Текст книги "My sweetest oblivion"

Автор книги: Danielle Lori

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

“I have killed no men, that, in the first place didn’t deserve killing.”

–Mickey Cohen

THE FAN WHIRLED AS SWEAT dripped down my back under the heat of the sun. I wiped my neck and tossed the rag on the worktable. Tension coiled beneath my skin, and I gave in and grabbed a pack of smokes from a drawer and lit one. I inhaled until my lungs burned and nicotine spread through my veins in one relaxing rush.

In all honesty, I didn’t feel like working on my car right now. I felt like fucking my wife, or even staring at her. Whatever I could get. But I came out here for a reason. Inside, she was everywhere. The sound of her voice. Her soap in my shower and her clothes in my room. Her hair ties and little wedding notes on every surface. The soft scrape of her nails on the back of my neck whenever she sat on my lap.

Fuck, I was in so deep I didn’t know the way up.

I needed a few hours to think, or maybe just to stew in spite over never getting that fifty-cent ring off her finger. I wanted her. Her genuine smiles. Her loyalty. Every fucking piece of her. I’d been testing the waters earlier, but as tense as she got I realized she was nowhere near where I was. Not by a long shot.

I gave my head a small shake.

The worst had happened. I loved the fucking woman. And now my biggest weakness walked outside my body, with soft brown eyes and long black hair. There were a lot of men who would love to hit me in my weak spot; the reason I had never wanted the vulnerability. But what I didn’t expect was this calmness to come with it, this surety that I would fucking die before I let them.

My cell phone rang on the table, and I picked it up without looking to see who it was. “Yeah?”

“Hello, this is Judy from AMC Gold. Am I speaking to Nicolas Russo?”

“You are.”

“I just need you to verify your birth date before I can proceed.”

Jesus, the lady fucking called me. I rubbed a thumb across a brow and rattled off the information.

“Great, thank you. There’s been some suspicious activity reported on your account, and I’m calling to make sure you’ve authorized it.”

I leaned against the table and blew out a breath of smoke. “What kind of suspicious activity?” Hell, everything I did was suspicious.

“A transfer from your savings account today, on August sixteenth, at eleven-forty-two a.m.”

I stilled. “The amount?”

“Two million dollars even, sir.”

I ran my tongue across my teeth, a sardonic breath escaping me. “This transaction already went through?”

She hesitated. “Yes, sir. There was a note on your account not to flag transactions, but we appreciate your business here at AMC Gold and wanted to inform you in case it in fact wasn’t authorized. You have sixty days to dispute the charge—”

“It was authorized.” It goddamn wasn’t. But I didn’t deal with thieves through the normal channels.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, before awkwardly clearing her throat. She apparently knew who I was. “That’s great to hear. I’ll go ahead and note it on the account. Have a great day, sir.”

I ended the call, my gaze coasting to the spare room window. Sunlight glared on the glass, but as I stood there looking at it, something abnormally cold settled in my stomach. I took one last drag and then put the cigarette out on the wooden table.

Heading to the house, I opened the back door to see a silent kitchen and living room. A breath of cool air hit my skin, but inside my bloodstream heated as though held over a burner. The house was still, nothing but the air-conditioning and my boots against the hardwood sounded as I walked into the kitchen.

Her phone sat on the counter and I grabbed it as I walked past.

As I made my way up the stairs, that god awful squeak cut through the air and somehow settled under my skin with a grating texture. I rolled my shoulders to push the odd sensation away.

With an unnatural calmness, I searched every room. Mine—ours. The spare rooms. The bathrooms.

All empty.

Something tightened in my throat and pierced me in the fucking chest.

She ran. She fucking stole from me and ran. To be with another man? He was the deadest goddamn man to ever exist.

Her clothes were here as well as her bag, but maybe she hadn’t needed them. Maybe they would’ve slowed her down.

I inhaled deeply and made my way down the steps while making a call. The ringing sounded faraway, blurring with the drumming of blood in my ears.

“Allister.” Christian’s cold tone crept through the line.

“Find my wife,” I rasped. “She has a bank account downtown. She’s either been there or will be soon.” I gritted my teeth before adding, “And then most likely the bus station.”

Two quiet moments passed.

“Give me an hour.”

He hung up, and I slipped my phone into my pocket. I still held hers in my other hand, and before I knew it, it was flying across the room and hitting the wall.

“Fuck!”

