Chapter 3
Niko
“This is pretty dope,” I admit, glancing around The Campbell. It’s a speakeasy-inspired bar and lounge located off Grand Central Station.
“There’s a pretty cool spot in Valencia that was partially inspired by this,” Bianca shares, a wistful expression crossing her face.
I take a sip of my prohibition punch. “You miss Spain?”
“Yes. And Italy. I think it’s because I’ll be visiting soon that it’s top of mind. I’m feeling a little nostalgic is all.” She shakes her head and takes a sip of her cocktail. “So…” She looks at me. “You have anything that can rival this in Chicago?”
I snicker. “Oh, New York, New York.”
Bianca rolls her eyes but doesn’t correct me.
“We have a few but I think you’d like The Gatsby. You need a password to enter and it brings you right back to the Roaring Twenties.”
“I like places like that. Where you feel like you’ve entered a different reality all together.”
“Are you a reader?”
She blushes. “That obvious?”
“What’s your favorite book?”
“The Brothers Karamazov.”
My eyebrows rise. “By the same dude who wrote Crime and Punishment?”
She rears back, her eyes widening. “Fyodor Dostoevsky. You’re a reader?”
“You’re hurting my feelings looking this shocked.” I gesture toward her surprised expression.
She blushes again and I realize that I like this version of Bianca DiBlanco—soft, playful, honest—just as much as the disciplined and ambitious version I met at the photoshoot. “Most of my friends prefer romance novels or cozy mysteries to Russian literature.”
“Mine too,” I agree. “Well, science fiction and thrillers. To be honest, I haven’t read in ages. But I enjoyed the classics we were assigned in high school and college.”
“What did you major in?” She takes another sip of her cocktail, rolling her lips together.
“History. But I didn’t graduate. I left after two years to pursue soccer. What about you?”
“Marketing.”
“Ah, makes sense.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Although fashion merchandizing would have been cool too.”
“It’s not too late.”
She shakes her head. “I like where I’m at now. It’s the first time I feel like I’m really making it—doing life—on my own. I’d never sacrifice this type of freedom and independence by upending my life.”
“So no going back to school?”
“Definitely not. I want to stay the course, focus on building the career I have, and live in New York.”
“The best city,” I chide.
She sticks her tongue out at me and I grin.
“Is that your plan too? Stay the course, focus on fútbol, and live in Germany?”
“Absolutely.” I nod. “Since I left college, playing in Europe has been my goal. I won’t risk that for anything.”
A quiet understanding passes between us. We both know what we want and where we’re going. This weekend is all there will ever be and there’s a bittersweetness to it, an acceptance, that allows me to let my guard down with Bianca. To speak freely. To just be with her.
Prohibition era cocktails lead to bubbly champagne. Bianca and I traipse around New York City, dipping into swanky lounges and grungy dive bars. Crowded nightclubs and casual neighborhood pubs.
“You can’t be serious!” she cries as I pull her into a line dance at a place I can only describe as a misplaced honky tonk.
As I naturally pick up the steps and move with the crowd, Bianca’s mouth pops open. “You are!” Accusation is heavy in her tone and I can’t help but crack up.
Grabbing my hand, she pulls me over to the bar and orders two shots of tequila. “Where the hell did you learn to line dance?”
Still laughing, I shake my head. “My best friend is from Texas. She taught me when we were kids and it’s a must every time I visit her in Dallas.”
“She?” Bianca presses.
“Ellie,” I reply. “She spent most of her childhood living with her grandma who was my neighbor. Ellie and her grandma lived across the street from me and we grew up together.”
“Oh,” she says and I can’t read the expression that crosses her face.
“Here you go.” The bartender sets down the shot glasses.
“Thanks, man.” I reach out to tap my watch and settle the bill.
Turning toward Bianca, I pause. She’s staring at me, her eyes filled with emotions I can’t read. But there’s a pull between us. A magnetism I haven’t felt before. Slowly, I reach for her hand. I run my thumb down the center of her palm before I clutch her fingers, lifting her hand to my face.
With my eyes on Bianca’s, I lower my head and drag my tongue along her wrist. She sucks in a breath and a tiny shiver dances over her skin. I fight my smile, loving that I affect her as much as I hate it because… this is only one night. One weekend, at most.
Pulling back, I grab the saltshaker and sprinkle her wrist. She watches the process intently, but she doesn’t say anything. When her eyes lift to mine, they’re expectant, almost hopeful, and something pinches in the center of my chest.
I clear my throat. “What are we toasting to?”
“To forty-eight hours in New York,” she murmurs, passing me a shot glass.
“Forty-eight hours,” I agree, clinking my shot against hers and downing the liquid.
The night is a blur after that. We dance, her back pressing into me, her ass grinding against me, and I can’t help but slide my palms down the delectable curves of Bianca’s hips.
When I wrap my arm around her waist, my palm settles on the smooth expanse of her stomach and I pull her even closer.
When she spins in my arms, pressing her chest into mine, her hands intertwine behind my head and her fingertips brush the base of my neck.
Her eyes are darker than midnight. Her mouth, a perfect rosebud. But it’s the flare of hope in her eyes that causes me to dip my head and press my mouth to hers.
I kiss Bianca DiBlanco in the early morning hours on a street corner on the Lower East Side. And from the first taste, I know it won’t be nearly enough.
“Come home with me,” she murmurs against my mouth.
Bianca steps back and laces her fingers with mine. We walk briskly until we reach her place. Slipping inside her building, I back her into the elevator. She giggles as her back meets the corner of the small space.
“What floor?” I nearly pant.
“Four.”
I press the button and turn toward her. Her fingers hook into the belt loops of my jeans and she tugs me closer, until I’ve cornered her completely.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” she sighs into my neck.
