Chapter 11 Interlude on a Balcony
Interlude on a Balcony
Once again, I carefully slink through the city, my movements hidden by the inky blackness of the night and the shadows cast from flickering streetlamps and the waning moonlight.
The sane portion of my brain continues to rail at me for foolishly returning to the Medina house, but it’s no closer to winning than it has been.
I’ve almost given up trying to listen to it. Almost.
I managed very little sleep, staying awake until the early morning, my brain going round and round with every argument for and against coming here again.
When I’d finally fallen asleep, I’d had nightmares and woke tired, still not sure what to do.
All of this second-guessing myself is disturbing.
Mainly because I promised myself I wouldn’t do that again.
But the lack of clarity is unnerving and annoying.
Emotions I’m becoming all too familiar with.
My more-than-passing interest in Nico is understandable.
He’s handsome, smart, witty, and charming.
And an excellent lover. But I’m honest enough with myself to admit that physical urges could be managed, if that’s all this was.
It would be easy to sneak into Nico’s rooms now and then, mutually satisfy our needs, and go about my business afterward. No distractions, no ties.
But there are reasons I can’t stop thinking about him. And my resistance to exploring those feelings weakens with each interaction. This very situation is why the Shabah have rules regarding entanglements. Nico is a distraction. A weakness. And it could get us both killed.
And yet here I am, standing at the front gate of the Medina residence for a third time.
I monitor the house for any sign that someone is moving around inside or on the grounds.
When there’s no indication that anyone is awake, I place my palm against the gate’s lock and let myself in, skirting along the edge of the house to the trellis I used last night.
Before I ascend to the balcony, I spare a quick glance through the main garden in case someone is taking a late-night stroll.
While I don’t see anyone, I do notice the various plants and flowers that border the narrow walkways.
Several are incredibly poisonous if ingested.
Their delicate scents surround me as I quietly climb the makeshift ladder and peer over the thick stone railing.
Nico is sitting at a small table on the wide balcony, facing the enclosed garden, feet propped on a second chair. He’s reading a book, seemingly recovered from the prior night’s drunken carousing. I carefully step over the balustrade and lean against it.
“I wondered if you would really come.” He removes his feet from the chair and sets the book on the table next to an untouched glass of wine before turning to face me.
“I promised I would, and I keep my promises.” I conveniently overlook the times I seriously considered not showing up.
“Especially promises made on the ashes of someone’s mother.
” He winces, embarrassed by the reminder, but says nothing.
“You have exceptional hearing, by the way. Most wouldn’t have noticed my approach. ”
He waves a hand in dismissal. “I was not that engrossed in the book. Truthfully, I was staring at the words and listening for you.”
I push off the railing and walk to the table, lifting the glass of wine, inhaling its aroma before taking a small sip. Rich fruit and spice flavors flow over my palate. “Mmm. Mardira Red. A nice vintage.”
Nico lightly hooks his fingers with mine.
“I apologize for last night. I usually do not drink like that. Against my better judgement, Marek convinced me to go out, and he kept buying more wine, and—well you saw the results.” I scowl at the mention of Marek.
“I am usually more careful. And Marek was not as drunk, so I was safe.”
“Why are you apologizing to me? You’re a grown man and owe me nothing.
” I try to leave it at that but can’t. “Do you go out with Marek a lot?” The words come out harsher than I intend, and I relax my fingers, letting Nico’s hand fall away.
Jealousy is an unfamiliar sensation, and I don’t care for it at all.
To mask my discomfort, I reach for the bottle of wine, pouring more into the glass.
Thank the Founder, he doesn’t seem to notice either my tone or my discomfort. “Marek is my best friend. We have known each other all our lives.”
I continue to examine the wine, not yet composed enough to look at Nico. “And you’re just friends?” With luck, my tone expresses only vague interest in the answer.
His furrowed brow and clear confusion at the question ease my concern. “Yes. Best friends, but only friends. Why do you ask?”
There is no way I’m answering that honestly.
“I’m merely putting all the pieces together.
