Chapter 20 Isabella
I wake alone. The sheets are warm but empty, the space beside me smooth and undisturbed. For a moment, my stomach dips, that quiet, traitorous flick of disappointment I wish I were too cool, too self-possessed, too “fling-appropriate” to feel.
But then I notice the folded note on the pillow. His handwriting: sharp, confident, impatient.
Eat. Rest. Take the meds. I’ll be back later. —N
Rossi is outside. Don’t open the door for anyone.
A tiny exhale escapes me, somewhere between relief and a smile, I try very hard not to admit I’m wearing.
I stretch cautiously, and—oh.
Oh.
My entire body feels… used. Thoroughly. Beautifully. Like someone worshipped me with his hands and mouth and body until every nerve remembered how to sing.
A good ache. A smug ache.
A Nico ache.
My cheeks heat as last night flashes behind my eyes, the way he touched me like he owned every inch of my skin, the way his voice dropped to that rough, “good girl” tone that melted every rational thought I had left. I groan softly, hiding my face in the pillow.
I’m in trouble.
I shower, dress slowly, methodically, trying not to think about how sore I am in places I didn’t even know could get sore in a good way.
Everything is tender. Warm. Alive. Even though my ribs ache, my face is starting to look a little better.
I could cover the bruises up, but what’s the point?
Nico has seen me at my worst and still fucked me like I was the answer to his prayers.
Plus, I don’t want to get into a habit of trying to please him.
This is a fling and I need to remember that.
When I step into the living room, Rossi is there, as silent and immovable as a boulder.
He’s holding a tray.
“Miss Romano,” he says with a respectful incline of his head. “Breakfast.”
My brows lift. “Did Nico ask you to bring this?”
“Yes.”
There’s no inflection, but somehow I hear the unsaid: Of course he did.
I smile despite myself. “Thank you, Rossi.”
He hesitates just long enough for me to realize this is him being chatty. “If you require anything else… Nico said to inform him immediately.”
“He said that?”
“Yes.” A beat. “Twice.”
Warmth floods my chest. “I’m okay. Really.”
He nods once, satisfied, and disappears like smoke down the hall.
I settle into a quiet rhythm after that, eating, reading, pretending to work. Staring at my laptop screen and accomplishing absolutely nothing because every time I blink, I feel his hands gripping my hips, his breath at my ear, the way he said mine like a vow he didn’t mean to say out loud.
My body reacts every time.
Ugh. I’m hopeless.
Hours pass with me pretending to be productive. It’s almost a relief when I hear the soft chime of the elevator unlocking. He’s home. No, not home. He’s back to his home.
I don’t turn when I feel him before he reaches me. His presence is heavy, electric, a storm rolling into the room. When he finally steps into my line of sight, I lose my breath a little.
Suit loosened. Tie gone. Shirt open at the collar. Eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing he’s hungry for. God, he really is a beautiful man.
“Nico…”
He doesn’t let me finish.
His hand slides into my hair and he pulls me into a kiss that steals the floor out from under me. Hot, consuming, decisive, the kind of kiss that says, this morning wasn’t distance, it was restraint.
My fingers curl in his shirt. His body cages mine against the counter and then he turns, pressing me back into the wall.
And the sharp pressure against my ribs makes me suck in a quick breath.
He freezes instantly, hands stilling in my hair. “What was that?” he says against my mouth.
“It’s nothing,” I whisper.
He pulls back just enough to pin me with a look that sees entirely too much. “Isabella,” he says quietly, dangerously soft. “You lie to me again, and I’ll put you over my knee, and it won’t be playful or pleasurable.”
My stomach flips violently, my core aching at the thought. “I’m just… a little tender,” I admit.
The tension in his jaw eases, not much, but enough that his thumb sweeps gently under my cheekbone. “Then we adjust,” he murmurs. “Come here.”
He takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine, as he leads me into the hall before pressing the up button on the elevator.
“Where are we going?” I ask breathless, trying to keep up with his purposeful stride.
“To the one place in this building no one but me is allowed to go.”
The elevator ascends smoothly, higher than I’ve ever been in this tower. When the doors slide open, warm air rushes over my skin.
My breath catches.
We’re on the rooftop, but it’s unlike anything I expected. A glass dome enclosure is overhead, filled with autumn light. Steam curls up invitingly from a heated pool and an adjacent hot tub. The air smells faintly of cedar and eucalyptus.
