Chapter 18
18
NICOLAS
Now I understand addiction.
I’ve executed men for sampling our products, for letting themselves get hooked on something they couldn’t control. I never had sympathy for them. Never understood how they could be so weak .
But now? Now, I think I finally get it.
Because I am addicted.
I crave her. Her scent, her soft moans, the way she trembles under my touch. I want her in every possible way, and even that might not be enough.
These damn strawberries will be the death of me.
That’s all I can think of as I lick Aria’s pussy. How does she get it to smell and taste so good?
My nose runs over her clit as I slide my tongue inside her and suck again. I want more. I want everything.
My Strawberry Bambina is still keeping up her act, pretending to be asleep, and it’s almost too cute. The little muffled sounds are music to my ears and she’s trying not to squirm.
When I slide two fingers inside her, she jerks and tightens around me. She’s going to come.
My heart summersaults. I wonder how she’s going to keep up the sleeping act when she comes.
I add another finger inside her and start pumping, then slowly increase my pace. I suck on her swollen clit till her pussy starts to clench.
Then her orgasm overtakes her, and she squeals as her legs thrash beside my head. I fling the covers to the side so I can watch her perfect ecstasy. It’s a beautiful sight to behold.
When she finally catches her breath, her eyes lock onto mine.
“What… what do you think you’re doing, Nicolas?” Her voice is shaky, her face as red as a cherry.
I give her my most innocent look. “Oh. I was under the impression you were asleep.”
Her frown deepens. “I was-until I felt your fucking finger inside me.”
“I couldn’t help myself.”
She glares at me, but her dark, glistening eyes give her away. She wants more.
“So, do you go around sucking sleeping women’s pussies?”
“If that woman is my wife , then yes.”
“That’s-” she hesitates, swallowing hard. “That’s assault.”
“You consented at the altar,” I counter, smirking. The argument is far more entertaining than it should be—especially with her pussy spread before me, making it even more comical. “Besides, I thought this was what you wanted. Isn’t that why you came to my office earlier?”
She rolls her eyes. “ Wanted . As in past tense .”
I grin, dragging my fingers over her clit in a teasing caress. She gasps.
“Nicolas!”
I tilt my head. “Your body is betraying you again, Bambina .” My touch lingers along her entrance deliberately. “I think you want to play.”
Her eyes lock onto mine, dark and heated, the tip of her pink tongue dragging over her full bottom lip.
I have to bite back a groan.
This woman’s going to ruin me.
I’m already breaking my own rules by falling for a Rossi . What’s next? How far will I go for her?
“I don’t want to play with you ,” she says, her voice stubborn but breathless.
I cock a brow. “So you do want to play. Just… not with me.”
She hesitates, biting that impossibly tempting lip—then nods.
Hell yes. Game on.
I move up her body, capturing her lips with mine. My tongue swirls against hers, and she kisses me back, eager, hungry for everything I’m about to show her.
A soft sigh escapes her, slipping into my mouth as her body presses against mine. Her arms wind around my neck, fingers threading through my hair, pulling me closer.
She kisses like a fucking goddess .
There’s so much I want to teach her, to do to her. But I don’t know how ready she is for all of that.
So, for tonight, I’ll keep it simple.
I run my hand over her breast, cupping it in my palm, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my touch. My lips trail along her neck, nipping lightly, savoring how she tilts her head, offering me more. I reach her ear, my breath warm against her skin, “So you want to play with something that isn’t me?” I murmur.
Her head lolls back, eyes fluttering closed. “I do.”
In one swift motion, I grab the hem of her gown— or, more accurately, the sheer excuse for one- and pull it over her head, breaking the kiss only long enough to free her from it.
And then she’s there, fully bare beneath me.
My breath catches, my pulse skidding off course.
I want to tell her she's the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. That no one has ever made me feel like this. But I hold back, choosing to tread carefully.
