• 16
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"Boss, she's here."
Angelo's voice came through the phone, tense.
"Where is here," I asked flatly, already annoyed.
"A club," he said.
I paused. "...A what."
"Club 78," he repeated. "She's inside. Loud music. Shots. Dancing. The whole thing."
I closed my eyes. "A fucking club. Daria."
She hadn't stepped foot into one in her entire life. Not once. Not even close. Daria Cole's idea of excitement was reading at a café with whipped cream on top. And suddenly, days after I re-enter her life, she is the life of the party.
I groaned. "I've been gone five years and the little library girl now parties."
"Boss," Angelo said, "do you want me to go in?"
"I'm coming," I muttered. "Stay outside. Keep eyes on her."
I hung up and drove so fast, traffic lights were no match.
By the time I arrived, the bass was shaking the sidewalk. People stumbled out laughing, kissing, drunk, stupid. I pushed through the line, through the bouncers, through the hallway coated with perfume and sweat.
The second I stepped inside, it hit me.
Strobe lights. Bodies grinding. Music thumping. And her.
Angelo hadn't exaggerated.
She was at the bar doing shots with her friend. One. Two. Three. She giggled at nothing and nearly fell over. Her friend grabbed her. They clung onto each other like baby deer on ice.
That dress. Short, sparkly, hugging her hips. Her hair messy from dancing. Her cheeks flushed.
A guy pulled Nessa toward him, and Daria whispered something to her. Nessa nodded and let herself get dragged into the crowd.
Daria waved her off, wobbling, suddenly alone.
She stumbled. A guy reached for her arm to steady her.
I was across the room in seconds.
My hand went to her waist before his could. She blinked up at me, pupils blown, lips parted.
"Nico? How... what the hell. How do we keep seeing each other?"
She could barely stand. I held her upright.
"I was... partying,"
What a stupid excuse. I didn't party. Ever. But I couldn't afford her yelling at me again. Not twice in one week.
She giggled, leaning into me, her whole body soft and unsteady. "I think I'm a little tipsy."
"You think," I murmured. "Let's go. I'm getting you out of here."
She nodded, looking around. "I think Nessa went with that guy. She really likes him."
She giggled again.
How the hell does she manage to be cute even when she's wasted. I walked her out, arm around her waist to keep her upright. She held onto my sleeve like her life depended on it.
By the time we reached the car, her head rested on my shoulder, heavy and warm.
"Nico..." she whispered sleepily.
"Yeah."
"You're so soft."
I coughed, choking on nothing but air. I put her in the backseat and she immediately slumped sideways, nearly asleep.
By the time we reached my building, she was fully unconscious.
"Boss..." Angelo said quietly, looking at her when he walked over.
"I've got her."
I lifted her into my arms.
Her dress rode up her thighs. Her hair fell over her shoulder. Her perfume hit me in the chest so hard I nearly lost my footing. I carried her through the lobby, into the elevator, up to my penthouse. The elevator doors shut and her hand tightened on my shirt.
"Don't drop me," she whispered.
I nearly chuckled. "Never."
When we reached the guest bedroom, I laid her gently on the bed. She looked impossibly soft, face relaxed, lips slightly pouty from sleep.
I knelt in front of her, trying to act like I wasn't already on the edge of losing my mind.
"Give me your leg," I said.
She did. Slow.
Her calf brushed my chest before her heel settled into my palm. Her skin was warm and soft. Her ankle delicate inside my hand.
The little black heel dangling by nothing but the tip of her toes.
She giggled.
And then she did the thing that killed me:
She flexed her foot.
Her heel brushed the front of my pants.
Right against the zipper.
I stopped breathing.
Her pretty little drunk foot, her ankle wrapped in those thin black straps, dragged right over the one place I was already trying not to react.
She didn't even realize. It was innocent to her. She was drunk.
She just giggled and flexed her foot again, the heel tapping my thigh before settling in my hand.
"Oops," she whispered, smiling like she hadn't just fried every nerve ending in my body.
"Daria," I said, but it came out low, rough, warning.
She blinked down at me all innocent, hair falling around her face.
"What?"
I clenched my jaw.
I had to close my eyes for a second.
If she weren't drunk,
If she weren't soft and trusting and looking at me like I was the safest place in the world—
I would've pinned her leg over my shoulder right there.
But I forced myself to breathe.
To think.
She's drunk and doesn't see me like that.
That's when she moved.
She sat up, eyes half-open, and tugged at her dress.
"This is uncomfortable," she mumbled.
"Daria, wait—"
She didn't.
She grabbed the fabric, pulled it over her head, and tossed it onto the floor.
My throat went dry.
She fell back onto the pillows in nothing but a lace bra and matching panties. Bare midriff. Belly button piercing. Bare legs. Soft curves. The necklace resting between her breasts.
