Chapter 23 Nico
NICO
The silence in my house is a physical thing, thick and heavy.
She’s staring into the cold hearth, her profile a study in marble stillness.
And I break.
It’s not a decision.
It’s a tectonic shift.
One moment I’m across the room, the next I’m standing in front of her, my shadow falling over her.
She looks up, her eyes wide, not with fear, but with a shocking, deep-seated defiance.
That look—it’s the final straw.
“Enough,” I rasp, the word tearing from a raw place in my throat. “This silent treatment… it’s fucking killing me, Elisa.”
She says nothing, just holds my gaze, her chin tilted up.
The challenge in her eyes ignites a fuse.
“You want to know why?” I snarl, leaning down, my hands braced on the back of the sofa, caging her in.
“You want the truth? It gutted me. Your silence gutted me. Because I have spent my entire goddamn life building walls. Keeping everyone and everything I could ever give a single fuck about at a safe, clean, arm’s length.
It’s how you survive in my world. You don’t get attached.
You don’t leave a door open for someone to walk in and wreck you. ”
My voice is vicious.
I’m shaking with the force of the confession.
“And then there was you. You didn’t knock on the door. You didn’t even pick the lock. You just… appeared on the other side of it, like you’d always been there. You looked at me and you saw right through every brick, every layer of bullshit, straight down to the rotten foundation. And I let you.”
Her defiance wavers, her lips parting on a soft, indrawn breath.
“So when you shut down on me,” I continue, my voice dropping to a tortured whisper, “when you gave me that fucking silence… it was the one thing I didn’t know how to fight. It was you using my own weapon against me. And it worked. It broke me.”
I see it then, the moment her walls crumble.
A single tear escapes, tracing a path down her cheek.
It’s my undoing.
I close the final distance.
My mouth crashes down on hers.
It’s not a kiss.
It’s a conquest.
It’s a fucking wildfire.
All the pent-up fear, the rage, the desperate, clawing need of the last few days explodes between us.
She doesn’t fight it.
She meets me with a ferocity that steals the air from my lungs, her hands flying up to fist in my hair, pulling me closer, deeper.
I taste the salt of her tears and the heat of her surrender.
My tongue plunders, claiming, demanding.
I’m devouring her, and she’s letting me, she’s urging me on.
My hands leave the sofa and frame her face, holding her still for my ravaging mouth before sliding down, over the frantic pulse in her throat, over the swell of her breasts covered by thin silk.
I tear my mouth from hers, both of us gasping for air.
“I can’t be gentle,” I warn her, my voice a dark promise. “Not tonight.”
“I don’t want gentle,” she pants, her eyes blazing with the same inferno. “I want you to stop thinking. I want you to feel.”
That’s all the permission I need.
I yank the silk of her blouse, buttons pinging off and scattering across the Persian rug like tiny pearls.
She’s not wearing a bra.
Her breasts are perfect, heaving, her nipples tight, dark peaks.
I drop to my knees on the rug in front of the sofa, my hands gripping her waist.
My mouth closes over one nipple, sucking hard, my tongue lashing the stiff bud.
She cries out, her back arching off the sofa, her fingers digging into my scalp. “Nico! Oh, God…”
I lavish one breast then the other, biting, sucking, laving, marking her as mine.
The sounds she makes are a symphony of abandon—sharp gasps, low moans, my name a broken prayer on her lips.
I push her skirt up her thighs, my hands sliding over the smooth skin, finding the damp heat of her through her panties.
I groan against her stomach, the scent of her arousal, pure and potent, driving me out of my mind.
I hook my fingers in the lace and rip them down her legs.
She kicks them away, her eyes wild.
I push her knees apart, settling back on my heels to look at her, spread open and glistening for me in the dim light.
“I’m going to taste every bit of your silence,” I growl, and I bury my face between her legs.
Her scream is muffled by the plush cushions as my tongue finds her clit.
I don’t tease.
I feast.
I lap at her like a dying man at an oasis, my tongue flat and broad, then pointed and precise, circling that swollen, desperate nub.
I drink the evidence of her want, louder than any words we haven’t spoken.
I slide two fingers inside her, curling them, finding that rough, secret spot deep within her.
She convulses around me, her hips bucking off the sofa.
“Yes! Right there! Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”
I fuck her with my fingers, my mouth never leaving her clit, sucking it hard, flicking it with the very tip of my tongue.
I feel her body tightening, coiling, the tremors starting in her thighs.
