Chapter 24
Nick
“Goddamn I’m starving,” I whined as we headed back toward the house. All the ranch hands had gone in a half hour before, the dinner bell ringing from the bunkhouse where Mom fed them each day. “Do we have any of those chicken cutlets left over from last night?”
Dante grinned, shaking his head. “Yeah. I managed to save two or three before you ate them all.”
“They’re fucking good,” I replied, wrapping my arm around his waist. “You’re a damn good cook. I think you might be better than Mom.”
“Oh? That’s a dangerous thing to say.”
I couldn’t help grinning like an idiot. “That’s why I’ll deny it if you ever bring it up.”
“Well, my Nonna would be proud to hear I’m keeping the family recipes alive. Even if it’s only out here in nowhere Montana.” He gave me a sideways glance. “But she’d be mortified that I’ve started buying store bought gnocchi.”
I laughed, pulling him closer as we walked. “I won’t tell if you won’t. Besides, nobody out here knows the difference.”
“Angelo would,” Dante pointed out. “He grew up eating the real stuff too.”
“Angelo thinks everything you make is amazing. Pretty sure you could serve him cardboard and he’d compliment your seasoning.”
We reached the porch of the tiny house, and Dante paused before opening the door, turning to face me.
His dark eyes caught the afternoon sun, and my heart began to race.
His hair was mussed from the wind and his cheeks flushed from the day’s work.
He was looking more at home in his worn jeans and flannel than he ever had in the expensive suits he’d arrived in.
“What?” he asked, catching me staring.
“Nothing,” I said, but I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face. “Just thinking about how different things are now. From when you first showed up.”
His expression softened, and he reached up to cup my jaw. “Good different or bad different?”
“Obviously good,” I said without hesitation. “Really good.”
He kissed me then, soft and sweet, and I melted into it like I always did. When we finally pulled apart, he was grinning.
“Come on,” he said, opening the door. “Let’s get you fed before you waste away to nothing.”
I followed him inside, immediately kicking off my boots by the door. The house smelled like Italian food and olive oil from his dinner the night before. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to that, but I loved it so much that I didn’t care. He headed straight for the kitchen, pulling open the fridge.
“Looks like there’s two cutlets,” he confirmed, holding up the container. “You want them cold or should I heat them up?”
“Heat them up in the air fryer,” I said, moving to wash my hands at the sink. “And maybe make some pasta to go with it? That ricotta kind is really good.”
“Demanding,” he teased, but he was already pulling out ingredients. “What am I, your personal chef?”
“You’re my husband,” I corrected, coming up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist. “And you happen to be a damn good cook. I’m just taking advantage of my marital benefits.”
He leaned back against me, and I felt him relax in my hold. “Marital benefits, huh? Is that all I’m good for?”
“Well,” I said, pressing a kiss to his neck, “you’re pretty good at other things too.”
“Other things,” he repeated, his voice dropping lower. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”
I slid my hands up under his shirt, feeling the warm skin beneath. His breath hitched, and I felt a surge of satisfaction at affecting this east coast mobster so easily.
“You know,” I murmured against his ear, “ranch work. Paperwork. Balancing the books.”
He turned in my arms, his eyes dark with heat. “Is that what you want to talk about right now? Paperwork?”
“Not even a little bit,” I admitted, already pulling him closer.
The cold chicken cutlets were forgotten on the counter as he kissed me, hard and hungry, his hands fisting in my shirt.
I walked him backward until his hips hit the counter, then lifted him onto it without breaking the kiss.
He wrapped his legs around my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I could feel how hard he was already.
“I thought you were starving,” he gasped when I moved my mouth to his neck.
“I am,” I said, working at the buttons of his shirt. “Just not for food anymore.”
He laughed, breathless, his head falling back as I kissed down his throat. “You’re insatiable.”
“You complaining?”
“Not even a little bit.”
I got his shirt open and pushed it off his shoulders, taking a moment to just look at him.
The bruising from his ribs was completely gone now, leaving nothing but smooth, tanned skin.
I traced my fingers over the spot where the worst of it had been, remembering how terrified I’d been in that hospital.
“Hey,” he said softly, catching my hand. “I’m okay. It’s all better now.”
