Chapter 9 IZZY #2
He pushes up as I sink down, filling me inch by inch, stretching my walls around his thickness until I'm seated fully, our hips flush.
“Feel that, Izzy?” he says, voice gravelly, eyes locked on where we're joined. “That’s how fucking hard you make me.”
I nearly come then and there.
I start to move, rolling my hips in a slow grind, feeling every ridge of him drag inside me. I’m chasing my pleasure, trying to come as fast as I can, because I need it.
But Nico doesn't let me set the pace for long. His hands clamp on my hips, fingers bruising as he lifts me up and slams me back down.
“Like this. Take it all.”
He guides me deliberately at first, up and down, controlling the depth, then picks up speed, thrusting up to meet each descent.
I grind down harder, chasing the friction against my clit, the pressure building again deep inside.
“You feel so tight around my cock,” he breathes, one hand sliding up to pinch my nipple, twisting it until I gasp. Sweat slicks our skin where we touch, the room filling with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh and my moans. “So fucking perfect.”
Then he shifts, flipping us over in one fluid move, pinning me beneath him on the cushions.
He hooks my legs over his shoulders, folding me nearly in half, and drives back in with a single hard thrust. “Gonna fuck you until you can't think,” he promises, pounding into me relentlessly, each stroke deep and forceful, his balls slapping against my ass.
The angle hits my g-spot perfectly, sparks exploding with every plunge. I claw at his back, nails digging in, body arching as the tension snaps. I come hard around his cock, walls pulsing, squeezing him tight as I gasp and shudder.
But he doesn't stop. He keeps thrusting through my climax, bringing me to the edge again and again, until I lose count. Until I’m so lost in pleasure all I know is the feel of his cock inside me and the shape of his name on my tongue.
“Nico,” I moan. “Nico, please.”
And finally—finally—he buries himself deep, groaning low as he comes. Hot spurts fill me, pulsing inside as he rides out his release, body tense above mine.
Just like that, I come again.
The world blurs after that. Pleasure crashes over me, and I pass out, boneless on the divan.
When I wake, the room is dim, my body cleaned up, a soft blanket draped over me. The door is locked, and a spare key sits on the table beside a glass of water.
It’s the most gentlemanly one-night stand I’ve ever had.
The only one, a nagging little voice at the back of my head reminds me. You came for this, remember?
Right. That’s the birthday gift I wanted to give myself tonight.
I wanted to lose my virginity.
I wonder if Nico could tell. If it would have made things awkward if I’d told him, or if he would have found it hot.
Well. No point wondering. I doubt I’ll ever find him again.
The thought makes an ache bloom in my chest, one I wasn’t ready for.
I dress slowly, legs shaky, replaying every second. Nico is gone, but the throb between my thighs—and the thrill—lingers.
Only later do I learn who he is: Niccolò Neri, owner of the club, and a name whispered in shadows. A mafioso with power that runs deep in the city. The kingpin of the Bronx.
And two months after, staring at two pink lines on a stick, I realize he left me with more than a memory.
Noah is finally asleep after the chaos of tonight, and I am sitting across from Nico at my tiny kitchen table with two cups of coffee neither of us has touched.
Steam curls faintly upward from the mugs, fading slowly into the dim kitchen light.
The clock on the wall ticks louder than it should, every second stretching the silence between us just a little farther.
My mind keeps running in frantic circles.
He knows.
Or at least he suspects. The timeline, the birthmark, the way Noah looks so much like him it makes my stomach twist. I’ve spent six years building careful walls around this secret, convincing myself it was safer for everyone if Nico never knew.
Now he’s sitting across from me in my kitchen, and those walls feel paper-thin.
Nico breaks the quiet first, his voice even. "How old is Noah exactly?"
I swallow, forcing the words out. "Six years, three months, fifteen days."
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't look away. The math is undeniable.
"I'm sorry," I blurt, tears pricking my eyes. "I should've told you. I was scared, and you were... you. I didn't know how."
He holds up a hand, stopping me. "Don't. Just promise me one thing."
"Anything."
"You tell no one he's mine. Not a word."
The words land like a slap.
For a second I just stare at him, trying to make sense of what I heard. My brain runs through every other possible interpretation before settling on the one that hurts the most.
Of course.
Of course, that’s what he wants.
He’s Niccolò Neri, one of the most powerful men in the city, a man whose life is built on control and secrecy and a thousand dangers I don’t even know the names of. A child is a complication. A woman like me is an even bigger one.
I feel something twist painfully in my chest.
Six years of doing this alone flash through my mind in an instant: late-night fevers, daycare payments, tiny shoes by the door, Noah asking about a father I never knew how to explain.
And now the man who gave him those eyes is sitting across from me asking me to erase him. This is not, at all, how I expected this to go. How did you expect it to go? I thought, blowing out a breath. I had no fancy dreams about this moment, but I just didn’t expect to hear those words from him.
I lean back slightly in my chair without meaning to, like putting a little distance between us might dull the sting.
Fine. I have protected Noah alone this long; I can keep going.
"I promise I won't say a thing."
I force a small shrug, like the whole conversation doesn’t matter nearly as much as it does.
“You’re free,” I add, because if he wants an easy exit I might as well give it to him. “Forget us, if that’s what you want.”
The words taste bitter the second they leave my mouth, but I don’t take them back. If this is where the story ends, I’d rather pretend I’m the one closing the door.
Across the table, Nico’s expression changes.
His eyes flash. He leans forward, voice low and intense. "I haven't forgotten you, Izzy. I could never."
The air between us changes, the tension thickening into something warmer, heavier. His gaze drops to my mouth before lifting again, and the look in his eyes makes my pulse stumble.
Seven years disappear in the space of a heartbeat.
I remember the way his hands felt that night. The way his voice sounded when he warned me away even while pulling me closer. The way I walked out of that room thinking I would never see him again, carrying something of him with me without even knowing it yet.
And now, he’s here.
Looking at me like he never stopped.
My lungs forget how to work.
I can feel the pull between us tightening, invisible but undeniable, the same magnetic tension that filled that private room all those years ago. It stretches between us now, fragile and dangerous at the same time.
And I know he feels it too.
Nico pushes his chair back and stands.
Two steps bring him around the table. The kitchen suddenly feels too small to contain both of us.
His hand lifts and cups my face, warm and steady against my cheek. His thumb brushes lightly along my skin, the touch almost careful, like he’s testing whether I’m real.
“Tell me to go,” he says quietly, his voice breaking just a little on the last word. “Before we do something we both regret.”
The words hit me like an echo from another life.
That same warning.
That same moment.
My chest tightens with the memory of it, the ghost of that night flickering through me so vividly it almost hurts.
“Will I?” I whisper. My voice sounds softer than I expect. “Regret it?”
For a second he just looks at me.
I see the recognition there, the memory passing through him too. He remembers exactly what I said the last time he asked me that question.
He knows now that I remember it too.
His throat moves as he swallows. “Definitely,” he murmurs.
I don’t tell him to go.
He doesn’t step back.
Instead, he leans down and kisses me.
And the moment his mouth touches mine, every year we spent pretending the other didn’t exist collapses into nothing.