I swept all the decanters off the bar before pushing the entire thing over. Glass shattered and skidded across the hardwood. The strong smell of liquor hit my nose as the liquid spread to my boots. Bitterness bit into my chest. I ran my hands through my hair and let a dangerous calm settle over me.

Crazy, she called me.

She had no idea how goddamn crazy I could be.

I’d give Christian an hour before I started tearing this city apart piece by piece.

The flames flickered and crackled in the fire pit. I sat on the edge of my seat, my elbows on my knees and a steady burn radiating in my chest. I heard the back door slam shut but didn’t look up. I didn’t even remember what I’d texted Luca earlier, but he’d gone inside without a word when he got here a few minutes ago.

“A little warm for a fire,” he commented, sitting in a lawn chair across from me.

I didn’t respond, just watched the blaze eat the pink fabric alive.

“Burning her clothes already?”

Using the poker, I pushed the Yankees shirt further into the flames.

“Look, Ace, I know you’re pissed right now—” He paused when I shot him a dark look. “But she left all her pink clothes here—”

“Shut up, Luca,” I snapped. I didn’t want to hear his stupid theories about why she left. I didn’t fucking care. No, that wasn’t true—I cared so much it pissed me the fuck off.

He put his hands up but opened his mouth again. “Just don’t see a girl like her leaving her family behind, is all.”

“She’s done it before.”

He shook his head. “She wasn’t running. She didn’t even leave the city.”

I let out a bitter laugh when I realized it made more sense that she would stay for her family than she ever would for me.

“You’re not thinking with your head, Ace. Fuck, walk in your house.”

Been there. That’s why I was sitting out here.

My narrowed gaze found his. “Why are you sticking up for her?”

“I’m not. She’s making me wear a fucking pink tie to your wedding.” He grimaced. “Once her papà finds out you lost her, she knows it’ll get violent. She’s not dumb. I’m just putting the facts together and it doesn’t add up.”

It made perfect sense to me. That stupid ring. How tense she’d gotten this morning. She loved some other man and had left everything behind to be with him. My throat tightened, a hollow fucking feeling unfurling in my chest.

“Two million, Luca. Explain that.”

He was silent.

I gazed into the flames. I didn’t know what I would do when I found her, but Luca was right. My head wasn’t on straight concerning her. She’d always be my wife, but I didn’t need to be in this deep, especially when she wasn’t.

My phone rang, and I picked it up.

Christian rattled off an address, and my heart rate spiked.

“Just a warning, Ace. She’s not alone.”

His words hit me like a punch to the chest, and my grip tightened on the phone.

“Got it.”

OceanofPDF.com

“I think you have to pay for love with bitter tears.”

–Édith Piaf

“YOU KNOW,”—SEBASTIAN SCRATCHED HIS jaw—“I don’t know much about New York City, but my guess is this neighborhood isn’t one of the best.”

He sat beside me on a green bench that was sticky with spilled soda and other things I didn’t want to think about. If there ever was a neon sign flashing “steal from me” it was him, in his crisp gray suit and gold watch and cufflinks that sparkled in the sun. I’d dressed the way I had for a reason, but it was pointless now with him stuck to my side. I wasn’t that concerned for my safety, however. He might look preppy and ostentatious, but the darkness of his profession reflected in his eyes whenever the light hit them just right.

He sat back against the bench. “So, what do we do now? Just wait?”

“Yes.”

Across the trash-littered street sat a row of rundown townhouses. Barred lower windows, chipping paint, and sagging chain-link fences. My focus was on the gray one far enough away we were fairly hidden by a few trees, but close enough I could still make out the front door.

It had taken thirty minutes to find the right house, the entirety being filled with thoughts from seven months ago. I wished I could say my memory of him was poignant and unforgettable, but in truth, he was just a shadow in my mind, the only thread holding him together, guilt.

A small park sat off to our right, and Sebastian watched as a group of boys pretended to shoot each other with finger guns.

“Maybe they could come work for you and my husband,” I said.

He laughed. “I’ll give them a few years.” Resting his arm behind me, he said, “You do know he’s going to try to kill me, don’t you?”

“Why did you insist on coming if you believed that?” I shook my head in disbelief, but a cold sweat drifted through me. “I won’t tell him you were involved.”

He let out a breath of amusement, his gaze following a cop car that drove past us suspiciously slow. “Oh, Elena, he already knows.”

The hair on the back of my neck rose.

Movement caught in my periphery, and I fought not to shift to the edge of the bench. I didn’t want to bring more attention to myself when I already had a Colombian drug lord sitting next to me.