It feels private in a way even the penthouse doesn’t.
I turn, stunned. “This is… beautiful.”
He watches me, hands in his pockets, eyes warm and dark. “I never bring anyone up here,” he says quietly. “Ever.”
My heartbeat stumbles.
“But you,” he adds, stepping toward me with slow, deliberate intent, “are hurting and it’s partly my fault.”
He feels responsible and I don’t want that. “No, Nico. Nothing you did hurt me.”
His hand lifts, fingertips brushing my ribs with a gentleness so at odds with the man who pressed me to the wall moments ago. “Regardless, I was rough with you, and I take care of what’s mine.”
The words hit low and deep. Am I his? God, I want to be, but that way lies heartbreak. “Nico…”
“Get in,” he says, voice dropping. “The heat will help. I’ll be right behind you.”
And God help me, I don’t hesitate.
I slide my leggings off and shrug my sweater over my head as Nico helps, his hot, hungry gaze on the creamy lace underwear that hides nothing.
“Fuck me, you’re stunning.”
He rubs his thumb along his bottom lip as he assesses me, and goosebumps erupt all over my body. With the way he’s looking at me and the bulge in his pants, my ribs are the last thing on my mind right now.
“Get in before I forget myself and fuck you right here.”
I hesitate a second, my breath coming in short pants and he growls.
“Get. In. The. Hot tub.”
I obey because when he uses that tone on me, I can do nothing else. I watch as he sheds his suit, but leaves his black boxers, the huge bulge making my mouth water. I’ve never been into blow jobs, but God, I want to taste this man on my tongue.
“Fuck’s sake, Isabella, you keep looking at me like that and I’m going to feed my cock down your throat.”
My pants become harder and he swears under his breath and stalks toward me.
The moment Nico steps into the hot tub with me the air seems to thicken.
Not steam. Not heat. It’s all him.
He moves through the water with that slow, predatory grace, all coiled control and quiet purpose, until he’s standing right in front of me. The glass roof above us catches the city lights, scattering them across his shoulders, his chest, the sharp cut of muscle that disappears beneath the surface.
“Lift your arms,” he murmurs.
My breath stutters. “Why?”
His mouth curves in that sinful way that makes my knees weak. “So I can touch you.”
God help me, I obey.
Water beads down my skin as I raise my arms, exposing myself to him, baring everything, as he unhooks my bra and draws the lace straps down my arms before tossing it away.
His hands rise, big, warm, sure, and glide from my wrists down the length of my arms, slow enough that I feel every inch of the journey.
He cups my breasts and leans in to flick each nipple with his tongue and I let my head fall back on a moan, before he lifts his head to look at me.
“You’re tense,” he says softly. “Still sore.”
I want to deny it. Pretend I’m fine. Pretend I’m not a bundle of nerves, and desire, and too many feelings I shouldn’t be having. But his thumbs brush the inside of my breast, and a small, involuntary sound slips from my throat, half gasp, half whimper.
His eyes darken. “There she is,” he rasps. “My Belle.”
My pulse kicks violently. I should correct him, tell him I’m not his, tell him this is just fun, just physical, just a fling like I suggested. But the words stick to my tongue, melting. If I say it, everything changes. So, I swallow it instead.
His hands slide over my shoulders next, slow and reverent, then down over my collarbone. He traces my shape with a tenderness that shouldn’t fit his hard edges, his thumbs brushing the tops of my breasts in a feather-light pass that sends heat pooling low in my belly.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Beautiful. Soft. Tempting me without even trying.”
“I’m not trying,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to.” His gaze flicks up, pinning me. “You show me everything without saying a word.”
I attempt a breath, fail, and end up making a shaky, needy sound that only seems to fuel him.
He leans in, not touching me with anything but his hands, but somehow his entire body feels pressed to mine.
“Tell me something,” he says quietly. “Did you think about last night today?”
My cheeks go hot. “I… yes.”
His thumb strokes beneath my chin, tilting my face up to his. “What did you think about?”
I swallow. Hard.
He waits.
Patient. Predatory. Knowing.
“The way you…” I falter, heat licking down my spine, “The way you touched me.”
His lips ghost mine, not kissing, just hovering, punishment for my hesitation. “Be specific,” he growls softly. “I like hearing what I do to you.”
