Chapter 13
13
ARIA
I’ve never felt so many emotions colliding at once—terror, anger, disbelief, and lust. The last one is the strongest, burning through me like a wildfire I can’t control.
I want Nicolas so badly that if he pulls back now, I might collapse. I’d cry, I’d beg—I’d do whatever it takes for him to stay, to touch me, to fuck me. If he doesn’t take me in the next few minutes, I might actually die.
Lust isn’t just coursing through me; it’s consuming me. Every cell in my body is screaming for him, and somehow, I know that only he can satisfy that need. Not because he’s a man, not because he has a dick, but because he’s Nicolas.
Simple. Absolute.
His hands are everywhere—exploring me like I’m something sacred yet forbidden. The way he touches me, it’s like he’s memorizing me, claiming me, not quite believing he’s allowed. His lips trail fire down my neck, each kiss sending tremors through me.
I don’t resist.
I don’t think.
I just let go.
“You remember what I told you about consequences?” he murmurs when our kiss breaks. His voice is a low growl that makes my knees weak.
Before I can answer, he leans in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw, trailing down to my neck. When his tongue flicks over the sensitive spot at the nape, I gasp, a sharp intake of breath I can’t control. Then his mouth seals over that spot, sucking hard enough to mark me.
A jolt of electricity runs through me. The thought of him marking me should infuriate me, but instead, my heart leaps, and I hate how much I want it.
I thought I hated him.
Maybe I do.
But right now, I don’t care.
I try to process his question, my mind spinning as wild thoughts race through. “Yes,” I finally groan, my voice raw with anticipation, my body trembling with the weight of what those consequences might be.
He kisses me again, and it’s a kiss like no other. It’s more than that—a challenge, a demand, a promise. It’s the kind of kiss that changes things, that burns itself into your memory.
I could spend my entire life just kissing Nicolas.
He kisses me like he’s claiming me, like he’s daring me to hold anything back. Just when I think I’ve given him everything, he pushes me further, asks for more—and I give it.
It’s hot as fuck.
He lifts me up effortlessly, turning me so my back meets the mattress without breaking the kiss. His weight settles between my legs, solid and commanding, making me feel small and completely at his mercy.
“Won’t you take off your clothes?” I whisper, my voice thick with need.
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his mouth trails lower, finding my breasts. His lips close around one of my sensitive peaks, sucking and biting playfully, sending jolts of electricity through my body. My back arches off the bed as I thrash beneath him, panting, helpless to the sensations he’s pulling from me. His tongue—hot, wet, and insistent—teases me in ways I didn’t know were possible.
I pray silently to every god of lust and desire, hoping he doesn’t drag this out. I don’t want teasing. I don’t want foreplay. As much as I know his tongue could drive me insane with pleasure, it’s not what I crave.
I want him. His cock. Buried deep inside me, pushing everything else out of my mind until there’s nothing left but the two of us and the raw, primal pleasure of being together.
His fingers find my clit, circling it with maddening precision before sliding lower. He doesn’t push inside—not yet—but the heat of his touch against my soaked core is enough to make my breath hitch. I’m so wet, so fucking wet, and it has nothing to do with the hot shower I just stepped out of.
My hips buck forward instinctively, silently begging him to take me, to end his delicious torment. But he doesn’t. He keeps teasing, keeps circling, keeps driving me closer to the edge without letting me fall.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I don’t know why I’m so emotional—so desperate for him to fuck me.
Is it the shock of what I saw earlier? Is it the need to lose myself, to drown in him and forget everything else?
I refuse to let my mind wander and think about anything except the man above me and how much I need him right now.
Nicolas’s hands grasp my ass, kneading it firmly, and I groan in response. My own hands fumble at the hem of his shirt, yanking it up in a frantic attempt to feel his skin against mine.
“Fine,” he grins, his voice low and full of heat. “Undress me, Bambina .”
He doesn’t need to say another word. I grab the hem of his shirt and lift it over his head, my hands trembling as I unhook his pants and pull down the zip. He helps me strip him of his pants and briefs, and when he’s finally bare beneath me, I freeze.
Fuck me.
He’s a glorious sight. His cock is bigger than I imagined—thick, hard, and intimidating in the best possible way. My pussy clenches eagerly, a fresh wave of heat pooling between my thighs; I know there’ll be pain, but the ache of need drowns out every other thought.
