Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Eleonora
Exhaling deeply, he walks straight toward me, eyes locked on my body with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. His gaze drags slowly down from my face to my chest, over the thin top that clings to my breasts, then lower to the short black shorts that barely reach mid-thigh.
His jaw clenches hard. Anger flares hot in his eyes.
“Why the fuck are you wearing that?” he growls.
I glance down at the shorts and top I’ve put on, genuinely confused. “What? You have a problem with my wardrobe now?”
“You’ve been walking around my property dressed like that?” His voice is low, dangerous. “In front of my men?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. What’s your problem?” I snap.
He doesn’t answer. He just stares, jaw grinding, chest still rising and falling from the sparring. The air between us crackles, thick and heavy with something far more dangerous than anger.
I need to say something, anything to break this unbearable tension.
“You’re a terrible fighter,” I blurt out.
Oh my God, Eleonora. Seriously? That’s what you went with?
Nico raises one dark brow, surprise flickering across his face before it melts into something far more predatory. “Is that so?”
I double down because my mouth clearly has a death wish. “Yeah. Your footwork is sloppy, and you drop your left shoulder every time you throw a right cross. It’s obvious. Anyone with half a brain could see the opening.”
For a second I think he might snap at me.
Then he laughs.
A real, low, rough laugh that vibrates through his chest and does terrible, wicked things to my insides. The sound is dark and rich, and I hate how much I like it. How much I want to hear it again.
“Maybe you should show me how it’s done then,” he says, voice dripping with challenge.
I open my mouth to backtrack, but he’s already moving.
He grabs my wrist and pulls me toward the sparring mat where he’d just been fighting. His grip is firm, warm, and sends a jolt straight between my legs.
“Come on, princess,” he says, tugging me onto the grass. “Show me what you’ve got.”
I follow him, pulse racing. I know very little about actual sparring, just a few moves my sisters and I secretly copied from watching Papa’s men train.
We used to practice in the garden when no one was looking. But this? This is nothing like that.
Now my big mouth has gotten me into something I’m not sure I can handle.
Especially not with Nico standing in front of me, shirtless, sweaty, and looking at me like he wants to devour me whole.
We start circling each other on the grass. I try my best, throwing punches and attempting to dodge, but I can tell he’s being deliberately easy on me, holding back, moving slower, almost toying with me.
“I hear you were begging to be let out of the house,” he says, voice low as he blocks my weak attempt at a strike.
“Being cooped up isn’t exactly good for my mental health,” I snap, breathing harder as I try to land a hit.
He catches my wrist effortlessly and spins me. “You’re my prisoner. I don’t care about your mental health.”
“So you keep telling me,” I shoot back, twisting in his grip, “and yet here you are, sparring with me like I’m your guest.”
A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Maybe I’m trying to figure you out.”
“I thought you already had me all figured out.”
In a blur of movement, he tackles me from behind. One powerful arm wraps around my waist, yanking me back against his hard, sweat-slicked chest. The impact knocks the breath out of me. His other hand slides down, fingers splaying possessively over my stomach as he pulls me flush against him.
“I just figured out you’re shitty at sparring,” he whispers hotly against my ear, lips brushing the shell, “and apparently everything else.”
His hand moves lower. He cups me between my legs, palm pressing firmly against my pussy through the thin fabric of my shorts. I gasp sharply, my whole body jolting at the sudden, intimate contact.
“What?” he murmurs, voice dark and filthy as his fingers start to move in slow, teasing circles. “No response on how terrible you are?”
I can’t speak. My knees weaken as he strokes me through the shorts, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine.
I’m getting wet, embarrassingly, shamefully wet, and the fabric is so thin I know he can feel it. He presses harder, rubbing my clit, and a broken moan slips from my throat.
He groans softly in approval. “Fuck, I like you like this… all quiet and breathy.”
His fingers keep working me, slow and relentless, pressing the soaked fabric against my swollen clit. My hips twitch involuntarily, chasing the sensation. I grab onto his forearm for support, nails digging into his skin as my knees threaten to buckle.
“Nico…” I cry out, his name falling from my lips like a plea.
“Yeah,” he growls, voice rough with satisfaction. “Say it again. That’s the only time I’ve heard you talk to me without anger.”