Instead, I lower my mouth to hers again, kissing her deeply as my hands roam over her body, tracing the curves I’m quickly becoming obsessed with. Her skin is impossibly soft, her body warm and inviting beneath my touch.
I brush my thumb over her taut nipple, and she shivers in response. My mouth follows, licking, sucking, tasting, savoring.
Her fingers tighten in my hair, a quiet sigh escaping her lips.
She has no idea the power she has over me.
Every breath, every sound she makes, every shift of her body sends me spiraling into something deeper than I ever intended to fall.
And that’s dangerous.
I force myself to pull away, running a hand through my hair to steady my thoughts. I need to get my head back in the game. I’m in control. I am showing her my world. Not getting lost in her. I need to shift back into the right headspace. So I give her a command.
“I want you bent over,” I say, my voice low. “Legs spread.”
She shoots me a teasing glance. “Like I said-"
“I know what you said, Bambina . My tone darkens, firm. “Just bend the fuck over.”
Her curves move like a slow temptation as she turns onto her stomach, her ass on full display.
And then, with deliberate ease, she spreads her legs, showing me everything .
She glances over her shoulder, eyes dark with mischief.
“Like this?”
“Yes. Just like that,” I murmur. Now close your eyes and relax.”
She obeys without hesitation, tucking her hands beneath her cheek, her lashes fluttering shut.
Perfect.
I move off the bed and cross the room to the black lacquered cabinet in the corner. As I open its doors, my collection gleams back at me—pristine, polished, and waiting.
She might not be ready for the room yet. But I know she can handle something .
What to choose, what to choose…
My spreader bar catches my eye at the back of the cabinet—sleek, black, and ready for play. I grab it, the metal rattling slightly as I move, but she doesn't peek. Doesn’t let curiosity get the best of her.
Good girl.
She was made for this.
I select an oval disc vibrator as well, already picturing how she’ll respond and how her body will react. How well she’ll handle herself when I finally take her to the room.
The thought alone has my body tightening, aching. My cock leaks.
I move back to her, pulling her gently to the edge of the bed, positioning her just where I want her. Then, kneeling behind her, I prepare to show her exactly how much she can take.
“Just relax.”
I take her ankle—delicate and small in my hand—and secure it in the soft velvet cuff.
Her breath catches. “Are you… handcuffing my ankles?”
I pause. “Do you not want me to?”
She hesitates for only a moment. “I… I do.”
“Good.”
I move to her other ankle, fastening the second cuff, my fingers grazing her skin as I secure the restraints. A shiver runs through her, tiny goosebumps rising in the wake of my touch.
“It’s not a handcuff, by the way,” I murmur, trailing a hand up the back of her bare leg, slow and deliberate. “It’s called a spreader bar. It’ll keep your legs open for me… in case what I do to you makes you want to snap them closed.”
I glide my fingers higher, teasing them along the heat between her thighs, feeling just how ready she is for me.
“Look at me,” I command, my voice thick with desire.
She presses her hands into the bed, turning over her shoulder, her dark eyes locking onto mine.
“See this?” I hold up the vibrator for her to see.
She nods, eyes flicking between it and me.
“I'm going to use this to make you come again. Then , you can tell me if you really don’t want to play with this.”
I stroke my cock slowly, deliberately. Her gaze drops, her lips parting slightly as she watches.
She wants this. Even if she’s still pretending she has control.
“Fine,” she mutters, feigning indifference. But the slight tremor in her voice gives her away. She shifts, testing the bar, adjusting to the restraint. It holds firm, locked in place—just like I have her.
I flick the vibrator on, the lowest setting buzzing softly in my hand. From where I kneel, I can see every inch of her beautiful sex, already glistening, already mine .
I press the vibrating disc to her pussy, letting it rest against her vulva.
She gasps, her body jolting, the spreader bar keeping her open.
“Oh my God.”
I press the button again, increasing the strength of the vibrations.
