40. Nick
NICK
M y brother grins as he approaches, hands in the pockets of his dress pants. “What’s up?” he asks, and I motion to the photographer.
“She wants a shot with you, me, and Priya.”
We glance to where Priya is engrossed in conversation with a friend, giggling as she sips from her paper cup. Marcus sighs happily.
“Let’s give her a minute.”
I watch as he gazes at her lovingly, my heart full.
It was an honor to be part of their wedding day, and even more meaningful since Marcus and I cleared the air between us.
For the first time in years, I feel close to my brother, and that means more to me than I could have imagined.
I won’t let that distance grow between us again.
“I like Zinnia,” Marcus says. “She seems good for you.”
My gaze slides to my beautiful girl, deep in thought as she looks across at Manhattan, glittering in the late afternoon sun.
She was delighted when I invited her to Marcus’s wedding, but ever since that conversation at his house, I haven’t been able to shake the thought that our relationship might have an expiration date.
“She is,” I agree.
“I’m pretty sure she’s okay with me now.” Marcus chuckles. “I talked her around.”
I frown, looking at my brother. “What do you mean?”
“I thanked her for helping you open up, and she looked like she was going to punch me again. Told me you had a good reason to be closed off.”
I issue a quiet laugh, glancing down at my cup. Of course she did. She’s been fiercely defensive from the moment I told her about Marcus. Not only with him—with me, getting me to draw. To let her in. To let life in.
Marcus pats me affectionately on the shoulder. “She’s a good one, Nick.”
There’s a tug in my heart as I look back at Zinnia. She’s not just a good one—she’s the best one. The only one.
Zinnia glances over, as if sensing my gaze on her, and sends me a warm smile. It burrows under my ribs, deep into my chest. I swallow hard, throat growing tight as I gaze at her. As I finally let myself acknowledge the knowing that’s been hovering at the edge of my consciousness for weeks.
I love her.
I feel things for Zinnia I didn’t even know I could feel. For the first time in decades, I’m happy and full and hopeful. Alive, in a way I didn’t know was possible. I can’t imagine how my life would look if I hadn’t met her.
How it would look if she left.
“I know it’s complicated,” Marcus adds quietly, “but you need to figure it out. Do what you have to do to make it work.” His eyes are dead serious when they meet mine. “You’d be a fool to let her get away.”
Zinnia turns back to stare at the city, her expression growing wistful again, and my heart twists.
Marcus is right. I can’t let her get away. I need her with me, more than I’ve ever needed anything. I need a genuine relationship with her, out in the open, where we can be together without worrying. No more hiding, no more sneaking around.
And if I want that, I know what I have to do.
I have to come clean to the university. If I’m lucky, they’ll understand the circumstances. If I’m lucky, I won’t lose my career.
That thought should terrify me, but it doesn’t. Not nearly as much as the thought that, even if I do all that, Zinnia might not want to stay.
We wrap up shortly after, and get a cab back to my place, stopping only so Zinnia can pop into a drugstore. She’s quiet on the drive home, even more so as we enter my apartment, and my gut is in knots.
Maybe this is why I couldn’t admit to myself how I feel. I was too scared of how much it would hurt when she decided to leave.
We kick off our shoes, and Zinnia turns to lean against the counter, taking my hands in hers. “Nick,” she murmurs softly. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
My stomach plummets.
Shit, already? I figured we at least had until the end of the semester, but was I kidding myself?
It was the wedding, wasn’t it? The emotion, the longing glances from me. Was it too much? Does she somehow know I spent every second wondering what it would be like to say those words to her, to make sure she’d never want to leave?
I’ll be gone by Labor Day .
Her words from the summer come back to me, and while I know Labor Day has come and gone, that she hasn’t left yet, I also know she hasn’t promised me anything.
That she could leave at any time.
I push my glasses squarely up my nose, bracing for the worst. “What is it?”
Her eyes move between mine, bottomless and searching, and she takes a deep breath. “I… I love you.”
My heart stops.
“What?” I whisper, certain I’ve misheard her.
She lets out a tiny, self-conscious laugh. “I love you,” she repeats simply. No explanation, no justification, just those simple words.
She loves me.
Warmth spills through my chest. I stare at her, pulse racing as I try to process this. Here I thought she was going to leave, and instead she loves me? She loves me. This woman, so beautiful, so full of color and passion and life, loves me .
“Zinnia,” I begin, voice cracking. I don’t even know what to say. Don’t know how to express the deep, intense emotion I feel for her. Don’t know what words would ever be enough.
She squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to say it back. I know it’s a lot, but I wanted—”
“I love you too,” I say in a rush. “Fuck, honey. Of course I love you.”
A hopeful smile curls along her lips. “You do?”
I nod, tugging her closer. “I love you so fucking much, Zinnia.” I cradle her face, throat thick with emotion. “I didn’t know it was possible to love someone like this.”
Tears spring to her eyes, spilling over her cheeks. I wipe them with the pad of my thumb, blinking against the moisture in my own eyes.
She feels this. She wants this.
My chest could burst.
Our lips crash together, and she tugs at my jacket with impatient hands. “Nick,” she whimpers. “I’ve wanted you all day. Please.”
I know what she means. All day I’ve fought not to touch her, but now I let my hands trace her curves, following their outline in that dress.
I walk her backwards into the bedroom, and she swipes something from her bag on the way, dropping it onto the nightstand.
Then I toss my glasses aside and bury my face in her neck, slowly unzipping her dress.
As gorgeous as she is in it, I much prefer her in nothing.
The fabric pools at her feet, leaving her in a black strapless bra and matching panties.
She tugs my blazer off, fumbling with the buttons of my shirt, and I take over, deftly unbuttoning each one, her burning gaze following the motion.
The moment I toss the shirt aside, she pushes me onto the bed to straddle me.
“Finally,” she breathes, trailing kisses across my shoulder. I’m sure she’s talking about the wait from today, but there’s an intensity to her voice, to her actions, that suggests it’s more.
That maybe, just maybe, she’s talking about her entire life.
Her lips move from my shoulder to my chest, over my heart, to my tattoo. She traces it with her fingertip, expression reverent.
“I love you,” she whispers again, and my heart soars.
“I love you, honey. Come here.” I roll us onto our sides, wrapping her in my arms, kissing her deeply. Her tongue is insistent, sweeping urgently against mine, and my blood heats with need.
“I want to give myself to you, Nick.” She draws away, her eyes dark and hooded. “ All of me.”
My dick jumps at the promise in her voice. I stare at her, the meaning of her words slowly sinking in.
“Are you sure?” I ask thickly.
She nods, reaching for a brown paper bag on the nightstand. “Yes. That’s why I stopped at the drugstore.” She pulls a bottle of lube from the bag, holding it up.
My jaw falls open. She’s actually thought about this. Planned for it, even. That’s how much she wants it. Wants to share that part of herself with me.
Just thinking about it turns my cock to steel.
“If you don’t want to,” she begins, misreading my silence, and I crush my mouth to hers.
“I want to,” I rasp, guiding her hand to where my erection threatens to bust through my zipper. “That’s how much I want to.”
“Fuck,” she whispers, stroking me through the denim.
But I can’t wait.
“Take those off,” I grunt, motioning to her bra and panties.
We make quick work of the rest of our clothes, pausing only to kiss, lips hungry and searching, hands everywhere at once.
I roll her onto her side, nestling against her back.
She tucks perfectly into me, every curve like satin against my skin, the floral scent of her intoxicating.
I sweep her hair out the way to bury my face in the back of her neck, unable to stop myself from grinding my iron shaft against her backside.
She groans, quivering in my arms, and I slide a hand over her waist, her stomach, between her thighs.
“Jesus Christ,” I gasp when my fingers meet her hot, slick center. “You’re soaked.”
“Only for you,” she breathes, and my heart squeezes hard.
Only for you .
“Yes,” I rasp, hips rocking against her softness as I stroke her slippery clit. “Only for me.”
She glances back at me over her shoulder, cheeks flushed. I take her lips in a bruising kiss, and she whimpers, writhing against me.
“Nick,” she pleads, and I nod, reaching for the lube and squirting it into my palm.
She bends her top leg to give me access from behind, and I slide my hand between her cheeks, finding that tight ring of muscle.
Her breath shudders out when I make contact, my cock pulsing impatiently as I slowly circle the spot.
“Like that?” I ask, voice as rough as gravel.
“Yes,” she says breathlessly.
I kiss my way along her shoulder, her neck, up to her ear. “You sure you want me here?” As eager as I am to take her like this, I need to know she’s sure.
“Yes,” she rasps, arching into my touch. “I want you everywhere.”
Heat rushes through me at the desperate note in her voice, and I press against the knot of muscle, entering her. She moans, her channel gripping my finger as I pepper kisses over her neck.