I want to take him in my mouth, to taste him, but the craving to be filled—to be fucked hard—is stronger.
He flips us over in one fluid motion, and suddenly, I’m on top of him, straddling his hips.
“Fuck me, Bambina ,” he growls, his voice rough and full of raw need. His fingers dig into my ass, gripping hard enough that I know it’ll leave marks. I don’t care. I welcome the sting. “Ride me like you wanted to earlier.”
My hand wraps around his hot, thick length as I guide him to my slick, aching entrance. But before I can lower myself onto him slowly, savoring the stretch, he takes control.
He grabs my hips and pulls me down hard, thrusting up to meet me at the same time. The force of it seats him fully inside my pussy in one deep, unrelenting stroke.
A strangled cry rips from my throat, but before the sound can fully escape, he drags me down into a searing, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue claims mine, the intensity mirroring the way he fills me, demanding, consuming, perfect. His hand tangles in my hair, yanking hard enough to sting, and I moan. The pain somehow fuels my pleasure, and I give myself over to it completely. Our tongues slide together, meeting and matching each other with the same rhythm as our bodies. Every thought, every stroke, every movement feels like a shared, unspoken language.
I twist my hips slightly, adjusting the angle so he hits every sensitive spot inside my pussy. Pulling back from the kiss, I plant my hands on his chest to steady myself and begin to move—riding him properly now.
His hands travel upward, capturing my breasts in his palms. His fingers knead and tease, sending shocks of pleasure straight to my core as I move against him, chasing the heat building inside me.
“Fanculo, sei incredible,” he growls, his free hand sliding up to wrap firmly around my neck.
A deep grunt escapes him when I lean in, my lips finding the tender skin of his neck. I suck and nip, marking him with dark, possessive bruises—repaying the favor. His low growl sends a thrill through me, and without warning, he flips us over.
My back hits the mattress, and I don’t even have a moment to catch my breath before Nicolas slams back into me. The force knocks the air from my lungs, and I suck in a shaky breath, a curse tumbling from my lips. He just chuckles—a dark, masculine sound that curls my toes and makes me crave him even more.
That laugh of his should be illegal.
He braces one hand on the bed beside my head, his thick cock pumping into me with a deliberate, unhurried rhythm. My orgasm lurks just out of reach, teasing me cruelly. It flutters at the edges of my senses, just beyond my grasp every time I think I’m close. It’s maddening, infuriating—and I never want it to stop.
Nicolas shifts, hitching one of my knees higher and pinning it against the bed with his weight. The angle sends him deeper, reaching places I never knew existed inside me.
“Ah, fuck,” I cry out, my voice breaking as his broad tip brushes against my G-spot. My entire body quakes, pleasure spreading through me in waves. “Yes, fuck yes, Nicolas, don’t stop.”
He hears me—thank all the gods, he hears me—and repeats that same perfect motion again and again. Each stroke pushes me closer to the edge until I finally shatter. My back arches off the bed as I scream into his kiss, my cunt tightening around him with a climax so intense it leaves me trembling. Nicolas slows his thrusts, letting me ride the wave until it passes, giving me just enough time to catch my breath.
“Fuck me, Bambina ,” he groans, his voice hoarse with need as my legs tremble and my arms wrap around his neck. “That was the hottest thing I think I’ve ever seen in my life.”
His lips capture mine again in a lazy, possessive kiss, his cock still moving into me at a slow, deliberate pace. He gives me a moment to return to Earth, to bask in the glow of my release.
But it doesn’t last.
“I want to see it again,” he declares, his voice rough and savage. Before I can respond, he pulls out completely and flips me onto my stomach with startling ease. “And you will show me, won’t you?” he murmurs, his hands gripping my hips as he lines himself up again.
“Yes,” I moan, even though my arms and legs are trembling, far too weak to hold me up. He notices immediately. Grabbing two pillows from the head of the bed, he slides them under my belly, propping my hips up and angling me perfectly for him.
A deep, guttural groan escapes his lips as he positions himself behind me, kneeling. His hands grip my ass firmly, spreading me open before he thrusts into me with one powerful stroke. The sensation pulls a whimper from my throat—I’m still throbbing, still sensitive from the last orgasm, but it only seems to fuel his determination.
