• 40
A week passed, and I was still here.
My parents called once. Just once. Their voices were polite. Distant. They asked if I was okay.
I said yes.
I wasn't.
I didn't tell them anything.
The only person I really spoke to was Lizzy. She was still with our grandparents, which meant she didn't have to see how empty I felt. She didn't have to worry about me being alone at home.
The week I spent with Nico wasn't what people would imagine.
It wasn't passionate or reckless.
It was quiet.
Some days I didn't want to eat. Some days I didn't want to talk. Some days I just stared at the ceiling, exhausted in a way sleep didn't fix.
And Nico stayed anyway.
He watched movies with me, even when I didn't really follow the plot. He sat beside me when I cried, never rushing me, never asking questions I wasn't ready to answer. He held me when the weight in my chest felt unbearable, his arms steady, like he was anchoring me to something real.
He even asked Enzo to bring me more clothes.
I appreciated that more than I told him.
There was no pressure. No expectation. No urgency.
Just presence.
And somehow, that made everything hurt a little less.
By the end of the week, I realized something quietly, almost guiltily.
I didn't want to leave him.
I didn't want to go back to my routine. I didn't want to go to work. I hadn't gone in days, and Nessa assumed I was sick.
She wasn't wrong.
I used my vacation time. I had more than enough saved.
That evening, we were curled up on the couch again, the city glowing through the windows as the next movie loaded.
I glanced up at Nico without thinking.
"You look happier today," he said, brushing his thumb absently over my arm.
"Just a little," I admitted.
He smiled, small, soft — and pulled me closer into his side.
His warmth felt like medicine. His kisses, when he pressed one to my temple, felt like something gentle stitching me back together.
I leaned into him without hesitation.
At some point, I laughed.
It surprised both of us.
He raised a brow. "There it is."
"There what?"
"That sound," he said. "Finally. I missed it."
I rolled my eyes, but before I could say anything, his fingers found my side.
I squealed.
"Nico—don't—" I laughed, twisting away as his fingers tickled mercilessly.
"Oh, I absolutely will," he said, his voice lighter than I'd heard it all week. It finally felt like we were back to ourselves.
I tried to escape, but he caught me easily, pulling me back against his chest. I was breathless, laughing, weak, and he knew it.
"Say you lose," he teased.
"Never," I shot back, still laughing.
He leaned in, his lips brushing my cheek, then my jaw. My laughter faded into something softer, slower.
The room felt quieter suddenly.
His hand slid to my waist, steady and familiar. His forehead rested against mine.
"You okay?" he asked, always checking.
I nodded. "Yeah. I am."
His lips found mine then, unhurried, careful — a kiss that felt like reassurance more than anything else. I kissed him back, slowly, my hands curling into his shirt.
No heat that overwhelmed, just closeness.
When we pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine again.
"You don't have to be strong here," he said quietly.
I swallowed, then smiled.
"I know."
For the first time in days, I truly felt better.
I don't know what came over me.
One second I was curled beside him, half-watching the movie, and the next I was moving, climbing into his lap, straddling him before I could overthink it.
His eyes widened.
Then his brows lifted, surprise flickering across his face before a slow, amused smile tugged at his mouth.
"Okay," he said lightly, hands settling instinctively at my waist. "This is officially the happiest I've seen you all week."
I smiled, leaning in closer.
"Not that I'm complaining," he added, pulling me flush against him.
"I just needed time," I said softly. "To process everything." My fingers slid into his hair as I kissed along his jaw, slow and deliberate. "I'm okay now."
His breath hitched.
I brushed my lips against his. "Remember when you said you wanted to take me on a proper date... when I felt better?"
He nodded, eyes never leaving mine.
"How about tomorrow?" I whispered. "I'd say tonight, but it's already late."
I laughed quietly and I rocked my hips just enough to make him inhale sharply.
"Daria... I've been holding back all week."
"I know..."
I didn't want comfort anymore. I wanted him.
A low sound slipped from his chest.
"Daria..." he murmured, warning and want tangled together.
"Hmm?" I teased, fully aware of what I was doing.
He'd been so sweet all week. Never sexual. Always patient with me.
"You're doing this on purpose," he said softly.
I kissed down his neck and tugged on his shirt for him to take it off. He watched me, then pulled it over his head.
God. His perfect tattoos.
I leaned down and kissed his chest, then moved lower, kissing his abs until I was right in front of him.
He groaned lowly.
"What are you doing, baby?" he asked, his pupils blown. He was already turned on; his grey sweatpants showed just how much.
"Showing you just how much I appreciate you," I whispered seductively, pulling down his sweats and his boxers, revealing his already big, hard shaft.
"Wow..." I muttered.
He tucked his bottom lip under his teeth, watching me.
I kissed his length, looking at him slowly, and started to stroke him.
He groaned lowly. "...You look so pretty, baby."
I smirked a little, noticing the pre-cum leaking. I swirled the tip with my tongue. His shaft visibly twitched. I loved the effect I had on him.
I took his shaft in my mouth and moaned, tasting him.
I never knew, I could be so wet from pleasing someone.
My core throbbed causing me to moan softly, the sound clearly sent vibrations through him.
He threw his head back and groaned out a few curse words.
"Oh...shit... Daria..."
I took in as much as I could, the tip hitting the back of my throat. My eyes watered, but I took it as he moved his hips upward, mouth-fucking me. I loved to watch him fall apart for me.
"Fuck... I love that pretty little mouth..."
He praised. I could feel him swell more in my mouth. His groans became deeper, and he leaned his head further back against the couch.
"Oh fuck, fuck..."
He tugged at my hair, and he kept going, not for much longer, before he let out a deep groan and came, filling my mouth. I felt his grip tighten, like he was barely holding on.
I swallowed every drop and looked up at him innocently. I pulled back slowly, watching him struggle to recover — knowing I did that to him.
He then pulled me back up.
"Fuck, princess... I didn't know you had that in you," he said surprised, his eyes still full of lust.
I giggled, and he smirked before kissing me hard, his lips crashing into mine.
Is it hot in here or just me? ??