Chapter Forty-two
NINA
Present Day
NEW YORK CITY
My mind was blank.
My thoughts didn’t feel like my own.
And it was all because of Ronan Romano.
Everything after that moment blurred together. The rest of the night passed in a fog, my body moving on instinct while my head stayed somewhere else entirely. It wasn’t until I was alone later, lying in bed and staring at the empty space beside me, that it finally hit.
That was when I felt it.
The ache.
The wanting.
I wished he was here. Wished I could feel him beside me, over me, pulling me back into that heat I couldn’t shake. The memory of his voice, his jealousy, the way he’d looked at me had my skin humming all over again.
I was so frustrated I could barely breathe.
His words kept replaying in my head, turning over and over until my thoughts felt tangled and restless. And his jealousy… God, that part of him did something dangerous to me.
It had taken everything I had not to say something reckless back then, not to admit how badly I wanted him, how close I was to losing myself in him all over again. I’d been left there, stunned and shaken, with too many feelings and not enough words to hold them.
“You ready?” Inaya snapped me out of thought, and thank God, too. I was so close to calling off this day to spend it with my vibrator instead.
On my way out the door, my eyes caught sight of a box sitting there, seemingly waiting for me.
I quickly brought it inside, the anticipation bubbling within me.
Running my hand over the fabric that enveloped the box, a rush of familiarity and nostalgia washed over me.
The texture was impossibly soft, an unmistakable quality that sent my heart racing.
Before I could voice my recognition, Inaya’s excited exclamation filled the room, “Is that Guanoco fabric?”
I looked up at her, amazement and shock mingling in my gaze. “It is,” I whispered, my mind reeling.
Ronan Romano, what am I going to do with you?
“This looks like one yard. Who the hell buys a whole yard of such an expensive fabric to wrap a box?” she asked, incredulous.
A smile tugged at my lips, a small chuckle escaping as I replied, “Ronan does.”
Carefully, I unwrapped the box, savoring the sensation of the luxurious fabric beneath my fingertips.
His meticulous wrapping was almost too perfect to disturb.
As the fabric fell away, revealing the box beneath, a note slipped out.
The sight of his impeccable script brought a smile to my face, the irony not lost on me that a doctor, notorious for illegible handwriting, could pen such elegant letters.
I remember the days you’d talk to me about Coco Chanel for hours, so I figured her fashion biography would be the perfect gift.
-RR
A wave of emotion crashed over me, my eyes welling up as my heart softened completely. The memories of our endless conversations about fashion, dreams, and inspirations came flooding back, each one tinged with the warmth of his presence.
It was so long ago, and I couldn’t believe he kept that in his mind.
I couldn’t believe Ronan didn’t forget.
With trembling hands, I opened the box further, revealing a collection of thoughtful, deeply personal items and two VIP Admission Premium, front-row show tickets for Milan Fashion Week, upcoming in September.
A wrist pin cushion adorned with delicate peony patterns, fingertip thimbles, and new sketching pencils engraved with my name.
Nestled among the items was another note:
I saw the pricks on your fingertips last night and figured they were from hand-stitching (your favorite kind.) You’ve also never been to Milan Fashion Week. Here’s your chance to.
-RR
Tears streamed down my face as I read his words, but with quick fingers, I stopped them. His thoughtfulness and attention to detail, his understanding of my passion and dedication, left me breathless. He remembered everything from the smallest details to the quietest moments.
It was as if he had captured a piece of my soul in these gifts.
“You okay?” She asked, placing a gentle palm on my shoulder.
I wiped my eyes, carefully packed everything into the box, and then turned around to face her. “I’ve never been better.”
With the tender moment still lingering in my heart, Inaya and I stepped out into the bustling streets, ready to scout for potential spaces for the new boutique.
The sun hung high in the sky as we met with the realtor, an enthusiastic woman named Sofia who promised to show us the best the city had to offer.
For the next three hours, we trudged through numerous properties, each one holding the promise of a fresh start.
But with every place we visited, hope seemed to wane.
Some spaces were too small, unable to house the grand vision I had for the boutique.
Others, while spacious, were too far from the city center, their locations lacking the vibrancy and foot traffic crucial for success.
