Chapter 15 Bree
Bree
The walk home with Aiden is nice.
Nice.
That’s the word, isn’t it? Nice. Pleasant. Comfortable. Like a warm bath or a good cup of tea or a Sunday afternoon with nowhere to be.
He’s telling me about some nonprofit project in the Bronx, and I’m nodding along because it genuinely sounds meaningful.
This is what I want.
This is what I should want.
A man who asks questions and listens to the answers. Not... Nico.
“You cold?” Aiden asks, noticing me shiver.
“Just the wind.”
“Here.” He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders before I can protest.
This is how a real gentleman behaves.
We reach my building. The familiar brick facade, the stone steps up to the vestibule, the buzzer system that works maybe sixty percent of the time.
Home.
Such as it is.
“I had a really good time tonight,” Aiden says, turning to face me on the stoop.
I smile. “Me, too.”
And I did. Really did.
The wine was good.
The conversation was easy.
I laughed at things that were actually funny instead of things I was nervous about.
For three hours, I forgot about Nico Rossi and his ice-cold dismissals.
“Maybe we could do this again sometime?” Aiden’s smile is warm and uncomplicated. “There’s this new Thai place in Brooklyn. Let’s say Thursday?”
“Sure, I’d like that,” I grin.
“Thursday it is.” He leans in.
I know what’s coming. The kiss. I should want this. I should meet him halfway. I should—
A hand clamps down on Aiden’s shoulder and yanks him backward so hard he nearly tumbles down the stairs.
“Get the fuck away from her.”
Standing on the stoop, vibrating with barely contained violence, his fist cocked back like he’s about to punch Aiden in the face, is Nico.
Aiden stumbles, catching himself on the railing. “Who the hell—”
Nico pulls his fist back even farther.
“Nico, stop!” I jump between them before he can actually throw the punch. My hands press against his chest. He’s practically shaking with rage, and breathing hard like he sprinted all the way here from Manhattan.
Because he did.
He literally followed me here.
Like a psychopath.
“Get this fucker out of here!” Nico snarls over his shoulder.
And then there are other people. A man and a woman, moving with synchronized efficiency, appear and grab Aiden by the arms. I recognize Callahan, Nico’s head of security, and a woman I think is his driver.
“Bree, what the hell?” Aiden’s voice pitches with confusion and fear. “Who are these guys? What is this?”
Great question.
This is my boss.
You know, the billionaire CEO who treats me like garbage and then shows up at my apartment like a possessive lunatic before my date can kiss me.
Totally normal.
“It’s fine,” I manage. “Aiden, I’m so sorry, just go. Please.”
“Bree—”
“Go!” I tell him.
The security team is already guiding him toward the SUV. Not roughly, but firmly. Aiden keeps looking back, bewildered and hurt, and guilt coils in my stomach because he didn’t do anything wrong. He was just trying to kiss me goodnight like a normal human being on a normal date.
And now he’s being escorted away by bodyguards while Nico glares at him like he’s considering murder.
Nico’s eyes finally lock onto mine. Dark and burning. His chest heaves under my palms, and I realize I’m still touching him, still pressed against him like I’m the only thing keeping him from violence.
“Inside.” His voice is lethal. “Now.”
I should tell him to go to hell.
I should scream at him. Call the police. Report him for harassment.
At a minimum, I should refuse to let him into my home after he just revealed that he’s been stalking me.
But my hands are shaking and my heart is pounding and something hot and furious and terrifyingly close to arousal is flooding through me, and I turn and unlock my door instead.
He follows me in.
He slams the door shut behind us, and suddenly my tiny studio apartment feels microscopic. He’s too big for this space. Too intense. Taking up all the oxygen.
“What the hell was that?” I explode, spinning to face him. “You’re stalking me now?”
“Who was that?” His voice is low and dangerous, like he’s barely controlling himself.
“Someone who actually treats me like a human being!” The words rip out of me. “Not someone who follows me like a psychopath!”
“You think he cares about you?” Nico steps closer, crowding my space. “He doesn’t even know you.”
“And you do?” My voice cracks, and I hate it. Hate the vulnerability bleeding through. Hate that he can see it.
His expression shifts. The rage doesn’t disappear, but something raw and hungry surfaces beneath it. “I know enough.”
Before I can respond, he kisses me.
It’s not gentle. Not tender. It’s desperate and possessive, his mouth claiming mine like he’s been starving for it. Like he’s been dying for weeks and I’m the only thing that can save him.
