Chapter Five #2
“You’re mine!” he growls, taking my hand and guiding it to his warm, hard cock, slick with a mix of my and his arousal.
I feel it throb in my hands as he guides me into stroking him.
“Fuck, baby. Just like that!” he grunts, hissing when I tighten my grip.
I watch through dazed eyes as the man I’ve wanted for years comes apart in my arms. He climaxes with a hoarse groan, his body shuddering against mine, and ropes of cum shoot over my hand and between my legs, painting me as he did last night.
His mouth finds mine in a slow, lingering kiss that sends my toes curling on the shower floor.
Afterward, he takes his time washing me—warm hands working shampoo through my hair, running soaped palms over my shoulders and down my spine with a thoroughness that is somehow more intimate than everything that came before.
When he finally collapses against me, his face buried in the crook of my neck, I realize that every reason I had for being afraid of this morning—of him waking and retreating and leaving me alone with the wreckage of what we’d started—was wrong.
He isn’t going anywhere.
***
The hotel restaurant is tucked away in the corner, a quieter space away from all the casino noise.
I welcome the calm that sets in when we enter.
The dining room is a stark contrast to the gaming floor outside—tables set with white linens, soft lighting, and the low hum of conversation.
It feels calmer, more relaxed, which makes me feel immediately at ease.
Nico follows behind me, already scanning the room.
Unlike him, I’m not particularly worried about some mysterious enemy of the Rossi family jumping me here.
My family may be powerful and infamous, but mine is not a face that’s known in their circles.
It’s very unlikely that anyone would connect me to the Rossi family even with my last name.
“Stop worrying,” I tell Nico, patting his arm before I can stop myself.
I turn when I spot the hostess making her way to us.
She greets us, then we’re led to a table by the window.
But before we can sit, someone calls my name.
My brows arch in confusion until I turn around to see Professor Arturo walking toward us, and I relax.
He smiles as he approaches, but his steps falter a bit when he spots Nico standing close to me.
“Gabriella,” my professor says, casting a careful look at Nico that surprises me.
He doesn’t appear pleased to see Nico, but that makes no sense.
I chalk it up to him being surprised. Nico has the kind of face that tends to intimidate people, which makes sense for why my professor would be wary of him.
“I’m happy to see you made it. You don’t mind if I join you for breakfast, do you?
It would give us a chance to talk about the exhibition. ”
“Of course not,” I say, pointing to the chair across from mine. “Oh, and this is Nico. My…stepbrother.”
“Family,” the professor says, and he sits up straighter in his seat. “Of course. I remember him now. You were at the senior project art exhibition a couple of weeks ago.” He turns to Nico, who nods. “It’s always nice to meet a student’s family.”
Jesus Christ.
I flush at the memory of what Nico and I did this morning, his hands roaming my body, his fingers stroking me.
Those calloused hands cupping my breasts and working soap down my body in the shower.
Why did I introduce him as my stepbrother when there’s nothing about Nico and me that is familial?
Still, our closeness is evident as breakfast progresses—from the way Nico caters to me to the brief touches that don’t go unnoticed by Dr. Arturo.
Nico doesn’t seem to care, but it makes me blush thinking about what my professor must think of us.
Breakfast thankfully ends fast, and we leave together for the art gallery to meet with the gallery manager and check on my paintings, but just as we’re entering the exhibit hall, Nico’s phone rings.
He takes it out, probably to mute it, but when he sees the caller, he excuses himself, motioning for us to go on ahead without him.
I imagine it’s Matteo or one of my brothers calling him about work—he never ignores those.
Still, he doesn’t go far, but stays at the entrance, his eyes on me as he takes the call.
“Ah, there he is,” the professor says, taking my focus from Nico and to the white-haired man walking toward us.
The man introduces himself as the gallery manager and takes us to the displays.
We talk about the details of the exhibit, but I find my eyes seeking Nico’s every few minutes.
And to think I wanted to come on this trip alone, and now, a part of me is terrified that he’ll disappear, and then I’ll wake up from this beautiful dream.
I nearly jump when I feel a hand brush mine.
“Gabriella, I like the strokes in this painting,” Dr. Arturo says, pulling my focus from Nico again and back to him.
At some point during my daydream, the professor moved, and now he’s standing too close.
“I have to say, you have a talent for texture as well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
When his hand brushes mine again, I move away, brushing it off as an accident.
The gallery manager says something, and Dr. Arturo responds, but my focus is on how close he is again, his hand so close to touching mine again.
I turn to study him as he talks and notice that he seems tense and a little awkward, so unlike the self-assured man I know him to be.
I figure he must be stressed over the exhibit since he’s representing the university, and I’m the only familiar face around here.
I guess it makes sense that he’d want to be close, albeit a little weird.
The gallery manager compliments my art before excusing himself to attend to others. I turn to Dr. Arturo to find his eyes on mine, but before he can say anything, a voice calls from behind us.
“Gabby.”
We both turn to find Nico standing there, all six foot two of him, steel muscles and stunning good looks.
He walks forward and takes my hand, and just like that, I melt into a puddle.
I forget about the paintings and the professor, or the fact that it might look strange to him to see Nico holding my hand.
“Are you done taking your call? Who was it?”
“Matteo. He wanted to know how you were doing and talk about work.”
“Oh, I should probably call him later.” I’m not exactly on speaking terms with Matteo or my father. I can’t believe Matteo kept the trust details a secret from me and effectively ruined all my plans of running from home. Sure, it worked out in my favor in the end but Matteo’s betrayal still stings.
“He knows you’re busy and not exactly his biggest fan at the moment,” Nico says, brushing a strand of hair from my face, making me blush.
I fight the urge to nuzzle his hand when it lingers on my skin, and it’s not until someone clears their throat that I am reminded that we’re not alone.