I redouble my efforts, my jaw aching, my world narrowed to this single point of giving her pleasure, of washing away every hurt with the raw, physical truth of my mouth on her cunt.
Her orgasm hits her like a seizure.
She shatters with a raw, screaming cry that seems to shake the very foundations of the old house.
“FUCK! NICO!”
Her body bows, her inner muscles clamping down rhythmically on my fingers, her release gushing over my hand and chin.
I ride it out with her, lapping gently, prolonging the waves until she’s a sobbing, boneless wreck on the sofa, her hands weakly pushing at my head.
I pull back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my own need a painful, throbbing ache in my jeans.
I look up at her, her chest flushed, her eyes dazed.
A slow, predatory smile spreads across my face.
“My turn,” I tell her, my voice thick. I stand up, unbuckling my belt. “On your knees.”
She doesn’t hesitate.
She slides off the sofa onto the rug, kneeling before me, her eyes locked on mine with a look of pure, unholy worship.
I push my jeans and boxers down, my cock springing free, thick and angry and dripping for her.
She doesn’t need instruction.
She leans forward and takes me into her mouth.
The heat is instantaneous, a velvet inferno that makes my knees buckle.
Her mouth is a miracle.
She takes me deep, her throat opening, accepting my length until my tip hits the back.
She holds me there, her eyes watering, and the sight of her like that, choking on my cock, is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
She pulls back, gasping, a string of saliva connecting her lips to my glistening head.
Then she goes down again, her head bobbing.
Her hands cup my balls, rolling them, squeezing them gently, then with more pressure.
A jolt of pure, electric pleasure-pain shoots through me.
“Fuck, yes… just like that,” I groan, my hands fisting in her hair, not guiding, just feeling.
She’s a woman possessed.
She deep-throats me over and over, the wet, gagging sounds a testament to her effort.
She licks and sucks my balls, taking one then the other into her hot mouth, sucking hard, her tongue swirling.
The sensation is unbelievable, an intense, pulling ache that seems connected directly to the base of my spine.
She’s blowing my fucking balls out, draining me, and I’m letting her.
I’m completely at her mercy.
I can feel the pressure building, a tight, urgent knot in my groin.
“Elisa… I’m close…”
She redoubles her efforts, her mouth a vacuum of sensation, her hand stroking what she can’t take.
The sight of her, on her knees, servicing me with such utter abandon, is my undoing.
With a guttural roar, I come, my release pulsing down her throat in thick, hot streams.
“Take it! Swallow it!”
She does, gulping every drop, her throat working around me until I’m spent, shuddering, my legs trembling.
She pulls off with a final, soft pop, licking her lips, her eyes gleaming with triumph.
I haul her to her feet, my energy surging back, fueled by a new, insatiable hunger.
I kiss her, tasting myself on her tongue.
“Not nearly done with you,” I growl against her mouth.
I lift her into my arms and carry her out of the living room, down the hall, into the massive, marble-tiled bathroom.
I set her on her feet and turn on the shower.
Steam begins to billow, fogging the gold-framed mirror.
I back her into the spray, our clothes, what’s left of them, becoming soaked rags.
The hot water cascades over us, plastering her hair to her head, running in rivulets over her breasts, her stomach, between her legs.
I press her against the cool, wet marble wall and lift her leg, hooking it over my hip.
I don’t wait.
I drive into her in one brutal, seamless thrust.
She screams, her head thrown back, her nails scraping down my back.
The water drums on our skin, mingling with the sweat. I fuck her hard, my hips pistoning, the wet slaps of our bodies echoing in the tiled chamber.
“Look at me,” I command.
Her dazed eyes find mine.
I see myself reflected in them—wild, possessive, lost in her.
“No,” I grit out, turning her roughly. “Look at us.”
I maneuver us until we’re facing the large, fogged mirror.
I use my hand to wipe a clear patch, revealing our reflection.
Her back is to my chest, my arms wrapped around her, holding her up as I pound into her from behind.
Her face is a mask of ecstasy, her mouth open in a silent scream, her eyes wide as she watches us.
“See that?” I grunt, my thrusts becoming deeper, more punishing.
“See what you do to me? See what I do to you?”
She can only moan, her body trembling violently in my arms.
Her legs are shaking, barely supporting her.
I hold her tighter, driving into her over and over, hitting a spot that makes her cry out, her eyes rolling back.
“Please… Nico… I can’t… I’m going to…”
“Come for me,” I snarl in her ear, my voice raw with possession.
“Come all over my cock while you watch yourself take it.”
Her eyes, glazed and unfocused, snap to our reflection.