Chapter 22
Open-Door Love Scene
He hastily tugged the ruined garment from my shoulders and brushed his knuckles under my breasts. He moaned. I shivered. Nico had barely touched me with anything but his burning, twinkly eyes, and I was panting.
Then he bent, extended his tongue, and licked a circle around my right nipple. It was my turn to moan. I grabbed his shoulders and felt them work under my fingers. He was cutting me out of my pants.
That was also hot.
When my outer layer was peeled away, he cupped me through my leggings and I arched against his hand.
“I can’t wait to taste you,” he whispered against my stomach, allowing his hot breath to spill over my chest, igniting every inch of my skin. “I’ve always wondered what you taste like.” I could tell he was speaking mostly to himself, but his words drove me insane.
His thumbs curled into my leggings and underwear as he yanked them downward, his breathing uneven, excited, mirroring my own.
I fumbled for the front of his pants, but he moved beyond my reach.
Instead, he roughly trapped me against the plush, velvet wall of the lift and kneeled between my legs.
He hooked my legs over his shoulders and supported my bottom with his strength.
I sucked in a sharp breath as his tongue made contact with my center, and I nearly broke into a thousand pieces when he hummed against me. I gripped the wall but could find no purchase. My hands grabbed fruitlessly—his shoulders, my thighs, his hair.
“Nico!”
He ignored my plea as he teased me with his tongue, his fingers, his breath—he was both frantic and languid in his exploration.
Every time I felt close, he left me breathless on the cliff by backing away, slowing his strokes to playful caresses; he wound me upward and left me dangling on the edge of reason, teasing me in lovemaking the way he teased me in life.
I tried moving, pressing into him, rubbing against his mouth, but all I could do was groan in frustration.
At one point I heard him laugh—a low, happy vibration—and in that moment, I wanted to throttle him.
Finally, because he decided it was time, he sent me crashing into oblivion, hooking his finger and rubbing, stroking, licking, sucking.
My body shook, tensed, twisted then exploded. I cried out; I cried his name. My legs gripped the sides of his face like a vice, and nonsensical words were wrung from me that sounded distant, feral, and utterly unrecognizable.
Before I’d completely descended from the clouds, he steadied me with one hand and made quick work of his pants with the other as he stood.
I was circling back to earth, and the sight of him, of his body against mine, his wet lips, his hooded eyes, made my insides tighten with an indescribably striking pain.
But then I noticed his smile. The bastard was giving me the boldest, most brazen, self-satisfied grin I’d ever seen. He was obviously proud of himself.
Freaking Nico!
I reached for him and he hissed but then he pressed himself into my palm; his smile wavered.
I arched an eyebrow and watched his face.
He appeared uncertain, lost—hesitant, even.
I touched him, caressed him, teased him by sliding his hardness between my legs.
He growled then sucked in a sharp breath as I brought his fingers—which moments ago had been inside me—to my mouth and sucked, swirling my tongue between his index and middle fingers.
My eyes were still half-lidded, hazy. Tremors shook my core, but I wasn’t about to give him satisfaction without a little retaliation.
I slid against him; his fingers flexed on my backside. “God, I want you.”
“I know I’m good, but I’m not God, Nico.”
A tortured chuckle shook his chest, and he pressed me against the wall with his body with intimidating strength. I enjoyed the delicious, sweet torture of his skin against mine, and the friction of our mating. I bit the tip of his finger and scratched my nails down his side.
He hissed. “Be nice.”
“Nope.” I squeezed him, my hand caught between us, my thumb rubbing circles around his tip.
“Elizabeth….” My name was an appeal, a prayer; he looked like he was in pain.
His pleading eyes melted my resolve. I slackened my grip and allowed him to lift me off my feet—which he did seemingly with complete ease—until I straddled him, my legs around his waist, my back against the lush fabric of the wall.
“Elizabeth.” He said my name again, his eyes wide, searching. “I love you so much.”
