Chapter 16 - Elisa
ELISA
The night before we return, I let all my restraints go.
The worn leather of the couch groans under my shifting weight as I settle between Nico’s spread knees.
The low light from the television paints his torso in shifting blues and whites, catching the tense line of his abdomen.
My heart is a frantic bird against my ribs, a mix of nervousness and a dark, pooling want.
“Just relax for me, baby,” I murmur, my voice a husky thing I barely recognize.
My fingers trail up the insides of his thighs, feeling the powerful muscle there twitch under my touch.
The coarse denim of his jeans is a rough contrast to the soft skin I find higher up.
I nuzzle the hard ridge straining against his zipper, breathing in his scent.
A low groan rumbles in his chest.
I look up, meeting his heavy-lidded gaze.
His knuckles are white where he grips the couch cushion.
A smirk tugs at my lips.
I love this power, the dizzying control of having this strong, quiet man completely at my mercy.
I make a show of it, my eyes locked on his as I slowly, so slowly, pull his zipper down.
The rasp of the metal teeth is obscenely loud in the quiet room.
I work his jeans and boxers down just enough, and his cock springs free, thick and already weeping a pearly bead of pre-cum from the flushed, ruddy tip.
It’s hot and heavy in my hand, a live wire of pure tension.
I lean in, my breath ghosting over the sensitive head.
“You’re already so hard,” I whisper, swiping my thumb through the slickness and spreading it around the crown.
He hisses, his hips giving an involuntary jerk.
I hold him down firmly at the hip with my other hand. “Ah, ah, ah. None of that. You let me do all the work.”
I don’t take him in my mouth yet.
Instead, I press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the tip, tasting his salt and musk.
My tongue darts out, a quick, teasing flick across the slit.
"Mmm," I hum against his skin, the vibration making him buck again. "You taste so good, Nico."
I start with just the head, my lips forming a tight seal as I suckle gently, my tongue swirling and pressing against the frenulum.
His breathing hitches, turning into ragged pants. "God… your mouth…"
I pull off with a soft, wet pop.
A string of saliva connects my lips to his glistening skin for a second before breaking.
"You like that?" I ask, my voice dripping with false innocence.
I don't wait for an answer.
I lick a long, slow stripe from the base all the way back to the tip, my eyes rolling back a little at the sheer, primal taste of him.
He can only manage a strangled, "Yeah."
My hand wraps around the base of his shaft, pumping slowly in time with the shallow bobs of my head.
I take him deeper, inch by agonizing inch, letting my throat relax.
My nose brushes the coarse hair at his root.
I hold him there for a moment, feeling him pulse against my tongue, listening to the guttural, broken sounds tearing from his chest.
"Fuck… Elisa, I can't…"
I pull back, gasping for air, a line of spit trailing from my chin.
"You can," I breathe, my own desire making me dizzy. "You're going to take everything I give you."
I dive back down, faster this time, my head bobbing in a more determined rhythm.
The world narrows to the salty-sweet taste of him, the feel of his velvety skin sliding over my tongue, the sounds—the wet, slick sounds of my mouth working him over, his choked-off moans, the creak of the couch as his body tenses.
My free hand wanders, cupping and gently squeezing his heavy balls, rolling them in my palm.
He cries out, a sharp, shattered sound. "Oh, God, right there, don't stop!"
I double my efforts, my jaw aching in the sweetest way.
I look up at him through my lashes.
His head is thrown back, tendons standing out in his neck, his mouth slack. He is a masterpiece of unraveling control.
I hollow my cheeks, sucking hard as I drag my mouth up, then plunge down, taking him all the way to the hilt again.
My throat opens, accepting him, and the guttural, choking sound I make seems to push him right to the edge.
“If you do any more—”
And right there, I stop and pop his cock out of my mouth.
My eyes locked on his, I push myself up, my knees sinking into the soft cushions on either side of his hips.
My fingers find the waistband of my panties, the lace damp and clinging.
I hook my thumbs into the sides and, with a slow roll of my hips, I peel them down my thighs and let the scrap of fabric fall to the floor.
His eyes darken, the haze clearing to be replaced by a raw focus.
I rise up on my knees, positioning myself over him.
One hand braces on his shoulder, the other guides him, the tip of his cock, pressing against my wet, swollen entrance.
I look down, watching the moment of contact, a shiver racking my entire body.
"Elisa," he breathes, his voice rough.
I sink down.
It's a slow, inexorable claiming.
An inch, then two, a breathless, stretching fullness that makes my head spin.
A low, guttural moan tears from my throat.
"Mmm... fuck, Nico." I take my time, lowering myself until I'm fully impaled, his hips cradled perfectly against mine, his length buried deep inside me.
I can feel every throbbing pulse of him.
I stay there for a long moment, my inner muscles fluttering around him, just feeling the profound, complete connection.
Then I begin to move.
My hips roll in a slow, grinding circle, a lazy, controlling rhythm.
I set the pace, rising up until just the head remains inside me, then sinking back down in a smooth, wet slide.
The sound is filthy, undeniable.
My nails dig into the hard muscle of his shoulders.
I throw my head back, my hair tickling the small of my back, my breasts swaying with the motion.
I'm all sensation—the friction, the depth, the sight of his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he lets me use him.
"You feel... so fucking good," I pant, my voice cracking.
But the beast I woke in him is no longer content to be ridden.
I see the change in his eyes a second before it happens.
The surrender is gone, replaced by a feral, dominant fire.
His hands, which had been lying limp, snap up to my hips, his grip like iron.
"My turn," he growls.
And he flips us.