“I know,” I said, lacing our fingers together. “I just... sometimes I still can’t believe this is real. That you’re real.”
His expression softened, and he pulled me in for another kiss, this one slower, deeper. When he pulled back, his eyes were bright.
“I’m real,” he promised. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
I believed him. God help me.
I kissed him again, pouring everything I couldn’t say into it. My hands roamed over his chest, his sides, mapping every inch of him like I was trying to memorize it all. He arched into my touch, his breathing getting heavier, and I could feel the tension building between us.
“Bedroom?” I suggested, already reaching for his belt.
“Too far,” he breathed, his own hands working at my jeans. “Right here is fine.”
I didn’t argue. I got his pants open and worked them down his hips, along with his boxers, until he was bare on the counter. He looked obscene like this, spread out in our kitchen, hard and wanting, his lips swollen from my kisses.
“Fuck,” I muttered, drinking in the sight of him. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”
“Less talking,” he demanded, reaching for me. “More sucking.”
I laughed but obliged, dropping down and slipping his long, uncut cock into my mouth.
He groaned, his fingers immediately threading through my hair as I took him deeper.
The taste of him was familiar now, something I’d come to crave over the past weeks.
I worked him slowly, using my tongue the way I’d learned he liked, and felt his thighs tremble on either side of me.
“Jesus, Nick,” he gasped, his grip tightening in my hair. “Your mouth is fucking perfect.”
I hummed around him, the vibration making him curse again. His hips started to move, shallow thrusts that I encouraged by gripping his ass and pulling him closer. The counter was the perfect height for this, and I made a mental note to thank whatever contractor had installed it.
I pulled off for a moment, stroking him with my hand instead. “You taste so good,” I said, meeting his dark eyes. “Could do this all day.”
“Don’t stop then,” he breathed, guiding my head back down.
I took him deep again, relaxing my throat the way he’d taught me. He let out a strangled moan that went straight to my cock, still trapped in my jeans. I was so hard it was starting to hurt, but I had an idea on how to fix that.
“Dante?” I asked, pulling off his cock with a pop. “Can we… try something new?”
He furrowed his brow. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
“Will… Will you fuck me?”
Silence stretched between us, Dante’s cock throbbing against my chin as I stared up at him.
“Are… Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked. “I don’t want you to feel obligated. That’s a big step…”
“I’m curious,” I replied, letting the words out before I choked them back. “The noises you make and the look on your face when I fuck you… it looks… well, amazing. And I kind of want to try it.”
I watched his pupils dilate, his chest rising and falling faster. The hand in my hair loosened, then slid down to cup my face with a tenderness that made my heart clench.
“You’re serious,” he breathed, searching my eyes.
“Yeah.” I pressed a kiss to his inner thigh, feeling the muscle jump under my lips. “I want to know what it feels like.”
He made a sound low in his throat, something between a groan and a whimper. “Nick, I... fuck, you can’t just say things like that when I’m already this worked up.”
“Is that a yes?” I asked, running my hands up his thighs.
“That’s a hell yes,” he said, his voice rough. “But we need to go slow. Really slow. And if you want to stop at any point—”
“I know,” I interrupted, standing up and kissing him hard. “I trust you.”
Those three words seemed to undo something in him. He kissed me back with an intensity that stole my breath, his hands already working at my shirt, pulling it over my head. My jeans followed, and then we were both naked in the kitchen, pressed against each other, skin on heated skin.
“Bedroom,” he said, his voice commanding in a way that made my cock throb. “I’m doing this right.”
I let him lead me to the bedroom, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. This was happening. I was really going to do this. The nervous energy in my stomach mixed with anticipation, creating a cocktail of emotions I’d never felt before.
Dante pulled me onto the bed, arranging me on my back with pillows under my hips. His hands were gentle as they roamed over my body, and I could see him forcing himself to go slow when everything in him probably wanted to rush.
“You’re sure?” he asked again, settling between my legs. “We can wait. Do this another time when you’ve had more time to think about it.”
“I’ve thought about it plenty,” I admitted, my face heating. “Been thinking about it for weeks now, actually. Every time I’m inside you, I wonder what it feels like. If it’s as good as it looks.”
His eyes darkened further, and he leaned down to kiss me. “It’s better,” he promised against my lips. “So much better.”