Chapter 23 #2
But I'm not afraid of him. I'm confused. And maybe a little pissed off.
"Why are you asking me this?"
"Because I need to know."
"Why?"
His jaw flexes. A muscle ticks beneath the skin. "Because I heard you on the phone with him. Because you were married to him. Because—" He stops. Swallows. Like the words are physically painful.
And then it clicks.
Nico Sartori is jealous.
The realization rolls through me like thunder. This man is jealous. Of Jack. Because of me.
"You can't be serious," I whisper.
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
He doesn't. He looks like he's barely holding himself together. Like something inside him is cracking and he's furious about it.
"Nico, I'm—" I laugh, but it comes out broken. "I'm nobody. I'm your housekeeper. I'm a single mom with a mountain of debt and an ex who won't stop calling. I'm not someone you get jealous over."
His expression shifts.
"You can't mean that," he says quietly.
"I do."
"No." He leans closer. His nose nearly brushes mine. "You're hot."
My breath catches.
"You're smart."
Stop.
"You're caring."
Please.
"You're sweet."
Each word lands like a blow. Not because they hurt, but because I don't believe them. Can't believe them. Jack always said the opposite. You're too fat, too stupid, too boring, too much, not enough.
Those words carved grooves into my brain. They're the tracks my thoughts run on now.
And here's Nico, trying to lay new tracks, and I don't know how to let him.
"Answer me," he demands. "Do you love him?"
"It's none of your business."
Wrong answer.
His mouth crashes into mine.
There's nothing gentle about this kiss. It's claiming. Demanding. His lips are hard and insistent, and when I gasp, his tongue sweeps in like he owns the space. My hands fly to his chest—to push him away? To pull him closer? I don't know anymore.
A moan escapes me. Small. Needy. Embarrassing.
Nico growls against my mouth. Actually growls. His hands find my waist, grip tight, and suddenly I'm being pulled and pushed at the same time. Pulled closer to him. Pushed deeper into the mattress. His body presses against mine, all hard muscle and heat, and I feel myself melting.
More.
The thought surfaces without permission. I want more. More of his hands. More of his mouth. More of whatever this is that's burning through my veins like wildfire.
But more of what, exactly?
More of him treating me like I matter? More of him looking at me like I'm something precious instead of something broken? More of feeling wanted instead of tolerated?
His lips leave mine and trail down my jaw. My neck. I arch into him, another sound escaping—this one louder, more desperate.
"Say it," he murmurs against my throat. "Tell me you don't love him."
"I don't—" My voice cracks. "I don't love him. I haven't loved him in years."
Nico pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. His are dark. Hungry. But there's something vulnerable there too. Something that looks almost like relief.
"Good," he says simply.
Then his mouth is on mine again, and I stop thinking entirely.
His fingers find the hem of my shirt.
The fabric lifts. Cool air hits my stomach. And suddenly, I can't breathe.
He's going to see me.
"Stop."
The word comes out strangled. Desperate.
Nico freezes instantly. His hands go still against my skin. His eyes search my face, and I watch confusion replace the heat in them.
"What's wrong?"
I scramble backward on the bed, pulling my shirt down. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.
"Lily," I blurt out. "She could walk in. Like last night. She comes in without knocking and—"
Nico's jaw tightens. He pulls back, giving me space, but his eyes stay locked on mine.
"That's not it."
Damn him.
"It is."
"You're lying." He sits up on the edge of the bed. His voice is calm now. Controlled. "Tell me the real reason."
I wrap my arms around myself. A shield. Pathetic, but it's all I have.
"I just... I'm not sure I want to have sex with you."
The words hang in the air between us.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means—"
"Why can't you have sex with me?" He stands abruptly. Runs a hand through his hair. "You kissed me back. You moaned into my mouth.So what changed in the last thirty seconds?"
My face burns. "Nico—"
"Explain it to me. Because I don't understand."
I open my mouth. Close it.
How do I tell him the truth? How do I explain that I rarely orgasmed and eventually stopped trying? That sex became something I endured, not enjoyed?
How do I explain that a man like Nico—a man who probably has women throwing themselves at him, women who know what they're doing, women who are fire in bed—would be disappointed by me?
I'm not fire. I'm barely a spark.
"I can't," I whisper.
"Can't what? Explain."
Nico stares at me. His dark eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes me want to hide. He's reading me. I can feel it. Peeling back layers I didn't give him permission to touch.
Then his expression changes.
Understanding dawns on his face. And with it, something that looks terrifyingly like fury.
"He told you that you were bad at it."
Not a question.
My throat closes up.
"Didn't he?" Nico's voice drops. Dangerous. "That piece of shit told you that you weren't good enough." He stops. Breathes. His hands clench into fists at his sides.
"Nico—"
"No." He moves toward me. Not touching, but close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "Listen to me very carefully, Kristen. The only thing stopping me from being balls deep inside you right now is your daughter."
Heat floods my face. My chest. Lower.
"You're fucking hot," he continues, his voice rough. "Your body. Your face. The sounds you make when I kiss you. All of it. And you're going to believe that soon, because I'm going to prove it to you."
I can't speak. Can barely think.
"When Lily falls asleep tonight," he says slowly, each word deliberate, "you're coming to my room."
"I—"
"You're not sleeping anywhere else from now on."
My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"That's not—you can't just—"
"I can." He steps back. Creates distance between us that feels like a physical loss. "And I will. Unless you tell me no. Unless you look me in the eyes right now and tell me you don't want this."
I should say no.
This is insane.
This is the worst possible time to start something with anyone, let alone a man who probably kills people for a living.
But when I open my mouth, the word won't come.
Because I do want this. I want him. Despite everything.
"That's what I thought," Nico says quietly.
He moves toward the door. Pauses with his hand on the handle.
"Tonight," he repeats. "My room. Don't make me come get you."
Then he's gone.
I collapse backward onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. My lips still tingle from his kiss. My skin still burns where he touched me.
What the hell am I doing?
I don't have an answer.
But for the first time, I'm not afraid to find out.