My thighs press together under the water. I hate how instantly, helplessly, my body responds to him, and love it at the same time.
“I thought about your mouth,” I whisper.
He exhales a low, rough sound that vibrates against my lips.
“And how did my mouth make you feel?”
Weak. Wrecked. Undone. Alive.
“Good,” I breathe. “Too good.”
He smirks, and it’s devastating. “That was nothing, Belle. Barely a taste.”
His hands slide to my waist, pulling me closer through the warm water until our bodies brush lightly, teasingly, enough to make my breath catch.
“You want more?” he murmurs.
My legs tremble under the water. “Yes.”
He drags his mouth along my jaw, slow, hot, deliberate, not taking what he clearly wants, making me feel every moment of restraint.
“Then you let me take care of you,” he says against my skin. “My way.”
A shiver rolls down my spine.
He coaxes me to turn, to lean back against him as he sits on the bench, his hands guiding me with gentle authority. His chest fits against my back, solid and warm, as his hands settle on my hips beneath the water.
“Relax for me,” he whispers in my ear. “Let me feel how much you want this.”
My head tips back onto his shoulder of its own accord. I don’t argue, I don’t pretend, I just melt.
His hard cock against my lower back is a tease in itself, and I wriggle a little against him, forcing a hiss from his lips.
“Do you know what I did today, Belle?”
I shake my head as his hands begin to move, slow, reverent, teasing, the kind of touch that makes my breath come shallow and fast, that winds heat low and deep, that pulls soft sounds from me I can’t stop.
“I thought about your sweet pussy, how you taste, how you feel around my cock. How I want to tie you up and fuck your delicious mouth until tears drip from your eyes. I thought about how you look when you come, and I stroked my cock. I jerked off in my private bathroom at work to visions of you because I couldn’t stop myself. You undo me.”
As he speaks, his hands push the lace of my panties down my legs and he uses his legs to spread me open for him. Running his hand along my inner thigh and forcing breathy whimpers that make him curse quietly against my neck from my lips.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice roughened with desire he isn’t taking for himself. “That’s it… relax for me.”
My fingers grip his forearms, feeling the muscles move as he touches me. His finger slides up my slit, gathering the evidence of my need for him and using it to circle my clit in slow, firm strokes that make my toes curl. My body arches into his touch. Every nerve sings.
And when his mouth finally finds my throat, pressing slow, claiming kisses to my skin, I break a little inside.
Not from pain or fear. From the way he touches me like I matter.
Like I’m something precious. Something he’s choosing to worship, not use.
My voice is barely a breath. “Nico…”
His teeth graze my skin. “I’m right here,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
And God help me, I believe him.
“That’s it,” he whispers, voice ragged. “Give me that. Give me everything.”
My hips twist searching for more, but Nico isn’t a man to be rushed, and he holds me captive as he continues to tease my clit, never giving me quite enough to push me over into the abyss.
“Please, Nico...Please.”
His teeth graze my neck as he palms my breast, his thumb swiping over my nipple. “Please what?”
A half sob leaves me as he kisses my shoulder with such tenderness. “Please let me come.”
“Good girl, for asking for what you want.”
His hand squeezes my nipple before smoothing down my body, gently stroking my ribs, and down, before he spears my pussy with two fingers and curls them. He strokes my inner walls as he increases his pace on my clit, and I start to lose myself.
His touch becomes more deliberate. More wicked, more intentional now.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
I break into soft, breathy whimpers, my head falling against his chest as my body melts under the heat of his hands, his mouth on my neck, his low groans painting fire along my nerves.
I can feel myself unravelling, helplessly, under the slow, careful, devastating attention of a man who’s determined to wring pleasure from my body without taking a single thing in return.
“Nico… I…”
“I’ve got you,” he promises against my skin. “Let go for me, Belle.”
I do.
I come apart in the water, clutching at him, shaking, breaking, drowning and surfacing all at once, and he holds me through every second of it, kissing my temple, whispering praise that feels like molten gold poured into my bones.
When the rush fades, I collapse against him, boneless. My entire body flooded with happy hormones taking away any pain I had.
He holds me secure, one big hand stroking my hair, the other wrapped around my waist like he’s anchoring me to him.
“You did so good,” he murmurs into my hair. “So fucking good.”
I close my eyes.
Try very, very hard not to fall for him.
And fail.
Completely.