“Absolutely nothing,” I promise.
“It’s just a weekend.”
“Forty-eight hours.”
The elevator dings and the doors open.
Our eyes hold and another promise passes between our gazes.
One weekend. No strings. Just this.
I hold the elevator door as Bianca steps in front of me, unlocking her apartment door.
When she steps over the threshold, she glances at me over her shoulder and I pause, working a swallow.
I know this means nothing. It can’t. And yet, a part of me is caught off guard by how badly I want to savor this night with her.
Not rush through it. Not roll away and lope back to my hotel when it’s finished.
But be truly present in it, whatever the hell it is, with her.
“Are you coming?” Her tone is husky. Waiting.
I scurry inside her apartment and kick the door shut behind me.
Then, Bianca DiBlanco is on me and she’s pure perfection.
My hands are in her hair. Hers are gripping my hips. Our mouths come together in a kiss that thrums with promise. I kiss her deeply, slipping my tongue into her mouth as she arches her neck to give me more access.
Her fingers pop the button on my jeans. I tug on the hem of her crop top, pulling it off her frame. She pushes my jeans over my hips as I unclasp her bra.
I step back half a step to witness how undeniably sexy Bianca is. Topless, with high, full breasts, and those baggy black pants riding low on her hips, she wears a cloak of confidence that makes my mouth water.
“Lose your shirt,” she commands.
I grip the back of my shirt and pull it off, discarding it on the floor.
“Boxer briefs,” she comments, staring right at my cock which is already half tenting in my black boxer briefs.
I smirk. “The best of both worlds.”
She snorts.
“Take off your pants.” I lift my chin in her direction.
Bianca bites her bottom lip and I nearly groan at the visual. As much as I want to reach out and pull those pants off her hips, I hold back. Wait. Watch.
She plucks at the bow to loosen the drawstring. Then, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband and moves the material over her curves. When a bright red lace thong is the only fabric on her body, I close the space between us.
“You like red?” I murmur, palming the center of her back.
“It’s my favorite color.”
“A little danger, a little passion.”
“Exactly.”
I smirk right before I kiss her again. Hard and unyielding.
She winds her arms around my neck and jumps into my arms. My palm grasps her ass as I hitch her closer to my body and begin to move through her apartment.
“Left,” she guides.
My eyes fly around the space, but I can’t make out much in the dark. Just that her place is small, tidy, and understated. But when I move through the door to her bedroom, pieces of her personality are on full display.
Her dresser is cluttered with picture frames. A chair sits in the corner of her bedroom, piled with clothes. A woven rug rests at the base of her bed.
“I’m over here,” she murmurs, guiding my face back to hers.
“Sorry,” I admit. “I was checking out your space.”
“You can do that after you check me out.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I capture her lips once more and lay her on her bed.
She reaches for me and I drop over her, deepening our kiss. I grasp her leg behind her knee and hitch it higher, bending her leg as I settle between her thighs.
Our kiss turns needy and I feel myself harden fully. Tearing my mouth from hers, I kiss a path down the column of her neck, between her breasts, before latching on to one rosy nipple.
Bianca’s hand grips the back of my head as she arches into me. I gently nibble the underside of her breast as I work one hand between us, pulling her lacy thong to the side to dip my fingers inside.
The sound of her arousal colors the air as my fingers slip through her want.
“Fuck,” she murmurs, dropping her head back. “I need this, Karas.”
“I’m gonna give it to you, sweetheart,” I promise, a little caught off guard by how receptive she is.
I give her other breast the same treatment as I stroke her slowly, loving how she squirms beneath me. As I drop to my knees on the side of her bed, I tug her right to the edge. She sits halfway up as her eyes fly to mine. “You don’t have to—”
“Lie back.” I cut her off, hooking one of her legs over my shoulder. Slipping my palms under her ass, I lift her to my watering mouth and drag my tongue through her folds.
“Oh, God,” she cries out. But she collapses back against the mattress and her body relaxes.
I feast on her sweetness, hardening to the point of painful with every delirious gasp that falls from her lips.
When I push two fingers inside her and suck on her clit, she swears loudly, clutching at my hair. Grinning against her pussy, I blow lightly on her clit.
“You taste like honey, Bianca DiBlanco.”
“Don’t stop,” she commands.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You, this, more,” she moans.
It’s a heady feeling, being the man responsible for a woman like Bianca’s undoing.
“Okay, sweetheart. I got you,” I promise, nipping at her inner thigh. Then, I continue my ministrations, driving her higher and higher until she shatters against my tongue and I lap up her sweet want.
“Oh, God. Niko,” she mutters as she comes down from her orgasm. “Niko, please.”
“Say my name again,” I demand, enjoying the sound of my name on her lips after I made her come.
“Get over here and I will.” She reaches for me.
Chuckling, I move over her frame.
“Niko.” Bianca wraps her legs around my hips and deftly flips us so she’s straddling my hips. “It’s my turn.” She clasps our hands together and brings them over my head.
I lift my head to suck one delicious peak of her breast into my mouth. Flicking my tongue over her nipple I release her with an audible pop. “I’m ready for you.”
“Good.” She sighs, her voice lighthearted. She reaches over to her bedside table and grabs a condom. She rolls it on me expertly and I keep my mouth shut from asking her who she’s buying condoms for because it’s none of my damn business.
Besides, she could be purchasing them for herself. And I chase away the flicker of irritation that rises in my bloodstream at that thought.
It doesn’t matter. It’s one weekend. No strings.
Bianca lowers herself on top of me in the next breath and any thought I had dies a sudden death. Because this woman, this gorgeous, witty, complicated woman, begins to move over me and I can’t focus on anything other than the perfection of this moment.