Chapter 18 Isabella #2
He grips my hips and drags me up as he goes to his knees and sets a rhythm that makes me see stars. Controlled, powerful, each thrust landing with precision that unravels my thoughts.
He palms one of my breasts, dipping his head and working my nipple into his mouth. His teeth scrape lightly before he bites, just enough to send pleasure sparking down my spine. I gasp, arching into him.
He thrusts harder, deeper, his hips rolling each time he bottoms out. It’s overwhelming heat, breath, the obscene sound of us, my body stretching around his thick cock, taking him so deep I feel him in places I didn’t know existed.
“Oh—God,” I choke out, the world blurring around the edges.
“Belle…” he grits out, voice shredded. “Fuck.”
I nod because that’s all I can do.
Then his hand drops between us, fingers finding me, circling, pressing my clit, and my vision whites out.
“Oh, fuck. I’m….” I can’t even finish the sentence.
“It’s okay,” he growls, thrusting harder. “Come for me.”
It happens fast, violent, overwhelming, my body clenching around him, my legs shaking as I hold onto him, like he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this place. I tremble, crying out into his shoulder, unable to stop the wave once it takes me.
He wraps strong arms around me, holding me against himself as he drives into me through every pulse of it.
His breath breaks. He stiffens. A quiet, raw sound rips from his throat as he buries his face, and then he’s spilling inside me with a low, guttural groan.
We stay like that for a long moment, just breathing, bodies pressed tight, the world narrowed to heat and heartbeat and the sound of the city far below.
Finally, he pulls back, cupping my cheek gently.
His gaze softens in a way that scares me more than anything else tonight.
He leans in, kisses me, slow, searching, sweet in a way that aches, and it steals my breath a second time.
This feared, possibly reformed Mafia Don, or whatever he calls it, is looking at me with wonder and it terrifies me and excites me in equal measure.
Before I can understand it, he eases out of me, leaving me trembling, boneless, blinking at him like he’s just changed the shape of the sky.
Maybe he has.
I watch as he walks to the bathroom and deals with the condom. I hear the toilet flush, the tap turn on and then he’s back. Walking toward me like a living Adonis.
He dips his knee into the bed before settling between my legs, his body over mine, arms gathering me against him, yet still he takes care to be gentle around my injuries.
The world is soft around the edges.
Warmth. Breath. The heavy thrum of my pulse is slowly settling back into my bones.
For a long moment, I don’t move. I can’t. My limbs feel melted, boneless, like he wrung every last bit of tension out of me and replaced it with something slow and molten.
Nico’s breath brushing my temple, the scent of him everywhere, salt and heat and intoxicating male, something that feels branded into my skin.
He doesn’t speak at first.
He just watches me.
And the way he watches… God. No one has ever looked at me like that. Like I’m something he wants to memorize, not just touch. It would be so easy to believe this is real, that he’s mine and this is more, but it’s not. We’re just for now, not forever, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.
My fingers drift up without me thinking, brushing the sharp line of his jaw. He closes his eyes for a second, like that small touch does something to him, and when they open again, they’re darker. Softer. Almost tender.
Dangerous, how much that tenderness undoes me.
He lowers himself just enough that our noses brush. Not kissing, not quite. Just breathing the same air, sharing the same space like it’s its own kind of intimacy.
“You okay?” he murmurs, voice gravel scraped over velvet.
A laugh stirs in my chest, breathless and warm. “I don’t know if I remember how to speak.”
His mouth curves, not the smirk, not the cocky half-grin, something realer. Something only I seem to get.
“Good,” he says quietly. “I like you like this.”
My cheeks heat. “Boneless?”
“Ruined,” he corrects, his thumb grazing my cheek, following the shape of my jaw in a way that feels reverent. “Relaxed. Safe.”
Safe.
The word sinks into me like a stone dropped into deep water.
He shifts slightly, gathering me closer, his body still covering mine but the weight gentler now, protective rather than consuming. My legs curl around his hips instinctively, and instead of pulling away, he slides a hand along my thigh, soothing, grounding.
The air between us is warm and slow, but my mind is still buzzing with everything he made me feel, with the things he said, the way he touched me, like he was learning my body for the first time and planning to learn it all over again.
“Nico…” I whisper, not even sure what I’m trying to say.
He dips his head, pressing his lips to the hollow beneath my ear, not a kiss, more of a claim. A quiet, searing one. My breath stutters.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs against my skin. “Just stay right here.”
His fingers lace with mine, bringing my hand up to rest on his chest, right over his pounding heart. It’s steady, strong, grounding in a way that makes my throat tighten.
I don’t realize how emotional I feel until he strokes his thumb over my knuckles, slow and deliberate, as if he senses the shift inside me.
“I'm glad I didn’t break you,” he says softly, voice a low rumble against my shoulder.
I tilt my head to look at him, and his eyes catch mine, intense, unreadable, full of something I don’t dare name.
“I don’t break easily,” I whisper, except my heart feels like he could easily break it.
He smirks faintly, then leans in and brushes his mouth over mine, a soft, lingering kiss that has none of the heat from earlier but somehow feels more dangerous.
“Good, because I’m not done with you.”
Warmth blooms across my chest. My fingers curl into his shoulder, tugging him closer without thinking.
He settles against me fully then, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his hand sliding up my side to rest under my ribs, thumb tracing slow circles that make my eyes flutter shut.
The room is quiet.
His breathing slows.
Mine matches it.
And for a long, slow minute, we just lie there, tangled, warm, held in a silence that feels heavy with things neither of us is ready to say out loud.
I don’t know what this is.
I don’t know if it will destroy me, or if I’ll let it.
But as Nico nuzzles into the crook of my neck, his arm tightening around me like he’s anchoring me to him, one thing is painfully, beautifully clear:
For the first time in days… I feel whole.
And I’m not ready to let go.