She tugs against the restraints instinctively, but they hold her in place.
I run the vibrator over her soft lips, slow and deliberate—up and down, up and down—until her hips start moving on their own, rocking back toward me, her beautiful ass offering itself without hesitation.
“Tell me…” My voice is low, teasing. “Do you want to come?”
“Yes,” she moans, her voice strained with need. “God, yes .”
Her fingers clutch at the bedding, desperate.
“You know what to do.”
Her breath shudders. “Please,” she begs, just like she did in my office. “Please make me come, Nicolas. Please .”
I press the button once more, turning the vibrator on as high as it goes, then press the disc firmly against her clit.
“If you insist.”
A sharp cry escapes her. Her legs instinctively try to close, but the bar keeps her open, fully exposed to me.
Her body trembles, waves of pleasure overtaking her as my name leaves her lips in a breathless, desperate cry.
“Oh my God, Nicolas.”
Her voice is breathless, wrecked.
I keep the vibrator pressed to her, drawing another climax from her trembling body. A soft whine rises in her throat—she’s past the edge, barely holding on.
I can’t wait any longer. I have to take her. Now.
“Aria,” I murmur, my control slipping. “Do you still not-”
“Fuck me.”
Her head turns, eyes locking onto mine, dark and unwavering. “I want you inside me.”
I cock a brow, dragging it out, forcing her to say it.
“Please,” she adds breathless.
I should be the one begging—because I need her. Every ounce of restraint I’ve had is unraveling. I desperately want to fuck her. I have no idea how I’ve managed to hold myself back.
The vibrator clatters to the floor as I release it, my hands working fast to unlock the cuffs from her ankles. The bar collapses with a rattle, forgotten.
I grab her hips, flipping her onto her back. She lies there, spent, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pants.
I kiss her, and just like that, she comes alive again.
The haze of her climax fades, replaced by something new—something hungry.
My fingers slide over her slick sex, and damn , she’s just so wet and ready for me.
I can’t wait any longer. I have to be inside of her. Now.
“You want me, Bambina ?” I ask because I love hearing her say it.
“Yes,” she breathes, arms winding around my neck, pulling me closer.
I slip a hand under her ass, lifting her higher onto the bed, keeping my arm beneath her lower back, holding her right where I want her.
I guide my cock toward her entrance, my breath heavy, my control razor-thin.
“I want your eyes on mine when I take you.”
She stares up at me, lids heavy with desire, her gaze full of something deeper— trust .
I press the head of my cock against her slick entrance, teasing, testing. She’s still so tight, and I’m huge and throbbing, so fucking turned on by her. I’m aching; every muscle in my body is wound tight with need.
I ease the tip of my cock inside of her, just enough to feel her.
“Please. No teasing,” she whispers, breathless.
I chuckle low and rough, but I don’t hold back.
I push deep all the way inside her pussy, swallowing the sharp gasp that escapes her lips. I love it to my bones, how tight she is. It’s perfect for my cock.
Perfect. She’s perfect.
I hold her tighter, closer—my lips brushing over her shoulder, her neck, the delicate curve of her ear.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” I murmur, unable to hold it in.
“So do you,” she breathes, and something in my chest flips and tightens.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders as I thrust harder and harder into her.
I grip the curve of her ass, lifting her hips, guiding her into my rhythm. Thrusting hard but not fast . Letting her feel everything.
Her body reacts instinctively, hips rolling with mine, her legs sliding up along my thighs before wrapping around my waist, locking us together.
She tightens her hold around my neck, her eyes fluttering shut, her head tilting to the side.
I watch her, completely captivated .
The way she moves with me, the way her body responds so perfectly —hips rising to meet every thrust as if we were made for this.
I lean down, capturing her lips in a deep, breathless kiss, our bodies moving in perfect rhythm.
The tension in my core coils tighter, the pleasure building, overwhelming, unstoppable . An orgasm clenches at my gut, rising in my core, my entire lower body tightening as the impending eruption builds.