He kisses the side of my neck, open-mouthed, hot, and wet, then scrapes his teeth along my pulse point.
I tilt my head to the side without thinking, giving him more access.
His hand never stops moving between my legs, stroking me through the shorts until I’m panting, trembling, shamefully close to the edge.
I should push him away. I should hate this.
Instead, all I can do is moan his name again as his fingers press harder, circling faster, driving me closer and closer to losing control.
The relentless pressure of his fingers circling my clit through the thin, soaked fabric of my shorts pushes me right to the edge. My thighs tremble violently. My breath comes in short, desperate gasps.
“Nico—” I cry out, his name breaking on my lips as pleasure crashes over me like a wave.
My whole body jerks and spasms against him.
White-hot ecstasy explodes between my legs, flooding through me in powerful pulses that make my vision blur.
My knees completely give out, but his strong arm stays locked around my waist, holding me upright against his hard, sweaty chest. I would have collapsed without him.
I’ve made myself come before, but nothing has ever felt like this. So intense. So shattering. And he didn’t even touch me skin-to-skin. Just his hand through my shorts, his voice in my ear, his body pressed against mine.
I’m still shaking, gasping for air, when a phone starts ringing somewhere nearby.
Nico swears under his breath, low and frustrated. His arm tightens around me for one possessive second… then he reluctantly lets go and steps back to answer the call.
The moment he leaves me, reality sinks into me like cold water.
What the hell did I just do? I just came on his hand. On the grass. In broad daylight. Moaning his name like some desperate, wanton thing.
Shame burns through me. I don’t wait for him to finish the call. The second his back is turned, I bolt.
My legs are shaky, my thighs slick, heart pounding as I sprint back toward the house. I don’t stop until I reach my bedroom, slamming the door behind me even though I know it won’t lock from the inside.
I lean back against the wood, chest heaving, trying to catch my breath.
My body is still tingling. My pussy is still throbbing with aftershocks. And all I can think about is how much I want him to do it again.
God help me. I’m completely fucked.
Nico
I can’t stop thinking about her.
The way she fell apart in my arms on the training field, trembling, moaning my name, soaking my fingers through those flimsy shorts. I would’ve gone much further if Marco’s fucking phone call hadn’t interrupted us.
I wanted to rip those shorts down, drop to my knees, and taste her right there on the grass. I wanted to bury myself inside her until she screamed.
Even now, hours later, my hand still smells like her, that sweet, musky scent of her arousal. I lift it to my nose without thinking, inhaling deeply as the car speeds along the highway. Just a hint, but it’s enough to make my cock twitch again.
Get it together, Nico.
My driver’s voice cuts through the haze. “We’re here, Boss.”
I look out the window. We’ve arrived at one of my warehouses on the outskirts of the city, a large, nondescript building surrounded by high fencing and security lights. Perfect for discreet operations.
I step out of the car, still trying to shove thoughts of Eleonora out of my head.
She asked me what would happen to her when this was all over.
I told her I didn’t know, because I honestly don’t.
There’s a dark, possessive part of me that doesn’t want to let her go at all.
A part I can’t afford to examine right now.
Marco is already waiting at the main door.
“Everything accounted for?” I ask as I approach.
He nods. “All the product came in clean. Three hundred kilos, pure. No missing weight, no tampering. The new route through Jersey worked better than expected.”
“Good. We need more consistent means to bring it in,” I say, walking inside with him. “That’s why we need those ports. The Caruso shipping lanes are the key. Once we force Massimo to hand them over, we control the entire East Coast flow.”
Marco falls in step beside me. “We’re also expanding the cleaning operation.
The new nightclub in Manhattan is pulling in serious cash.
Restaurants are doing even better, especially the ones in Brooklyn and Queens.
We’re running three new ones through shell companies.
Should be enough to wash the next big shipment without raising flags. ”
I nod. “Keep the restaurants clean on paper. Use them for the high-volume stuff. The clubs can handle the riskier money. Just make sure the books look legitimate. I don’t need the feds sniffing around right now.”
We walk deeper into the warehouse, past stacked crates and armed men who nod respectfully as we pass.
I stop and turn to Marco. “Any word from Caruso?”
“Not yet. But he’s sweating, knowing we have his daughters.”