The world spins in a dizzying whirl.
One moment I'm on top, in control.
The next, my back is pressed into the cool leather, and he's looming over me, his weight pinning me down.
His cock never leaves me, the sudden shift in angle making me cry out. "Ah!"
He doesn't give me a second to adjust.
He pulls out almost completely and then slams back into me with a force that steals the air from my lungs. "Ahh!"
This is not my slow, grinding rhythm.
This is a punishment, a claiming.
He pounds into me, each thrust a jolt of pure, blinding pleasure-pain.
The couch creaks and groans in protest, a frantic percussion to the wet, slapping sounds of our bodies meeting.
"Tell me who you belong to," he grunts, his face buried in my neck, his breath hot against my skin.
"I–I can't—"
He drives into me harder, deeper, hitting a spot that makes my vision whiten at the edges. "Tell me!"
"You!" I scream, my back arching off the couch. "I belong to you! Nico!"
A savage grin twists his lips.
He hooks his arms under my knees, forcing them apart, opening me up completely to his relentless, pounding rhythm.
I'm nothing but a vessel for his hunger, my own climax coiling tight and desperate in my core.
The sounds I'm making are animalistic, broken sobs and choked pleas.
"Please, please, don't stop, right there, oh God, right there!"
I feel the exact moment he loses the last shred of his control.
His thrusts become erratic, frantic, his own groans turning into a continuous, guttural roar.
The pressure inside me snaps.
My orgasm detonates, a supernova of sensation that seizes my entire body.
I convulse around him, my scream muffled against his shoulder as I bite down, my hips bucking wildly against his.
The intense, rhythmic clenching of my cunt around his driving cock is his undoing.
With a final, brutal thrust that seems to touch my soul, he stills, burying himself to the hilt as his own release erupts inside me in hot, pulsing waves.
He collapses on top of me, his full weight a welcome anchor as we both shudder through the aftershocks.
The only sounds are our ragged, gasping breaths and the faint buzz of the television.
He's still inside me, softening now, a tangible, wet reminder of the line we just vaporized.
I wrap my trembling arms around his sweat-slicked back, holding him there, in the wreckage of our restraint.
The tremors finally subside, leaving behind a heavy, liquid warmth and the scent of our bodies tangled together on the leather.
For a long time, the only movement is the slow, synchronized rise and fall of our chests.
The television has long since switched to a silent, blue menu screen, casting the room in a dim, underwater glow.
Nico is the first to stir.
He shifts his weight off me with a groan that’s part exhaustion, part pure satisfaction, his softening cock slipping from me with a final, intimate wetness.
He doesn't go far, just rolls onto his side, one heavy arm draped possessively across my stomach.
His fingers trace idle, sticky patterns on my skin.
"Don't move," he murmurs, his voice gravelly and raw.
He presses a kiss to my shoulder, his lips soft against the bite mark he left there. "Not a muscle."
But he’s the one who moves.
After a few more minutes of silence, he pushes himself up, his body a silhouette against the blue light.
He finds his boxers and pulls them on, then pads, barefoot and naked from the waist up, into the adjoining kitchen.
I watch him go, my body feeling both wrecked and reborn, my limbs like lead.
I hear the click of the kettle, the clatter of a mug, the crinkle of a packet.
The domestic sounds are a strange, soothing counterpoint to the animalistic noises that filled this room just minutes before.
I pull the afghan from the back of the couch and drape it over myself, the soft wool a comfort against my oversensitive skin.
He returns with two mugs.
One steams with the rich, dark scent of black coffee.
The other holds a warm, gooey brownie he must have microwaved, the chocolate smell mingling with the coffee and our sex.
He hands me the mug with the brownie first, his eyes soft.
"Eat," he says, his voice quiet. "You need your strength."
I take a bite.
It’s warm and fudgy, the simple, sweet taste a grounding anchor in the whirlwind of sensation.
He sits on the edge of the couch, sipping his coffee, watching me.
The silence isn't awkward.
It's thick, laden with everything we just did, everything we just became.
I finish the brownie, the sugar hitting my system, and take a sip of the coffee he offers me.
It’s bitter and perfect.
I set the mug on the floor and pull the afghan tighter around my shoulders, drawing my knees up to my chest.
He reaches out, tucking a strand of sweat-damp hair behind my ear.
His touch is so tender it makes my chest ache. "You okay?"
I nod, but the motion feels like a lie.
The real world, the one we’ve been hiding from, is starting to seep back in at the edges of this warm, sex-hazed bubble.
I look at him—at the relaxed set of his shoulders, the peaceful expression on his face—and I know I have to be the one to break it.
"We can't stay here, Nico."
His hand stills on my hair.
He doesn't look at me, just stares into the dark screen of the television.
"I know," he says, his voice low.
"I mean it." I push on, the words feeling like shards of glass in my throat.
"This... tonight... it was everything. But it was a night before. Before we have to go back. We can't hide here forever, pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist."
He’s silent for a long moment, his jaw working.
"What if I want to hide?" he finally asks, his gaze shifting to meet mine. The raw need in his eyes is almost enough to shatter my resolve. "What if I just want to stay here with you?"
"Then we'd be living a lie," I whisper, my voice breaking.
"And what we just had... that wasn't a lie. That was the most real thing I've ever felt. We have to be brave enough to face what's out there."
He lets out a long, slow breath, a surrender to a truth he already knew.
He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine.
We stay like that for a long time, breathing each other in, the taste of chocolate and coffee and us mingling in the small space between our lips.
"Okay," he breathes, the word a vow and a lament. "Tomorrow. We go back tomorrow."