“Looks like we got a bite,” Sebastian said.

She appeared to be in her fifties, with graying blond hair swept into a bun at the nape of her neck and a haggard expression that only hard work could create. Walking toward us from the other side of the street, she wore blue scrubs, but I knew she wasn’t in the medical field. She washed laundry at a local nursing home from four a.m. to noon, and then worked at a gas station until midnight.

She was blonde, like him, but that was the only similarity I could see. Though, to be truthful, I’d mostly forgotten what he looked like. My fingernails dug into my palms as she walked up her porch steps while rooting for her keys in her purse. She halted and glanced at her feet. I held my breath as she bent down and picked up the green money bag.

I remembered only pieces of that weekend. The whirring sound in my ears as my uncle shot him in the head and the warm spray of blood against my face had filtered into the other memories and blurred them in red. But I did remember how much he worked: three jobs and longer hours than I had ever imagined was possible. Most of the time, I was alone in his friend’s apartment, who’d gone to jail for petty theft, while he went to work to support his mother and a younger sister still in high school.

He wanted his sister to go to college, not to live the same life as him, working hours and hours and never making enough. For families out here, it was like a merry-go-round that could never be stopped. What I did remember was blood, lifeless eyes, and how passionately he spoke about his family. He would have done anything for them, and I couldn’t sit by and do nothing when I had the means to help.

She unzipped the money bag. Her purse dropped to the porch as a hand flew to cover her mouth. There was fifty-thousand dollars cash in that bag. It was all I could get from the bank on such short notice, and even then, probably just because of my last name. It was still legally Abelli, and I wondered what they would have done for me if it were Russo. The rest of the money was via a cashier’s check, and I was going out on a limb hoping she would cash it quickly. Nico could shut down my bank account fast, as well as get the transfer reversed if he claimed fraud, though that might take longer.

First, she pulled out the ring, and I rubbed my bare finger before she put it back in the bag. Next was the note I’d written. My throat felt thick as she unfolded it. After a moment, her shoulders shook with sobs and she slid downward to sit on the steps. A tear ran down my cheek and I wiped it away. I didn’t deserve to grieve with her; it had all been my fault.

I’d known his name for months now. There was no getting past it when I had to research his death so I could find out his mother’s information. But we had a deal: he wouldn’t tell me his name until I told him mine. And as he wasn’t alive to ever hear mine, I’d pretend to never know his.

A few minutes later, she stood, wiped her cheeks, and went inside.

Some pressure drifted away like a bird on my shoulder. I couldn’t give her son back, but I could ease both hers and her daughter’s futures. Stop the merry-go-round so they could get off before it spun again for the rest of their neighborhood.

Sebastian brushed a piece of lint off his suit. “That’s it? I expected something more . . . climatic.”

I gave my head a shake, but I couldn’t respond because my breath caught in my chest and my veins turned to ice.

“Never mind. Here it comes,” he said with a sigh.

Nico’s car came to a stop in the middle of the street. He got out, slammed his door, and strode toward us with a blank mask. He was the don now, but something all Nico flickered in his eyes. Volatile depths that made my chest clench.

Sebastian got to his feet. “Glad to see you finally show up.”

I cringed at his words, but before I could even blink, Nico reached Sebastian, pulled his gun out of the back of his waistband, and backhanded him with it so hard he fell back two steps.

Sebastian froze with his head cocked to the side. “You know,” he said, wiping the blood off his lip with the back of his hand. “I’m taking this a little personally.”

Calmly and without a word, Nico pointed his gun at Sebastian’s head. My heart froze over, and I jumped to my feet and stood in front of him. “Nico, stop!”

“Get in the car,” he said, keeping his gaze on Sebastian.

“No,” I breathed. “This had nothing to do with him.”

His burning eyes finally met mine. “Did you let him in my club?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Did you let him into my goddamn club!”

I took a step back and bumped into Sebastian. I’d never heard Nico so angry, and my heart tried to flee from my chest.

“N-no,” I stuttered. “Why would I do that?” Awareness settled over me. He thought I was having an affair with Sebastian? “It’s nothing like that at all, I swear. Please, let me explain,” I begged. One glance toward the kids at the park showed they were all staring at us, wide-eyed.

Sebastian pushed me out of his way and stepped toward Nico until the barrel of his gun pressed against his forehead. All his playfulness disappeared; nothing but darkness leaked into his gaze. “She wouldn’t need any of your money to run away with me, Russo. Nor to sit in some shitty ass neighborhood for an hour.”