Christ, I forgot all about the professor.
My flush deepens when I turn to him, but he has an annoyed look on his face that makes me flush.
“Prof—”
“If you two will excuse me.”
And just like that, he’s gone. It must have been awkward for him to stand there and watch us behave nothing like the step-siblings we are. I cover my face with my hands with a groan. “New rule. No touching me in front of my professor.”
“You are the one who introduced me to him as your stepbrother.”
“You are my stepbrother,” I remind him. Okay, maybe I should have thought it over during the interaction.
I just had to go and make things awkward for everyone.
I shake my head, unwilling to focus on that when I may or may not have Nico for just the duration of this trip.
I’m scared that all this will be over once the trip comes to an end.
No, I’m not wasting what little time we have obsessing over it, so I push it all aside and turn to Nico. “Are you any good at gambling?”
His brows shoot to his hairline. “Where is this coming from?”
“This is my first time somewhere like this, and I don’t know when I’ll be back. I want to play some games.” I pause.
“You don’t want to look around at the art?”
I glance around the room, its white walls are filled with paintings of all kinds.
This is my world, one I revel in, and I’ll always have art.
I won’t always have Nico. “Not right now. The exhibition will be happening tonight,” I say with a shrug.
“I want to explore the casino and play some games. Let’s have some fun before then.
But maybe not out on the floor. Let’s take this back to our room. ”
He stares at me long enough to have me blushing before a smile forms on his mouth. “I don’t gamble, but I’m good with games,” he says with a confident smirk. “I’ve even beaten Dante in some of the games we play.”
My eyes narrow suspiciously at his words.
All my brothers are talented in different ways, but Dante is different in that he’s very street smart and knows how to read people.
Even I am not blind in love enough to believe Nico’s skill beats Dante’s.
There’s no way. Nico must read the doubt on my face because he laughs.
“I guess I’ll have to prove myself.”
“Not even Matteo has beaten Dante.”
“I’m better than Matteo,” he chuckles, squeezing my hand before dragging me out of the hall.
“How about we start with blackjack. With every game I win…” he stops to run his eyes over me in a way that lights my skin on fire.
“I don’t care about the money so with every win, you lose an article of clothing. ”
“What?”
“Unless you’re willing to admit I’m better at games than your brothers.”
My eyes fire up with challenge. Casino games are rigged for people to lose money anyway. There’s no way he’s going to win more than one game. “I bet at the end of the day, the only thing I’ll lose is the sweater.”
“I’ll get the cards,” he says, and the slow smile that spreads across his face does things to my heartbeat.
He leads me toward the hotel gift shop, and I wait for him at the entrance. I feel a prickling sensation on the back of my neck, almost like someone’s watching me. I turn around, looking around, but I come up empty.
Did I imagine it?
I shake my head and turn to Nico but the feeling stays.
I watch him lay a deck of cards on the counter and pay without a word.
He seems focused on something outside the small shop, so I turn to see what’s caught his attention.
I don’t see anything, so maybe he’s just planning what he’s going to do when we get back to the room.
He returns to my side, his hand finding mine as we start walking. In the elevator, he leans against the wall and watches me with that quiet, intent expression I’ve started to recognize—the one that makes me feel like the only thing in the room worth looking at.
“You sure you want to do this?” he asks.
“I’m sure you’re going to lose,” I say.
He laughs, low and genuine, and I think it might be my new favorite sound.
***
He doesn’t lose.
He wins the first hand easily, which I chalk up to beginner’s luck on his part and overconfidence on mine.
He wins the second, and the third, stacking his small collection of chips—we used the complimentary chocolates from the pillow as stakes—while I try not to notice the way his eyes drop to the hem of my sweater every time I surrender a card.
“I believe,” he says after the fourth hand, leaning back against the headboard with the satisfaction of a man who has never once doubted himself, “that I’ve earned the sweater.”
I strip it off without much protest.
He wins the next hand before I’ve finished shuffling.
“Nico—”
“Gabriella,” he says pleasantly.
By the time he wins his fifth straight hand, I have run entirely out of options and patience. “You cheated,” I tell him.
“I won, is what I did,” he says, setting his cards down and standing from the bed.
He crosses to where I’m sitting, and I tip my head back to look at him.
“I won the games. I won our bet.” He drops to his haunches in front of me, his eyes on mine, dark with something that makes my breath catch. “Admit it.”
I lean in and brush my lips over his, surprising him. But the truth is, I don’t want this moment to end. I’m terrified that once we go back to New York, this trip and everything we’ve shared will be nothing more than a distant memory.
“You won,” I say, bringing my hands to his shoulders and hugging him close. I bury my face in his neck and push down the panic that threatens to surface. Can’t I have him for more than one weekend? Why can’t we be like this always? Why does it have to end?
Nico’s hand rubs soothingly down my back as though he can sense my thoughts.
It doesn’t comfort me—it only lights a fire under me, my nipples pebbling and warmth flooding my core.
Christ, I want him. Now. Here. I let out a shuddering breath against his neck that makes Nico stiffen against me.
“I think it’s time for me to collect my prize. ”
But something in his stillness has changed.
His hand on my back has gone taut, and when I pull back to look at him, I find his expression has shifted—a tightening around the jaw, something sharp and watchful behind his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago.
It’s gone in a second. “You’re right,” he says, and his voice is even.
“Prize first. I’ll just need a moment.” He presses a kiss to my temple.
“I have to check something downstairs. Wait for me.”
“You won’t be long?”
“No.” His eyes meet mine, steady and deliberate. “I won’t be long.”
I watch him go. Something about the set of his shoulders makes me uneasy, but I push it aside. The afternoon light is warm. The room is quiet.
I mean to stay awake.
I don’t.