No complaints from me.
Curses tumble from his mouth like a dark, reverent prayer as he sets a relentless pace. My fingers clutch the floral comforter beneath me, desperate for an anchor as he drives me back toward the edge of bliss.
Holy fuck. I’ve never climaxed twice in such rapid succession, but I can feel it building, urgent and unstoppable.
“Hold on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal. One of his hands slides around my waist, slipping between the pillows and my body until his fingers find my clit.
And that’s when I detonate.
His fingers move with expert precision, coaxing wave after wave of ecstasy from me. My vision explodes into bursts of light behind closed eyelids, and my throat feels raw from the cries spilling out. My entire body trembles, legs shaking uncontrollably, and the sensation triggers his release.
I feel him pulse inside me as my walls tighten around him, his grip on my hair intensifying. His thrusts grow erratic, and the sound of the skin meeting skin echoes around us, raw and primal.
When the storm finally passes, I collapse onto the bed, still half-propped on the pillows, utterly spent. To my surprise, Nicolas sinks down beside me and pulls me into his arms, holding me close.
* * *
When I wake the next morning, the bed beside me is empty, though the faint sound of running water in the bathroom reassures me Nicolas hasn’t gone far. My body aches in ways I didn’t expect—a deep, satisfying reminder of the night before.
Sitting up, I pull the blanket around me, letting the memories flood back. My chest tightens with emotions, and I’m unsure how to feel—or even what to think.
I need space. I need a distraction.
Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I scroll through my contacts until I find Elena’s name. It’s a little sad that the closest thing I have to a friend is someone I’ve met only twice, but every friendship has to start from somewhere, right?
I send her a quick text, asking if she’d like to meet up. Her reply cones almost instantly: Of course!!! Followed by what feels like an army of exclamations marks and emojis.
Using makeup wipes and a few college-learned tricks, I freshen up and head downstairs. A simple ‘My husband knows I’m heading out’ works on the bodyguards, and within the hour, I’m walking toward Elena, who’s waiting for me in front of a boutique.
As always, she looks impeccable. Her sleek black jumpsuit clings perfectly to her figure, and her dark hair is styled to perfection, with not a strand out of place.
“Rough night?” she asks, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she takes me in.
“Not really,” I reply with a grin, dodging the implied question.
She arches an eyebrow but doesn’t press further. Instead, she hooks her arm through mine and pulls me inside, heading straight for one of the racks. Picking up a dress, she holds it against me with a critical eye.
“Green suits you,” she declares. “You should try this.”
I take the dress, running my fingers over the smooth fabric. “Thanks,” I mumble, draping it over my arm as we move down the aisle.
Elena keeps up a steady stream of commentary—about the clothes, the shoppers, and even the background music. It’s light and distracting, and it’s exactly what I need.
“What do you want out of all this?” Elena asks suddenly, her voice cutting through the rhythm of our casual shopping.
I blink, caught off guard. “Out of what?”
“Everything,” she says, gesturing vaguely with a sweep of her hand. “This life. This marriage. What do you want?”
The question lingers in the air, heavy and unexpected. I’m not sure how to answer it. “I don’t know,” I admit finally. “I didn’t ask for this. Any of it.”
She studies me, her dark eyes sharp but not unkind, then nods as if my response is exactly what she expected. “Fair enough. But since you’re here, you might as well make the most of it.”
I don’t know what she means by that, so I don’t reply. Instead, I offer a small smile as she hands me a dress. “Alright, Aria. Try this one on.”
The fitting room is small but luxurious, with plush carpeting underfoot and a gilded mirror that reflects every detail and angle. I slip into a cream-colored dress, the fabric soft and cool against my skin, and I struggle with the zipper at the back.
Just as I get it up, my phone vibrates on the small bench beside me.
It’s Nicolas.
I hesitate, my heart racing, before answering. The moment I press the button, his voice comes through, sharp and demanding.
“Where the hell are you?”
“I’m shopping,” I say, trying to keep my tone calm and even. “With a friend.”
“Where?”
I glance at the gilded mirror, my reflection staring back at me with an unsettling mix of defiance and unease. “A boutique downtown. Browns, I think.”