Luca’s car pulled up behind Nico’s, and I said a quick prayer that he would talk some sense into Nico. My husband and Sebastian stared at each other. My blood drummed louder in my ears until it was all I could hear.

“Nico—”

His gaze coasted to me. It was cold enough to freeze me to my spot. “Get. In. The. Car.”

“Please don’t kill him.”

His jaw ticked. “If I have to say it again, he’s dead.”

With nausea churning in my stomach, I walked toward his car. As I put my back toward them, a shiver ran down my spine, every nerve anticipating a gunshot to cut through the air.

A few cars idled in the street, not being able to get past Nico’s Audi taking up both lanes. I climbed in and shut the door, closeting myself in the scent of leather and him. They exchanged more words. Words that appeared to be calm and reasonable. Just as relief crept in, Nico backhanded him with his gun again. Annoyance flared in Sebastian’s eyes as he spit out a mouthful of blood. Luca grabbed Sebastian’s arm and pushed him toward his car.

Nico walked across the street. He still wore jeans and a grease-stained white t-shirt. I wished he hadn’t. I could deal with the don in a black suit, but this Nico intimidated me. He had so much more to take away.

He got in and shut the door. Thick tension rolled off him, sucking all the air out of the small space. His fist tightened and released before he put the car in drive and headed down the street. The atmosphere was hostile; one tiny spark and it would explode. It took five minutes to gain the courage to say anything.

“Nico—”

“Don’t say another fucking word to me right now, Elena,” he snapped.

Something grabbed my heart and ripped it into two pieces.

After what I had done, I didn’t have it in me to defy him. Nothing but tire noise, the outside sounds of the city, and my painful heartbeats filled the car. All I wanted was to go home, press my face into his chest, and apologize. To promise I would never keep anything from him ever again.

My papà kept his bank information locked in a safe not even Tony had the code to, and then Nico’s had been lying there on the counter. It was too tempting, maybe my only chance. Men like him were all supposed to be the same. Stealing from Nico should’ve been like stealing from my papà, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like the worst sort of betrayal.

We weren’t going home. I didn’t dare say a word, but as the awareness settled in of where we headed, a hollow ache in my chest grew emptier every mile.

He parked, and I got out of the car and followed him. I stood side-by-side with him in the elevator, but he’d yet to even look at me. A ping sounded, and the doors opened to the penthouse apartment. Every shallow breath hurt.

A dark-haired man in a suit stood in the small hallway. I vaguely recognized him, but couldn’t put a name to the face. He gave my husband a small nod.

Nico unlocked the door and flicked on the lights. Numbly, I stepped inside behind him.

He stood by the open door, his gaze focused above my head. “James will be outside. He has a phone you can use if you need anything.” His voice was cold and distant.

I wanted to say something, anything, so he would look at me. “I want my own phone.”

His volatile eyes finally came to me. I ached for him to touch me, for the roughness of his hands on my face, his deep voice in my ear.

“You had a phone. You chose not to use it.”

“I will now,” was all I could think to say.

His jaw tightened. “I’ll have one brought to you then.”

He’ll have one brought to me.

He was done with me then? He hadn’t even let me explain. Maybe he didn’t care. I stole from him, and that, he couldn’t forgive. My eyes burned, and I blinked to keep the tears at bay. “Thank you.”

His bitter laugh was quiet. A small shake of his head.

“Luca will bring your bag by soon,” he said, turning to leave.

“Nico.”

He stopped with his back to me, his shoulders tensing.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed.

A few seconds passed, and when I thought he might respond, he walked out and shut the door behind him.

I stared blankly until the numbness turned into despair that scratched at my chest, stole my breath, and bubbled up my throat in sobs.

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“So the lover must struggle for words.”

–T.S. Eliot

MY HEARTBEATS SHATTERED ONE BY one, sending a raw ache through my chest.

My vision blurred behind tears and the shimmer of the sun on the marble floors. Once the crying began, it flowed like I’d just opened a dam that had been closed off for years. I stood in the middle of a beautiful apartment and felt nothing but cold and empty. The emptiness expanded until it threatened to eat me alive.

How fitting my belief had been that Nico was an addiction, because this felt like the worst sort of withdrawal. I was beginning to realize it was more than that—it was love, and this was heartbreak.

I went to the master bathroom, turned on the shower, climbed in, and cried some more. My mind spun with desperate thoughts of how to fix this, but they all ended on a hopeless note when I thought of his coldness today.

