Chapter 12 Ajla
AJLA
You would think that after only four hours of sleep, the craziest fucking night I have ever had and activities that still had me blushing, I would be more tired and less ready to get up and go down for breakfast. Well, if you thought that, you’d be terribly wrong.
I had no idea where the energy came from or what it said about me that I all but ran downstairs with Nicolas, but I felt rejuvenated.
I felt young, free, and most of all—I didn't have ten million thoughts racing through my head.
Yeah, we belonged to different worlds. Yes, he was younger and so far out of my league it wasn't even funny, but for the first time in thirty-one years of my life, I didn't feel the need to run.
I didn't feel like I had to hide from him after everything we had done last night.
My past experience with men had been more of a wham, bam, thank you ma'am, and to be able to sit here at the dining table with the guy I not only have fucked but had also tied up and edged until he was begging for release was definitely new in my life.
And I wanted more.
God, even as we sat next to each other, eating perfectly made omelets made by Mariella, an elderly woman who reminded me so much of my grandma—and who, as Nicolas had explained it to me, had started grumbling the moment she saw him coming down because we had made a mess of his kitchen.
Lucky for me, we took our activities to the room instead of staying in the kitchen, otherwise she would've been met with an even bigger mess.
I looked to my right, where Nicolas sat, and I couldn't stop myself from smiling as he cut through the omelette, reminding me of last night.
His eyes met mine, and as if he knew what I was thinking, that mischievous glint I saw last night—this morning?
—reappeared, making me hungry for more than just eggs.
Was this absolutely insane and so out of character for me? Yeah. If Anna could see me now, she would either be high-fiving me or scolding me for being this reckless. But I wanted to be reckless.
For once, I wanted to do something just for myself. Something that could bring me happiness, no matter how crazy it was.
We had to have a talk, that was certain, but I didn't want to step outside of this little bubble we had created, and something told me he didn't either.
"What are you thinking about?" Nicolas asked, pulling me back from the daydream where everything worked out perfectly.
"You," I smirked, drinking my orange juice. "Us."
"Us?" He smiled. "I like the sound of that. And here I thought I would have to rein in my need to call us, well, us."
There was something to be said about men who didn't play games and who said outright what they wanted and what they didn't want.
I had no idea how tiring the entire dating scene had become the older I got.
It often felt like we were back in high school, playing all these guessing games, and I had no idea who had time for that.
Definitely not met. Why was it so hard for people to communicate?
What was so difficult about saying that you weren't interested anymore or that you wanted to take things to the next level?
Maybe it was me? People often told me I was too difficult, too stuck up, too opinionated, and too open, but I thought being open was good. I always said that with me, what you see is what you get, and I had no idea why it was so difficult for people to understand that.
"Oh, I don't like that look on your face right now," Nicolas said, taking my hand in his. "Are you okay? You're frowning."
"I am, I—" Was I? Was he actually only pretending?
"I don't know if I am actually." I looked at him and the sincerity shining in his eyes, but years had taught me that just because something looked good, didn’t mean that it truly was.
"I am a little bit confused, I guess. Or, well," I chuckled, squeezing his hand, "not exactly confused, but my mind is racing with all these past experiences, and I'm just.. ."
"Tell me."
Could I really? Could I tell him what was bothering me?
"I'm scared," I blurted out and immediately regretted it when I saw the look on his face. "No, no, no," I stood up and walked toward him. "I'm not scared of you."
He pushed away from the table, still sitting on his chair and before he could even think of getting up, I sat down on his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck.
"Stop, seriously. I am not scared of you. I am scared of these crazy feelings inside me, and I'm afraid I'm imagining things or that I'm maybe projecting or just rushing into things and—"
His lips slammed onto mine, shutting me up immediately, and I'd be lying if I said I hated his methods. All those crazy thoughts, the overthinking, the fear—everything disappeared the moment he kissed me. The moment he dragged his fingers through my hair and held me close.
I was the first one to pull back, dizzy, with my heart hammering in my chest, when he pressed his forehead to mine.
"Is this real?" I whispered, terrified of the answer. Perhaps it was stupid, completely irrational, but I needed to hear it.
A second passed, then two, then maybe even an eternity before he smiled, pressing another chaste kiss to my lips.
"It's real, darling. It is so real that I have been going through different conversations and scenarios about how I’d ask you to stay. How I’d ask you to be mine. But I wasn't sure you felt it too."
He pulled back slightly, still keeping me in his lap. "The moment I saw you, I wanted to break Johnny's legs—and not because I knew he was stealing from me, but because he was the one sitting there with you and not me."
I would blame all the dark romance books for my heart fluttering at those words. Violence shouldn't excite me, yet here I was, sitting in the lap of a Capo, my pussy gushing as he voiced how he wanted to hurt another man.
Therapy—I definitely needed therapy.
"And I hated the fact that I couldn't meet you somewhere else, somewhere quiet where I would get you to fall for me before I would even tell you what I did for a living."
"Hmm, I don't know," I giggled. Fucking giggled. "I kinda like knowing things sooner rather than later."
"I can see that." He repositioned me on his lap, pulling me up higher so that his arms could circle around my waist. "But no, you're definitely not imagining things, and I'm hoping you would give me a chance—"
His phone started blasting somewhere behind me, interrupting him mid-sentence. "Cazzo! Just ignore it."
But there was no ignoring it. As soon as the phone stopped ringing, it started again, and I knew there was no way we'd be able to talk things through until he dealt with whatever needed his attention.
"Hey," I said, placing my hand on his chest and slowly slid off his lap. "Just take it. I'm not going anywhere."
He grumbled, but he finally released me, still holding my hand as I sat down in my chair. "This better be important," he practically growled as he answered the phone, his eyes borderline murderous as he focused on whatever the person on the other line was saying.
Whatever it was made him look at me, apology written all over his face.
Yeah, we definitely weren't finishing this conversation now.
"Keep him there," Nicolas said, looking at me with regret etched into every line of his expression. "I'll be there soon."
He ended the call and turned his full attention toward me. "I am so sorry, Bella, but I need to go."
"I know," I smiled, and instead of feeling disappointed, I felt steady after what he initially said. "I don't want to know, yet, but go and take care of things, and we will talk later."
"Will you wait for me here?" There was hope in his voice and it wrapped around the wounded parts of me simply because he wanted me here.
"I know my life is complicated and you probably have better options out there—" The tick in his jaw appeared, and something akin to giddiness spread through my body at the mere thought of him being jealous. "But—"
"I'll be here." I stood up again and closed the distance between us, placing my hands on the sides of his neck. "I'm not going anywhere."
And this time I truly meant it.