I’d prefer it if jealous lovers aren’t bursting in trying to kill us while we’re intimately occupied.
I’ve had enough of that.” I flash him a wide grin that I don’t feel and pray to the Founder that he buys it.
When I glance at him, Nico is sheepishly trying to meet my gaze. “Marek only acts like that when he is drunk. I pay no attention to it.”
Not finding any guile in his gaze or posture, I can’t help but believe him. I card my fingers through his soft curls, and he leans into my touch, sending a pleasant rush through me. It’s exhilarating to be this close to him again. “So how much of last night do you remember?”
He grimaces and chews on his lower lip. “A bit. You helped me into the house. You put me to bed. A few other flashes of things I might have said, which I am hoping desperately to forget or pretend were a dream.” He glances up at me through his long lashes.
“I thought you promised to come back tonight but given how inebriated I was, it could have been a dream.”
“You were quite chatty. And very handsy, which under more sober circumstances would have been something I’d have encouraged.
” It looks like he wants to shrink in on himself, and I take pity on him.
“Don’t worry. I’m glad I was there to help you get home safely.
What if those thugs from before had cornered you in that state? You need to be more careful.”
Standing, he takes a tentative step toward me. “I will. I promise.” He runs a knuckle along my jaw. “Thank you for helping me.”
“You’re welcome.” The way he’s looking at me, like he wants to consume me, has my heart racing and adrenaline pumping through my veins.
He gathers me into his arms, and the barest brush of his lips against my ear has me half hard almost instantly.
“You took such good care of me last night. Let me return the favor.” My whole body tingles as he presses his lips to mine.
The kiss starts gently but soon becomes hungry and frantic.
He tugs at the front of my pants, and I grin, though I don’t make any attempt to help.
Instead, I reach for him, only to have my hands gently pushed away. “No, Bello. Not tonight.”
With a small shove, he nudges my pants over my hips, and they drop to the ground. I’m reminded of how rapidly things progressed the last time we were in a similar situation. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
Nico slides his fingers into my hair, tugging gently, as his other hand lightly brushes along my thickening cock. “Not when I know what I want.”
Oh, Founder, how I adore his confidence. “And right now, you know what you want?” Thankfully one of us does.
His warm breath caresses my skin as he nuzzles into my neck, just below my ear. “Yes. Tonight, I want to take care of you. Will you let me?”
He lifts the hem of my shirt, and between the two of us, we manage to tug it over my head and drop it to the tile floor.
I palm his cock through his pants only to have him step away with a small shake of his head.
For a moment, he openly admires my body.
Not one to shy away from admiration, I arch my back and stretch my arms above my head, enjoying his obvious approval.
Some witty comment is on the tip of my tongue, but the words are swept away by another of his hungry kisses, which I return eagerly, my own need growing with the increasing energy between us.
Dropping to his knees, he settles between my spread legs, nuzzling into the crease of my thigh. “You smell good.” That shouldn’t be as erotic as it is. I’ve done this and had it done to me numerous times before. Now is no different. And yet it truly is.
“Bello, sit. Please. Let me care for you.” His voice is deep and silky, and without hesitation, I let him gently push me toward the empty chair.
I slide into the seat, watching curiously as he walks into the house, disappearing for several minutes.
I’m about to stand up and go after him when he reappears carrying a bowl, a towel over his arm, and something clutched in one hand.
There’s a sloshing of liquid as he sets the basin on the ground, lining up a cloth and a bar of soap next to it.
He picks up my foot, removes my boot, and tosses it through the archway into his room.
“Nico?” His only response is a grin as he repeats the process on my other foot, slides my pants from around my ankles, and tosses them after my boots.
He sets my feet into the bowl of warm water, gently washing them with the cloth and cake of soap.
The scent of sandalwood and myrrh travel on the warm steam.
I’m still confused about why he’s doing this, but at least it’s pleasant, if completely unexpected.
Moments later, he’s drying my feet and moving the basin out of reach.
I am not at all prepared for what comes next.