Nausea rolled in my stomach.

I’d tried not to fall in love with him, and I’d fallen so hard I was physically sick at his rejection. I could have laughed if I’d had any energy leftover from crying.

I got out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and walked into the bedroom. My bag lay next to the door, and my heart clenched at the sight. A weak sense of vulnerability coasted through me at the thought of Luca hearing me cry. Any other day it would have been humiliating, but as a numbness settled in, the thought drifted away.

Instead of wearing something of mine, I found one of Nico’s plain t-shirts in the dresser and slipped it on. He could be done with me, but I wasn’t ready yet. I missed him already, with a physical sense of loss that ached.

It was still midday when I climbed into bed. It felt too large without Nico. I’d been sleeping with him for a week and now there was a big void on the mattress where he should be.

I wondered if he would let some other woman sleep in his bed. My chest tightened and burned at the thought. I hated any woman who got to touch him, to hear his voice in her ear and have his full attention. I hated her so much and she wasn’t even real yet.

If anything, I now understood why women stuck by the men in this world, no matter what they did or said. Love. Why couldn’t it work both ways?

I lay there and watched the sun drift behind the horizon until I finally fell asleep.

Red and yellow lights blurred through the floor-to-ceiling windows and into the dark room. I blinked at the alarm clock that read one a.m. and then rolled onto my back. Fear hit me in the chest, but it was quickly replaced with a relief so strong I felt breathless.

He sat on the side of the bed with his back toward me, his elbows on his knees, and his gaze out the window.

From his mere presence, my heart began to sew itself back together. I knew the stitches would tear once he walked away from me again.

“Start at the beginning,” he rasped.

Every cell in my body filled with desperation, longing, and hope.

I sat up. “Of today, or—?”

“Last winter, when you ran.”

Inhaling a shaky breath, I began to tell him about how and why I left. Everything from Oscar to the carousel to him. How I met him, how I had to watch my uncle kill him, and, wanting to get everything out in the open, that I slept with him.

His shoulders tensed. “You realize you gave him something that belongs to me, don’t you?”

I opened my mouth and closed it. How very Nico-like to claim ownership of my body before he’d even met me.

“How many?” he asked.

“How many what?”

“Men,” he growled.

I wanted to say, “You first,” for the sake of pointing out a double standard, but truthfully there wasn’t a tiny part of me that wanted to know how many women he’d been with. I pulled at a loose thread on the comforter.

“Two,” I whispered. “You and him. I haven’t even kissed another man. I swear it.”

A stillness settled over the room as I listened to my hopeful heartbeats and he stared straight ahead. He still wore the same clothes from earlier and I wondered what he’d done today, who he was with, and if he’d thought of me at all.

“Tell me why you were with Sebastian,” he said.

“I ran into him at the bank. I told him not to follow me but . . . he’s persistent.”

“He’s a fucking idiot,” was what Nico muttered.

Is. Present tense, meaning he was currently alive. Relief filled me.

I could see the lightest reflection of him in the window, smeared with yellow city lights. He glanced at his hands, asking, “Did you love him?” His tone was indifferent, but a hint of something raw bled through.

I knew he was no longer speaking of Sebastian.

“No,” I said. “I hardly even knew him.”

He let out a dry breath, running a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck before giving his head a shake. “Your sister seems to be under a different impression.”

I closed my eyes when I remembered our last conversation and her “Uh-oh.” After sawing my bottom lip between my teeth for a moment, I said, “Adriana assumed, nothing more.”

Sirens echoed up the walls of the building as silence swept back in. A heavy tension lay beneath.

“The ring?” he asked.

“I wore it because I felt guilty, not because I loved him.”

“Wore?”

“I gave it to his mother today.” I added softly, “I’ll get a job and pay you back.”

“You think this is about the fucking money?”

Isn’t it? I remained silent.

His gaze found mine in the reflection of the glass. “Do you know how many men would want to hurt you to hurt me?”

I wasn’t sure how to fix what I’d done, what to say to make him forgive me. All of it sounded so hollow in my head, a part of me believing I didn’t even deserve his forgiveness. I glanced at my fingers as they pulled at the thread.

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck, Elena, it’s not that easy.” He shook his head in disgust, and my stomach twisted.

He hated me.

I loved him, and he hated me.

The backs of my eyes burned, and a tear ran down my cheek. “If you’re so disgusted by me then why are you here?”