“I know, Nico.” I nodded once, caressed his cheek with my fingers. His forehead touched mine. I arched as he entered me and we both gasped.
I kissed him, hard. I loved this man. I wanted all of him, everywhere, inside me, surrounding me, always. I wanted to breathe him in, own him, and possess him utterly. I wanted to be everything to him, just as he was to me.
We easily found our rhythm, and my legs gripped his waist. His hands explored the peaks and valleys of my body with a covetous command, his thumbs drawing circles against my tightened nipples.
He bit me fiercely when my nails dug into his shoulders then he soothed the abused flesh with his tongue.
Our position pushed my breasts forward, and he lavished them with hot, wet kisses.
He drew out my moans and sighs. I knew I was close; I could feel the tightrope strain and pull, and I swore to God that I would beat him to death if he teased me now. My knees began to shake. I pulled his hair, forced his gaze to mine.
I was overwhelmed by both happiness and sadness as I gazed into his beautiful green eyes. I lost myself to another crashing wave of sublime insanity, and in utter bliss, I cried out, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
I felt him come undone at my words; his eyes closed, and his strong body held me against the wall until I could barely draw breath. He moved closer to claim me, and when I was completely his, he shuddered and buried his head in my neck, losing himself in our secret oblivion.
I hoped he witnessed the love I saw in him reflected in me. I hoped he knew how momentous and real my feelings were. I hoped he knew that what we did was not lightly done. It was a pledge. It was a gift.
And it was meant only for him.
We made our way back to my place shortly after recovering from the dazed euphoria that accompanies great lovemaking.
In complete honesty, I don’t know if we would have ever left the elevator if given the choice.
However, it started to move, and I yelped at the realization that all my clothes but my leggings were shredded—by his knife—and in tatters on the floor of the lift.
In typical Nico fashion, he allowed me to panic for a few seconds before offering me his T-shirt. I pulled it on along with my leggings just in time. When the doors opened to the lobby, Nico pulled me against his chest and improvised a ludicrous story to the waiting mechanic.
The man looked not at all impressed, never cracked a smile, and gave us both a knowing, annoyed once-over. Wordlessly, he sent us on our way.
We stumbled into my apartment, laughing and kissing and—at least I was—embarrassed.
“Unlike you, I’m not used to people seeing me without my clothes on.”
Nico shrugged out of his jacket, threw it over his shoulder as if he hated it, and kicked my door closed. He tugged at the T-shirt on my shoulders. “I’ve never understood why people in the US get so stirred up about nudity.”
“Maybe because we value modesty!” I swatted at his hands unsuccessfully; he, somewhat roughly, pulled the shirt off and threw it across the room, again as if he hated it.
“But why hide such….” His gaze devoured me, my bare shoulders, chest, stomach; he gripped the edge of my pants and used his leverage on the material to yank me forward against his chest. “Perché nascondere una cosa così bella?”1
And that’s when it happened.
In that moment, the world tilted, and I lost complete control of my female organs.
Apparently, my vagina, uterus, and ovaries were Italian and, when spoken to in Italian by Nico Manganiello, no longer belonged to me.
I had no idea what he’d said. Just the sound, coming from his mouth—no lie—was the sexiest thing ever of all time.
I felt woozy and leaned against him, my lashes fluttering like butterfly wings.
“Elizabeth…? Are you ok?”
When I spoke, I noted that my voice sounded strangely hoarse. “I—I didn’t know you could speak Italian.”
“Yeah, we all spoke it at home, and I learned formally a few years ago.”
“Why…why…would you do that?”
His eyes narrowed, surveyed me; he hesitated. His big hands stilled on my waistband while his thumb rubbed little circles over my hips. “Does it bother you? O ti piace?”2
I shuddered, gripped his shoulders, and let my eyes drift shut. “Oh God….”
He chuckled then tsked.