And then there were the ones that were simply overpriced, their shabby interiors a stark contrast to the exorbitant rents being asked.
With each disappointment, my frustration grew. I could feel the weight of the day pressing down on me, the excitement I had felt earlier slowly ebbing away. Finally, after yet another lackluster viewing, I decided I had had enough.
“Inaya, I think we’re done for today,” I said, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. She looked at me with understanding eyes and nodded.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “We’ll find the perfect place eventually. We need to keep looking.”
“How about we head back?” I suggested. “I need to recharge and clear my head.”
Inaya glanced at her phone, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Actually, there’s a museum nearby I’ve been dying to visit. I think I’ll head there while you rest.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Who’s taking you to a museum?”
She sighed. “I’ve been out of Italy twice, and both times, I ended up in this city. I want to explore.”
Something about the way she said it didn’t sit right with me, but I knew better than to question her.
“Explore,” I echoed, unconvinced. “Sure. I’m heading back.”
We parted ways, and I made my way to the Airbnb. The city’s noise gradually faded as I stepped into the peaceful, cozy apartment. Dropping my bags by the door, I exhaled deeply, letting the tension of the day finally melt away.
I walked over to the couch and sank into it, the soft cushions a welcome comfort. My eyes drifted to the box Ronan had sent me, now resting on the coffee table.
I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment, letting the emotions of the day wash over me, and the only thing coming to mind was last night with Ronan.
His words.
His touch.
His taste.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“I asked you a question. Does any man touch you like that? Do they make you come on their tongue? Do they make you fuck yourself while they watch?”
His words replayed in my mind, and it was then that I knew I was fucked.
And not fucked in the way I wanted to be.
I was really wound up.
I found myself pressing my thighs together, unable to stop thinking about Ronan.
I loved the way he touched me.
The way he made me beg.
The way I saw his hard cock printing through his pants, and all I could think of was how badly I wanted a taste.
Tossing my purse on one bed, I rummaged through my suitcase, suddenly concerned I had not remembered to bring it, but then smiled as my hand closed around the small bag that contained my favorite toy.
I closed my eyes for a moment, holding the toy in my hand, realizing with a smile that despite its generous size, it was still smaller than Ronan.
I grabbed my phone and, with a quick check to make sure I had flipped the security lock on the door, stripped off my clothes and lay down on the bed.
I reclined on the bed, my thick purple friend turned on low speed, and slowly teased the tip over my clit as I thought of him. How sexy he looked in his clothes. How dirty his mouth was. How fucking sweet he was, and fuck, how much better he looked in between my legs.
Most importantly, I hated the effect he had on me.
I hated how much he could turn me on without being there.
And I hated that I was slowly falling in love with him again.
My breathing sped up right away.
I was so wet already, so turned on, that I slipped the tip of the toy down to my entrance almost immediately, starting to make my own little moaning sounds as it pressed inward.
Just the tip.
Only that tease.
Gentle, shallow strokes in and out to start with.
Those little teasing thrusts, combined with the slow rumbling vibrations, added to the sensation as I briefly slipped the tip back up over my clit.
The vibrations, those extra sensations, helped to compensate for what was missing… not having a big, warm, hard body pressing me to the bed.
Not having Ronan to grip, bite, and dig my nails into.
Not having his hot tongue invading my mouth with insistent kisses, pushing into me in time with his hard cock.
“Oh,” I whispered.
“Oh, shit, I feel so good.”
I had missed this, the feeling of being filled.
The stretching, the feel of pressing, gripping against his hard, fat cock.
The thrusts were all the way in now, and I reached down to turn up the speed on the vibrator so I could finish, lifting my hips off the bed and gasping as I pushed against the toy.
I reached behind me with one hand, gripping the bars of the headboard.
Yes, almost there, a bit more, oh, God…
“Ronan!” His name burst out as I climaxed, reveling in the feeling of bearing down on the realistic toy, riding the waves of muscle contractions magnified by the facsimile inside me.
The last gasps of my orgasm took a while to dissipate, the vibrations keeping it going, and I bit my lip again as I rode the toy through the aftershocks.
With a satisfied sigh, I finally turned off the vibrator and put it to the side.