“Just answer.”
I hesitate, then murmur, “Going to the beach with my sisters. All five of us. We’d spend the whole day swimming, collecting shells, fighting over who got the last piece of watermelon.”
He stays quiet, listening. “And how do you to pass time when you're not swimming with your sisters?”
“I like to read,” I say softly. “Thrillers. Romance. Anything that lets me escape for a while.”
The thunder rumbles again, but it feels a little farther away now. Or maybe it’s because his presence is louder than the storm.
The lights flicker back on, bathing the room in soft golden light. But neither of us moves.
“The light’s back,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t pull away. Our faces are inches apart now.
“Yes…” My voice comes out breathy, barely above a whisper.
The storm still rages outside, rain lashing against the windows, but it feels distant now. All I can focus on is Nico sitting on the edge of my bed, so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
We keep talking about nothing and everything. He asks me what I dream about when I’m not trapped in this nightmare. I tell him I dream about freedom, about days where I’m not someone’s bargaining chip. He listens like he actually cares, his eyes never leaving my face.
He inches closer on the bed. Our knees brush. My heart is hammering so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
We stay like that, breathing the same air. His gaze drops to my lips. I can’t stop staring at his. The tension coils tighter and tighter between us until it feels like it might snap.
He lifts a hand and gently brushes my hair away from my face, his fingers lingering on my cheek. The touch is so tender it makes my chest ache.
Then he leans in.
The moment his lips touch mine, everything stops.
It’s soft at first, almost careful, like he’s testing whether I’ll pull away. I don’t. I can’t.
A small, shocked sound escapes me, and then I’m opening for him, melting into the kiss like I’ve been starving for it.
His lips are softer than I imagined, warm and demanding. He tastes like sin and whiskey and something darkly addictive. When his tongue sweeps against mine, slow and deliberate, a moan rises in my throat.
He kisses like he owns me, deep, unhurried, completely in control. His hand slides to the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair as he tilts my head exactly how he wants it.
I press myself against him, needing more, my hands fisting in his shirt. Heat floods between my legs. Every stroke of his tongue makes me wetter, makes me ache.
I’ve kissed men before, but none of them ever kissed me like this. Like he’s claiming me. Like he’s been waiting to devour me.
A low growl vibrates from his chest into my mouth. I whimper, arching into him, wanting him closer, deeper. My body is on fire. I want his hands everywhere. I want him to push me down on this bed and?—
He breaks the kiss.
I make a soft, protesting sound, lips still parted, chasing his mouth before I catch myself. My breathing is ragged. My whole body is trembling with need.
Nico rests his forehead against mine for a second, eyes closed, jaw tight like he’s fighting for control. Then he pulls back just enough to look at me.
His thumb brushes my swollen bottom lip once.
“Goodnight, Eleonora,” he whispers.
He leans in and presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to my forehead. Then he stands and walks out without another word, closing the connecting door behind him.
I slump back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, chest heaving.
What the hell just happened?
