hips—as though he’s mapping me.
Learning me. Steam hazes the air around us and I tip my head back against the tile, eyes closing when those large, calloused hands find my breasts, kneading them, his thumbs dragging rough circles over my nipples until I’m gasping.
“Still with me?” he murmurs against my throat.
“Barely,” I manage.
He makes a low sound of satisfaction and drops to his knees on the shower floor, looking up at me with those pale green eyes. “Hold on to something, princess.”
“You want me?” It’s the only thing I can say when his mouth peppers kisses down my stomach. The only audible thought in my head.
“Desperately,” he rasps against my skin.
Since when? How? For how long? I have so many questions in my head, but they all fade when he slides one hand between my legs.
“If you can still think, then I’m not doing this right.
” A thick finger drags along my folds, and I jolt hard in his arms when he circles my entrance.
He makes a deep guttural sound at the back of his throat as he moves toward my aching clit.
“Nico,” I whimper, burying my fingers in his shoulders when he begins to tease my clit in slow circles, his finger sending ripples passing through me with every stroke. “Hmm, Oh God!”
He replaces his finger with his tongue, and my knees nearly buckle. He alternates between lapping at my pussy and pressing kisses against my thighs and hips. He’s worshipping me, and I’m hurtling closer to my release.
“Can you imagine,” he rasps against my inner thigh before moving his mouth back to where I need him most, “how many times I sat at your family’s dinner table, wanting to get you alone like this?
” His fingers stroke through my folds, slow and maddening.
“Since you were eighteen, and I had no right to think of you this way.” He pushes a thick finger inside me, making me whimper.
“I’d spend entire evenings hiding what you still do to me. ”
Downright wrong that I spent those same dinners thinking the exact same thing. Wondering how it would feel to have those hands on me. Yet I can’t find the words to answer him, not when he’s touching me the way he is.
The bathroom fills with the sound of his fingers dragging through my sopping flesh, every slick stroke driving me closer and closer to the edge of an orgasm that threatens to blind me. And when it comes, it does.
I cry out his name as the orgasm roars through me, fingers digging into his shoulders, weak knees threatening to give out. My pussy clenches and pulsates violently around Nico’s finger, pumping shallowly in and out of me. “Oh God. Nico… Oh!”
He rises, hooking my leg over his hip and sliding his cock against me, thrusting along the ache that has yet to die. His chest heaves, muscles tense against mine as his hips rock fast against me, pushing me toward yet another orgasm.