She clenches around me; her moan lost in our kiss as I finally let go, my entire body tightening as release crashes through me. I come inside of her, my balls rising into my body as my cock spurts and jerks, filling her pussy with my semen.
But she hasn’t come again— not yet .
I pull back, my breathing ragged, and trail my lips down her body. Settling between her thighs, I taste her, flicking my tongue over her clit, determined to push her over the edge.
Her hands tangle in my hair, thighs locking around my shoulders as she arches beneath me.
I shove two fingers inside of her and lap at her clit. A broken cry escapes her lips as her body shudders.
“I'm-I’m coming—again.”
I slide back inside her, pushing deeper, drawing every last tremor from her body.
She gasps, her hands pressing weakly against my chest, her body tightening around me as the last waves of pleasure crash over her.
And then, finally, when the spasm dies out, she collapses against the bed, spent.
This time, she really sleeps.
But I’m not quite done with her yet. While she sleeps, I lean down, press a final kiss between her thighs, suck on her pussy, tasting her one last time—just for good measure.
* * *
I wake before the sun has fully claimed the sky. It’s instinct—ingrained in me from years of staying ahead, always one step in front. Ready to chase down leads, crush obstacles, and secure what’s mine. But this morning is different .
Aria is curled against my chest, her body warm and soft, molding to mine like she belongs there. Her hand rests lightly on my stomach, fingers curling unconsciously— as if she’s claiming me even in sleep .
Her scent lingers between us, sweet and intoxicating, more potent than the finest whiskey . Her steady breath grazes my collarbone, stirring something deep inside me—something no amount of power or control can suppress.
I shift slightly, careful, intending to slip out of bed without waking her.
The moment I move, her arm tightens around me.
She presses closer, a soft and innocent sigh slipping from her lips. Unaware of what she does to me.
I freeze.
For a moment, I’m caught between two worlds—the ruthless one I’ve built with blood and strategy and this quiet, fragile one lying in my arms.
It’s strange. Uncomfortable .
I’ve held guns with more ease than I hold her now.
But still—I don’t let go.
Her legs tangle with mine, and I abandon the thought of leaving.
Exhaling slowly, I sink back into the pillows and pull her closer. Her soft hair brushes against my skin, and I bury my face in it for a moment, inhaling the warmth I never knew I needed .
I realize what I already knew last night—something I tried to ignore in a pathetic attempt to keep from losing myself in her.
I’d burn the world for this.
I’d tear it apart, piece by bloody piece, just to ensure she could sleep like this—undisturbed, untouched by the weight of her family’s sins… or mine.
The thought slams into me harder than I expected, like a fist to the ribs.
I didn’t ask for this.
I didn’t ask for her to slip through the cracks in my defenses.
But now that she has—now that she’s here, warm and soft against me, her breath steady in the quiet—I know the truth.
I’m already gone .
I don’t know how long I stay like this, just watching her.
The room remains still, save for the faint rustle of sheets whenever she shifts. The curtains sway slightly from the breeze outside, but it’s her that holds my attention.
Her lips part with a soft exhale, her nose wrinkling slightly—reacting to some distant dream.
My fingers twitch with the urge to trace that wrinkle, to smooth it away. But I don’t. Not yet. I don’t want to wake her from this .
Eventually, her breathing shifts.
Her lashes flutter against her cheeks, a slow, delicate movement as she stirs, shifting slightly against me. The way she wakes is mesmerizing —like watching a flower bloom under the first light of morning. Her lips part in a quiet yawn, stretching into a lazy, soft pout.
Her hand, still resting on me, flexes slightly—fingers curling against my skin—before awareness settles in.
Before she realizes she’s clinging to me.
Her eyes, still hazy with sleep, flick up to meet mine—deep brown, softer when she’s groggy.