Mother of God.
My breath stopped. My thoughts stopped. Everything inside me shut down at once.
She didn't even realize what she'd done. She rolled over, hair spilling across the pillow. This must be some kind of sick cruel joke. A punishment for my sins.
"Nico..." she murmured, reaching out blindly.
I forced myself to stand. To not die right then.
I grabbed a blanket and leaned down to cover her.
Her fingers brushed my wrist.
"Stay," she whispered.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard. In this moment I might consider myself a weak man.
"Daria," I whispered, voice barely working, "you're drunk. You need to sleep."
She tugged my sleeve.
"Please... stay with me. Just for a little."
She didn't know what she was saying. She didn't understand what she was doing. She didn't know what it did to me.
And I was an idiot because I couldn't tell her no.
I sat on the bed.
She scooted closer instantly, curling against my chest, one leg sliding over mine like she belonged there. Her skin touched my shirt. Her breath hit my throat.
My entire body locked.
My cock hardened instantly.
This was fucking torture.
She didn't even know I was dying. Her hand rested on my stomach, fingers warm.
"Nico," she whispered again, drifting off, "you're my favorite."
I couldn't think.
I couldn't move.
I wanted to get up. I needed to get up. I should have walked out of the room the second she undressed. But I stayed. Like a fool. Like a man starved.
She shifted, pressed closer, her thigh brushing me, and I lost it.
My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
I'm getting hard. Fuck. I'm not okay. Maybe I need to think about all the dumb ass fucking Russians I hate.
I stared at the ceiling, half praying, half trying not to groan.
I can't stay here, I really can't.
I need to leave.
I didn't touch her, I couldn't. I waited until I was sure she was fully asleep, before getting up slowly.
The moment her body wasn't pressed to mine, I felt everything hit at once.
My pulse. My frustration. The painful blue balls. My sanity. My fucking soul. Holy shit.
I stood beside the bed and stared down at her.
Small. Soft. Barely covered. Lace. Curves. The necklace I gave her between her breasts like she was made for it.
A whole man could die from this. I ran a hand through my hair, pacing once, twice, again.
"Oh my fuck... I have never experienced this kind of pain in my fucking life."
Actual pain.
She rolled onto her stomach, hugging a pillow, and I groaned into my hands like a sinner.
"I can't do this shit. I need a distraction."
I walked out of the room and shut the door before I did something illegal.
My heart was still pounding like I'd sprinted up a mountain. Every nerve in my body was wired. Tight. Strained. Violent as fuck.
I grabbed my phone and called Enzo, because clearly I had lost control of my life.
He answered instantly. "Brother. Finally. How's your night—"
"Enzo," I said through gritted teeth, "tell me what information you found on the kid."
"Wow. No good evening. No hello. No I'm having a sleepover with my girl. That's crazy."
"Enzo not the time."
"What was she wearing," he teased. "Black? Pink? Did you break? Did she climb on top of you? Did you—"
"Enzo," I snapped, "answer the fucking question."
He had the audacity to whistle. "You sound tense. In pain. Like a man who made very poor decisions."
"I swear—" I warned.
"She's in your house, isn't she."
I squeezed my eyes shut. "You already know that. We are in the same building."
"Is she in your room," he pushed. "Did she cuddle you? Did she say your name? Did she—"
"Enzo, shut the fuck up, please for once ."
Why did I call this guy.
He laughed so hard I almost hung up. "Oh, you're fucked. Fully, officially, permanently fucked."
"I didn't call to talk about Daria."
"That's exactly why you called," he said, still laughing. "You're dying. You're absolutely dying. God, I wish I recorded this. This is your pathetic voice."
The laugh in his voice made my jaw clench. Fucking idiot.
"Goodnight, Enzo," I growled.
"Good luck with the blue balls," he chirped and hung up.
I dropped my phone onto the counter and braced my hands there, breathing hard.
My entire body felt like a live wire. I headed straight to the shower.
I turned the water cold. Ice cold. The kind of cold that could kill a weaker man. I stepped under it and let it hit me.
I tried to release the tension. Stroke my cock but no release was enough. I tried to focus on anything other than the girl sleeping in my guest bed.
It didn't work. Not even a little.
I rested my forehead against the tile, the water hitting my back in frigid bursts, and groaned.
"This girl is going to be the death of me."
I shut the water off, grabbed a towel, and tried to breathe like a normal person.
Didn't help.
I walked to my room, dropped onto the edge of the bed, ran both hands through my hair again, and stared at the ceiling.
"She's drunk. She doesn't know what she's doing. I need to control myself. I just need to stay away."
I said it.
I didn't believe a word. As I said Daria Cole... was killing me.
This man is in SHAMBLES
this chapter is for Yaraaazz for being my active reader & voter ?? thank you angel!