17. Nico #2
I remember the woman standing in the middle of her living room, holding her son’s face to her chest, a scattering of baby toys on the ground and a nursery song playing softly from the speakers. I remember how she met my gaze with tired, grim acceptance.
“I’ve killed so many people, Valeria,” I confess, staring up into her face. “Enough for a lifetime. But I couldn’t kill that woman or her son. I left, and when Father asked if I finished the job, I lied.”
Her fingers curl against my jaw. Her eyes flick between mine, searching. Whoever told her I went to prison didn’t tell her the rest, and now all she has is the word of a man who would absolutely lie to her for his own gain.
I don’t blame her for not being certain.
“He found out immediately,” I continue, “but he let it slide at first. I’m sure he thought I needed to toughen up my soft heart. He sent me on more jobs. And I just stopped doing them. Anything he asked of me, I did the opposite. After a few months of my shit, he had enough.”
My thighs ache from holding myself in this position.
“He went back and personally killed the family I had spared months before,” I say.
“He framed me for their murders and had me sent to prison for a year. I’m sure he wanted to teach me a lesson.
That sort of thing had worked in the past. But this time, when I came out, the only thing I knew was that I would never work for him again.
At the hotel tonight, Alessia was warning me.
What Father wants, he gets—at any cost.”
“And what does he want now?”
“Compliance.” I suppress a bitter smile at my private joke.
“What do you want?” she murmurs.
My thighs burn. Chest expands.
“Just you.”
Her white teeth press into her crimson-red bottom lip. “I want you too.”
A feverish heat licks through me. My hands twitch against her calves.
Slowly, she grips her dress, gathering the thin fabric in her hands like a silk seller showing off their wares, until her simple black thong is exposed.
“I want you, Nico,” she murmurs with fistfuls of black silk against her belly.
My restraint snaps.
I lunge, and my mouth is on her in an instant.
I don’t understand it—I don’t understand what she wants, why she’s giving this to me when everything that’s been done or said tonight should scare her off, but when her hot, slick arousal meets my tongue, I don’t care.
My fingers, normally so nimble and strong, feel clumsy and too slow as I scrabble at her thong, but finally, I yank it down to her ankles and split her with my tongue. I groan.
She echoes the sound, her fingers digging into my skull.
At least this, I understand—I know, without asking, that she doesn’t let others touch her this way.
This is just for me.
I lick into her folds, like a feral animal at first, almost mindless in my hunger and need to have all of her in my mouth, but when the initial frenzy passes, I focus.
I dedicate myself to stroking her with a range of sensations, and listening intently to the sounds she makes.
She’s not a screamer, and she’s not much of a talker either, but I can feel her belly tense under my hand and her breath change when I’ve hit an especially good spot.
My cock throbs, aching to be free.
I’m leaving a huge mess in my suit, but I don’t care.
I’m going to show her that no matter what, I will attend to her needs, and then she’ll let me in.
She’ll trust me. Her breathing hitches as I grind the flat of my tongue against her clit—there.
I repeat the movement, and she rewards me with a moan.
That’s my pretty girl.
I take two fingers and rock them against her entrance.
My eyes snap open, so I can see the vulnerable and unguarded expression she only gives me while we have sex.
We lock eyes.
A whimper escapes her.
She pants heavily, a deep blush across her face as she twists the dress in her hands.
“Nico,” she whispers.
God.
I groan against her clit. I’m going to fucking explode here and now.
I sink my fingers into her soaking wet pussy—god, she’s so wet for me. She rocks her hips against my hand and my mouth, and pulses violently against my fingers.
“Don’t stop, Nico,” she gasps, like anything short of an armed invasion could stop me now. “Don’t stop! Fuck—Nico.”
I collect every single one of her words, her slick arousal, and the tremors of her body as she squeezes my fingers in the long, hard pulses of a powerful orgasm—and I burn them all to memory.
No matter what happens, for the rest of my life, I’ll remember this moment.
With lazy satisfaction, I watch her pull at her dress as I draw out every last ounce of pleasure with slow licks, like I’m savoring the last spoonful of my favorite ice cream.
My cock is soaking my pants with precum, but I don’t care.
Valeria looks down at me with an expression of pure gratitude. With honest-to-god tears glimmering in her eyes.
Like I’m the center of her universe.
After one last long lick, I push my burning thighs to standing and scoop her against me.
Too languid to fight, she only releases a soft oh and settles her head against my shoulder.
In the bedroom, I leave the door open so that when I lay her on the bed, I can watch her in the dim light.
Her wide eyes, glassy with arousal and relaxation. Her short hair, fanning from her head like a black halo. Her fingers still entwined in her dress like she’s forgotten to let go.
My suit is off in seconds, but when I crawl over her on the bed, I take my time.
Every minute of punishing myself in the gym is worth it as she takes in my body with open admiration. I didn’t know it then, but it was all for her, for this moment.
I pause over her, my arms caging her in and my body naked and tense over her clothed and languid one.
She raises her hands and touches my face in a simple, loving gesture.
It undoes me.
I lean against her hands and ease myself inside her.
She moans, her hands caressing me.
I don’t trust myself to talk.
There are no rough touches, no whispered dirty talk about breeding or hate.
Just a woman and a man, holding each other in the night.
When she arches underneath me, I let go, and as we come together, I still wish the same selfish wish, the one that grows stronger with every beat of my heart.
Don’t leave.