It was quiet, and then a shift in the air told me he was going to stand. Something pitched in my chest, and my visceral reaction was to lean forward and grab his arm. He couldn’t leave. The thought sent the stitches in my heart ripping apart one by one.

He tensed but didn’t get up. I inched my way closer until I sat behind him on my knees. My skin sang under the weight of his presence and warmth. Sliding a hand from his arm to his waist, I kissed the back of his neck. “Please don’t go,” I whispered.

A chill rolled through his body.

“There was never another man since we met.” I pressed my forehead to his neck. “No one but you.”

He grabbed my hand on his waist and pulled me around him and off the bed. Our gazes clashed like a shot to my chest. It was so intense I kneeled between his legs so I didn’t burn under the closeness of his stare.

His thumb ran down my lips. “Why keep your mouth from me then?”

I averted my gaze, not being able to say this as I looked him in the eyes. “Men like you break a woman’s heart . . . I didn’t want to love you.”

His deep voice filled my ears. “Did it work?”

My heartbeat drummed.

“No,” I breathed.

A quiet noise crawled up his throat, a mixture of satisfaction and anger. He brushed a palm across my cheek and my head lulled to the side as warmth fired in every synapse.

“Look at me.”

My gaze flicked to his that burned dark and hot.

“You fucking lied to my face.”

I nodded, remembering my promise not to leave without talking to him.

“You didn’t take your phone.”

I nodded again.

His palm ran down to my throat. “You stole from me.”

I swallowed under his hand.

His grip tightened, and he pulled me to my feet. We were eye-to-eye now, and a shiver coasted through me. His lips brushed mine. “I felt fucking crazy wondering where you were,” he bit out.

I nodded again.

“You don’t know,” he growled. “I can’t stay away from you for more than a fucking day and you can run off without a second thought.”

I shook my head, but his grip slid to my chin and stopped me.

“You. Don’t. Know.”

He pressed his lips to mine, softly, confusing my senses with how volatile his mood was. He deepened the kiss and I melted like butter, my heart glowing and mending itself back together. I moaned when his tongue slid into my mouth, my hands resting on each side of his face.

His palms skimmed up the backs of my thighs and stilled when they met my bare ass cheeks. He slowed the kiss, pulling back to look at me in his shirt.

His gaze sparked. “Take it off.”

My skin burned as I grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over my head. I stood there, naked and breathless. He lifted my breast to his mouth and sucked on the nipple. I yelped when he bit down.

“Fuck, I’m still so pissed at you, baby.”

“But you won’t leave me here?”

“No,” he rasped. “I can’t fuck you way over here.” He cupped me between the legs, sliding two fingers inside of me.

Relief and a spike of heat ran through my veins.

He kissed me, and this time it was laced with every ounce of his anger. Deep and rough and consuming. Reality faded away to nothing but him—his heat, scent, and my eager heart feeling whole again with every touch of his hands.

The kiss burned into madness. A breathless, greedy sort of madness. His hand fisted in my hair, his lips and teeth trailing down my neck. I ran my arms around his shoulders, pressing my body against his. He stood, lifted me, and dropped me on the bed. His heavy weight settled on top of me and I released a sigh.

With his mouth on mine, he lifted my thigh and pressed his erection between my legs. Sparks fluttered through me before dissolving and eliciting a need for more. I tugged at his shirt and he pulled back to take it off. He nipped at my breasts and stomach as his mouth drifted downward. Something in my subconscious tickled.

“Wait,” I breathed, blinking to clear the lust-filled haze in my mind. Nico’s hands tightened on my legs as he kissed the inside of my thigh and then the other, and before he could get to where he was heading and I lost all train of thought, I blurted, “Platonic.”

He tensed but stopped, his gaze hot with lust and frustration.

I swallowed. “I don’t want to do this if there are going to be other women, Nico. I can’t.”

He watched me for two tense seconds.

“You’re enough for me.”

My heart grew. I suddenly realized that even if I’d heard those words from him at the beginning, I wouldn’t have believed them. However, now an unexplainable feeling told me his words rang true.

He pressed his face between my legs and I burned with bliss.

I kissed him for hours, fucked him until I was sore and there was a reminder of him inside me. He was still mad at me. I felt it with each nip of his teeth, each smack on my ass, and everything I’d had to promise to get my orgasm: Not to endanger myself by leaving the house alone. To take my phone everywhere, or else he’d glue it to my hand. To not fucking steal from him. And to always wear his t-shirts around the house and nothing else.