I should push him away.
But I kiss him back just as fiercely, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer instead of shoving him away.
Because apparently I’ve lost my mind completely.
Because apparently my body doesn’t give a damn about professional boundaries or the fact that he just stalked me here or any of the very valid reasons I should be kicking him out.
You’re an idiot.
A complete and total idiot.
His hands find my hips, gripping hard enough to bruise. Then he’s lifting me, and my legs wrap around his waist on instinct, and he’s carrying me toward my bedroom like I weigh nothing.
“Nico—”
“Don’t.” He kicks the bedroom door shut behind us. “Don’t tell me to stop.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
He presses me against the bedroom door, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand. His grip is firm. Not gentle. His eyes burn into mine, and his breathing is ragged.
“You let him touch you?” he asks.
“He didn’t—” I begin.
“His hands were on you.” Not a question. An accusation. “All fucking night. I watched him touch your hand, lean in close, make you laugh.”
Oh my God. He watched the whole thing.
“You sat outside the wine bar.” My voice comes out breathless. “For how long?”
“Long enough.”
His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and I gasp. He bites down, not hard enough to really hurt, but hard enough to mark. To claim.
“This is insane,” I manage. “You know that, right? This is completely—”
“I know.” He tears at my dress. Literally tears it. The fabric rips beneath his hands, and I should be furious because this dress cost me seventy dollars on sale, but instead I’m gasping as cool air hits my skin.
“That was my favorite—”
“I’ll buy you ten more.” His mouth trails down my collarbone, teeth and tongue leaving a path of heat. “A hundred more. You’re mine.”
The word shoots straight through me. Mine. Possessive and primal and absolutely insane, and I should hate it.
Instead, my back arches off the door.
He marks my neck. My breasts. Leaves visible evidence of his mouth everywhere, sucking, biting, deliberate and claiming, and when I whimper, he pulls back to look at me.
“Spread your legs,” he commands.
I hesitate... just a breath... before slowly obeying, trembling as I open myself beneath him.
His knuckles brush the damp fabric of my panties, a torturous tease that draws another whimper from my throat.
“Wider,” he growls, and I arch off the door yet again, exposing myself completely. His eyes darken with approval as he watches me hold the position, vulnerable and shaking.
“Good girl.”
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
The praise hits me like a drug. My entire body flushes hot, and I see him notice. See the satisfied gleam in his dark eyes.
“You like that?”
I don’t say anything.
“Answer me.” His hand slides between my thighs, fingers teasing over fabric. “You like being told you’re good?”
I hate him. I absolutely hate him.
“Yes.”
He rewards me with pressure. One finger slipping under the edge of my underwear, finding me already wet, already desperate, and his groan is almost pained.
“Fucking soaked.” He strokes me slowly, too slowly, building sensation without giving enough. “All this for me? Or were you thinking about him?”
“Nico—” I squirm under his touch. “I—”
“Answer the question.” His finger circles my clit, then retreats.
My hips try to chase the sensation, and he pins me harder against the door.
“Answer.” He commands.
“You,” I admit. “Always you. Even when I don’t want it to be.”
Something in his expression cracks. For just a second, the possessive fury gives way to... relief? Like he needed to hear that more than he’d ever admit.
Then he heaves me onto the bed and drops to his knees.
Oh God.
He yanks my underwear down my legs, not bothering with finesse, and pushes my thighs apart. His mouth finds my center with zero hesitation, tongue stroking through me like he’s been thinking about nothing else for weeks.
“Nico—” My hands scramble for purchase, finding his hair, gripping tight.
He groans against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my entire body. His tongue circles my clit, then retreats. Again. And again. Building me toward the edge and then pulling back just as I’m about to tip over.
“Please.” The word tears out of me.
“Not yet.”
He brings me there again. And again. Denying me each time, until I’m shaking, until tears of frustration are pricking at my eyes. Until my pussy is clenching against the empty air, frantically trying to milk a cock that isn’t present.
“Nico, please, I can’t—”
“You can.” His voice is rough, almost wrecked. “Again.”
By the fourth build-up, I’m begging. Actually begging, words spilling out that I’ll probably be mortified about later, desperate and needy and nothing like the professional secretary I usually am.
He pulls back just enough to look up at me. His chin is wet. His eyes are black with want. And something else is happening, I realize.
His hips are grinding against the mattress, the sheets twisted in his grip, and when I look down at him properly, I understand.
He’s cumming.
Untouched.
Just from tasting me.