Page 74 of The Cost of Silence

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.

21.Isabella

Rossi is lookingat me like I’ve lost my mind. Which, honestly, is impressive. I thought he only had one expression. Nico usually only needs three seconds to shut down my ideas. Rossi lasts longer, probably because he’s a professional. Also, because on some level, he knows I’m healing and restless and one sharp word might send me spiraling.

But I’m also stubborn, and very bored. And very tired of staring at the same four extremely expensive walls while my brain vibrates like a shaken soda can.