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‘There is nothing boring about me in bed, Aurora. But, yes, I makeveryslow love to her.’
She had to remind herself to breathe. ‘Does she fake it and let out a little whimper to signal that she’s done?’
‘No, shescreamsmy name.’
Those shaky curls shook as she refuted him. ‘I don’t think so.’
He crossed the room and decided to lose the stunning view of Rome. He had something infinitely better to look at.
‘Not only that,’ Nico said. ‘She even closes the drapes.’
He did so, and it was unthinkable that he was closing out the busy day he’d had planned.
Not quite unthinkable—because with Aurora he knew this was how life would be. Chaos and tangled limbs. Making up and kisses and heaving tears. Drama from which he had run as a young man as though there was a wolf on his heels.
The heavy drapes blocked out the light, denying him the sight of her body, so he turned on the bedside light and looked down at her.
‘Get into bed.’
‘But you forgot to switch off your phone, darling,’ Aurora said, in the voice of his fabled wife.
Nico wagged a finger to chastise her for the poor imitation. ‘She would not ask me to.’
‘That is true,’ Aurora conceded, for Nico’s perfect demure wife would not ask him to do any such thing. And yet she fixed him with a glare. ‘But every game has its rules.’
And for the first time—andonlyfor Aurora—he turned off his phone, while silently vowing his perfect revenge: shewouldscream out his name.
His eyes roamed her body and made her flood with warmth and shiver at the same time.
‘Get undressed and into bed before I turn off the light.’
‘Don’t turn off the light,’ Aurora said, for she wanted to see him.
‘But I come home in thedark, dear wife.’
She swallowed, and reminded herself of the game they were playing.
It was a little hard to get undressed, sitting on the bed, and Nico did not help with the zip at the back of her dress. He watched her struggle.
She got the zipper undone and wriggled the dress down instead of up. Took it off by lifting up her bottom and sliding it down her legs.
Aurora could feel that her face was flushed, but not for a second was she embarrassed. Instead she was turned on by his scrutiny, turned on by his silent observation. And wondering how she could even have cared that her underwear might clash when it mattered not.
Again, her hands went behind her back and she unhooked her bra. She heard his ragged breath as, without support, her breasts fell heavy.
Her nipples hurt because they were so erect, and she glanced over and saw his hands that had been clenched by his sides were now undoing his belt.
‘Wait,’ she choked. ‘I want to see you undress too.’
Oh, what was this game they were playing? For they had not so much as kissed, and she was not even in bed—they had not evenstarted—but her thighs wanted to squeeze together and her throat was closing with the tension.
She slid down her panties and went to move back the sheets, impatient to get into bed, impatient for his touch. But he growled a word.
‘Fermare.’
Stop.
Halt.