“Mi fai impazzire.”3 He whispered against my ear. Nico licked my neck, then blew where he’d made it wet, which immediately made me shiver. “Ho cercato di dimenticarti, ma è impossibile.”4
“Guh….”
“I tuoi occhi hanno il colore del cielo in estate…”5 He trailed light kisses down my throat and removed my pants as he moved. “Ti amo da sempre.”6
“Oh!” I arched against him; my nails dug into his back. I fought another shudder. I failed.
He slid his fingers up my legs, his touch light behind my knees then between my thighs. “Il contatto con la tua pelle. Oh, non ne ho mai abbastanza.”7
I pressed against him like a cat and reached for his pants, frustrated. His words were seriously making me mindless. I was beyond modesty or shame. I was in an uncharted, murky realm of arousal where I couldn’t quite control the sounds I made or the movements of my body.
“Mmm. Il tuo fragranza….”8 He shifted out of my reach as he bit me. I could only moan my disappointment.
Nico pushed my shoulders and I fell backward. I didn’t realize until my back hit the mattress that he’d moved us to the bed. He loomed over me, stood at my knees, his eyes glittering with delicious wickedness.
“Please…” At this point, I was totally cool with begging.
Nico grinned. If I hadn’t been in a near coma of arousal, I would have been highly aggravated by the grin. It was colossally confident.
“Anche se a volte sei più testarda di un mulo.”9
He unbuttoned his pants very, very slowly. He was driving me to madness. I pressed my thighs together.
“Mi piace la passione che è in te.”10
Nico’s movements were tortuously slow as he removed his pants and briefs. With continued languidity, he lowered himself to my exposed body, his hot skin kissing mine, forced my legs apart his with a knee. He pressed himself into my center, rocked forward meaningfully.
I gasped.
His voice was a growl, “La tua lingua tagliente mi eccita da morire.”11
I was about to come apart, and he hadn’t entered me yet. My skin was flushed, covered in goose bumps, overly sensitized. I shifted beneath him, impatient.
“Non ti lascerò mai andare.”12 His eyes were suddenly sober and serious, and they held mine. I stilled my movements. “Ti amo.”13
I blinked at him. Even through the sensual cloud, I registered the meaning of his words.
Ti amo. I love you.
I swallowed, brushed my lips against his, and panted breathlessly in return. “Ti amo, Nico.”
Slowly, slowly, he filled me and I stretched, arched beneath him then sighed with relief.
His rhythm purposeful; his hands worshipful; his mouth hungry. Our breath met. I held him to me, wrapped my arms around his neck, wanted to be fully saturated in him, completely crushed.
He nudged my nose with his, his eyes wide, “D’ora in poi in poi non c’è modo di tornare indietro. Sei mia, per sempre.”14 His eyes lit from within with blazing ferocity, scorching satisfaction.
The last sentence, the earnestness with which he spoke, the unfathomable gentleness of his touch, splintered me. When our breath met, I breathed him in. I held him to me, wrapped my arms around his neck, and wanted to be fully saturated and completely crushed by him.
As I returned to earth, I couldn’t help but brood over the fact that he could have just read me a restaurant menu and I would have been blissfully ignorant. He had a fatal weapon, and I was rendered stupid and powerless against it.
Italians who speak Italian should be illegal, or at least should come with warning labels—may make your panties explode.
1 Translation: Why hide such a beautiful thing?
2 Translation: Or do you like?
3 Translation: You make me crazy.
4 Translation: I tried to forget you, but it’s impossible.
5 Translation: Your eyes are the color of the sky in summer.
6 Translation: I love you always.
7 Translation: The feel of your skin, I can’t get enough.
8 Translation: Mmm. Your fragrance. . .
9 Translation: Although, sometimes you’re more stubborn than a mule.
10 Translation: I love the passion that is in you.
11 Translations: Your sharp tongue excites me to death.
12 Translation: I’ll never let you go.
13 Translation: I love you.
14 Translation: From now on there is no way to go back. You're mine, forever.