She blinks several times, her mind likely catching up to where she is. Who she’s pressed against. Then, a soft pink flush spreads across her cheeks as if on cue.
“You’re holding me hostage,” I murmur, my voice rough with sleep.
Her eyes widen, and she jerks her hand away as if I’ve burned her. “I wasn’t—” she starts, but the deepening blush betrays her. “You’re lying.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, but I let her cling to whatever story makes her feel better.
She pushes the covers off and sits up, her hair falling in messy waves over her shoulders. I watch as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed and stretches, the hem of her oversized shirt riding up just enough to test my restraint.
She either doesn’t notice the way I’m looking at her—or she’s pretending not to.
I push out of bed and head to the bathroom, the cool tile underfoot shaking away the remnants of sleep.
But when the hot water cascades over me, it does little to clear the thoughts running wild in my head— thoughts of her .
When I step out, a towel slung low around my waist, Aria’s sitting on the bed, scrolling through her phone.
She looks up, and for a split second, her gaze lingers— innocent but not oblivious.
Then she quickly looks away, her blush making another appearance.
I chuckle under my breath. “Like what you see?” I tease, running the towel through my hair as I head toward the walk-in closet.
“You wish ,” she shoots back, but her voice is softer than usual.
I hear her footsteps behind me, the faint creak of the floor as she hesitates in the doorway.
When I glance over my shoulder, she’s standing there, arms folded, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.
I pull a clean shirt from the rack, but before I can slip it on, she steps closer and plucks another one.
“This color looks better on you,” she says, holding a deep navy shirt. “The gray makes you look tired.”
I arch a brow. “You’re giving me fashion advice now?”
She shrugs, her fingers skimming over the rows of ties. “Someone has to. You wear a lot of dark colors.”
“It’s kind of my thing.”
She pulls out a burgundy tie and holds it up. “Try this. It’s not black, but it’s still serious.”
I take it from her, the fabric soft between my fingers.
She moves around me, methodical but relaxed, pulling a pair of tailored black pants, a matching jacket, and a crisp white shirt from the racks. She lays them out on the bench, her movements effortless, like she’s done this a hundred times.
I watch her carefully, searching for any sign that this is some kind of ploy.
But she seems genuine —lost in the moment, as if, just for a second, she’s forgotten who I am and what I do.
When she’s done, she steps back, inspecting her choices with a critical eye.
“There,” she says, satisfied. “Now you’ll look less like you’re attending a funeral.”
I chuckle, more at her tone than her words, and wait until she leaves the closet before getting dressed.
The tailored suit molds perfectly to my frame, the rich fabric settling over me like armor. As I step out, adjusting my tie, she walks up to me, her gaze flicking over me as she takes it in.
“Here,” she says, brushing my hands aside.
Her fingers move deftly, adjusting my tie with practiced ease. I watch as she concentrates, her lower lip caught between her teeth— completely unaware of how much she’s tempting me .
“Another meeting?” she asks, not looking up.
“Yes,” I murmur. “But luckily for you, it’s here in my home office. You won’t have to miss me too much.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I won’t miss you.”
I grin. “Then why do you follow me around, advising me on ties and colors? If you’re not careful, Bambina , I’ll start to think you like me.”
She scoffs, releasing the knot of the tie. “I don’t.”
She’s about to step back, but I don’t let her. I grab her waist, pulling her flush against me. A soft gasp escapes her, her hands pressing lightly against my chest. I dip my head, my voice a low whisper against her lips.
“I’ll change that.”
Then, before she can protest, I kiss her.
The kiss is slow and teasing— a test . She stiffens for a second, instincts warring with something deeper. But then, she melts.
Her fingers clutch at the fabric of my shirt, holding on like she wants this just as much as I do. Her breath hitches when I deepen the kiss, pulling her closer and savoring the warmth of her body against mine.
For a moment, it’s just her and me . No feuding families. No war waiting on the horizon. Just this . And God help me— I’m not sure I want to let it go .