“Stay there. I’m coming.”
Before I can protest, the line goes dead.
When I leave the fitting room, Elena is flipping through a rack of cocktail dresses, her red nails skimming lazily over the fabric.
“Nicolas is coming,” I say, trying to sound casual, though my voice betrays a hint of tension.
She raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. “Of course he is. I doubt any man would ever want you out of their sight for long.”
I roll my eyes and retreat to the dressing room to try on another dress—a soft black one with a daring high slit. The fabric glides over my skin like water, and I can’t help but admire how it clings in all the right places. But when I step out, something feels… off.
Elena is gone.
I glance around the boutique, my heart skipping a beat. She’s nowhere to be seen.
“Did she leave?” I mutter under my breath, scanning the racks and corners of the store again.
Nothing. No trace of her.
Weird.
I pull out my phone to call her, but before I can press her name, the glass doors swing open, and Nicolas strides in like he owns the place.
His black button-up shirt clings to his broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows in that effortless way he always pulls off. Dark gray slacks hang perfectly on his lean frame, and with each step, his polished shoes echo on the marble floor. The air shifts the moment he enters, drawing the attention of every shopper and staff member.
He stops a few feet in front of me, his dark, unreadable eyes scanning my face. “Where’s your friend?”
“I… don’t know,” I say, fidgeting slightly under his intense gaze. “She stepped out, I think.”
His expression remains stoic, but the faint narrowing of his eyes betrays his irritation. He glances toward the door for a long moment, his jaw tightening before he turns back to me.
“Let me see the outfits,” he commands.
I blink. “What?”
“I want to see what my wife is buying,” he says, his tone leaving no room for debate.
Suppressing a sigh, I duck back into the dressing room and gather the pile of dresses I’d been considering. One by one, I slip into them, each outfit more stunning than the last, and step out to show him.
Every time, Nicholas leans back in a sleek chair he’s claimed as his throne, his gaze sharp and unwavering as it rakes over me. It’s not just the fabric he’s assessing—it’s something deeper, something that makes my skin flush under the weight of his scrutiny.
“You like it?” I ask, though he’s nodded approvingly every time I stepped out of the changing stall.
“Beautiful,” he says, his voice low and steady. “Leave this one on.”
His men gather the shopping bags as Nicolas opens the car door for me. It’s a small gesture, but one that still takes me by surprise. As the car glides through the streets, I notice we’re not heading back to his castle.
“Where are we going?” I ask, glancing at him.
“To help my wife relax after her stressful shopping trip,” he replies with a wink. For a moment, I can’t tell if he’s joking.
But then the restaurant comes into view—a high-end place with understated elegance. Chandeliers drip with crystal, casting a warm glow, while the waitstaff move like shadows, silent and precise. Nicolas steps out first, circling the car to open the door for me again.
Inside, the space is opulent yet cozy, the kind of place where every detail is intentional. We’re led to a quiet corner table, set with fine china and a single candle flickering between us.
After we place our orders, there’s a moment of silence as we sip our drinks. When the food arrives—plates that look more like art than a meal—I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.
“Are we on a date right now?”
He raises an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. “Isn’t midday an odd time for a date?”
I bite back a laugh at the quizzical look on his face. “Not at all. Lots of people do it.”
He leans back slightly, considering this. “I guess it's just odd for me. I rarely… take time away from work.”
The conversation feels lighter after that, a thread of honesty woven into it. When dessert arrives—a decadent chocolate soufflé dusted with powdered sugar—I take a bite, and the richness of it melts on my tongue.
“This is amazing,” I murmur, closing my eyes briefly to savor it.
When I open them, I catch him watching me, his expression softened, almost curious.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head as he picks up his fork. “You just… seem different.”
“Different, how?”
He doesn’t answer, only shakes his head again before taking a bite of his soufflé.
The drive back to the mansion is quiet but not uncomfortable. I replay the evening in my mind—the way he looked at me in the boutique, the small moments of quiet honesty over dinner.
He’s not as scary as I thought.
Later that night, as I lie in bed, I don’t feel the urge to retreat to my edge of the mattress like I did on our first night. Instead, I shift closer, closing the space between us.
For the first time, it doesn’t feel strange.