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“I’m going to come with you, but not in this position,” he groans. The he’s moving us so I’m on my back and is lifting one of my legs over his shoulder. I didn’t think he could go any deeper, yet he does. My fingers go to my nipples, pinching them in a way that my husband would usually do when my hands are tied to the headboard.
“God, you feel so good, so damn good, Nico.” His eyes lock on the way his cock tunnels in and out of my center, and I do the same. It’s the hottest thing ever, seeing the lips of my pussy flare around his dick, watching my wetness coating him, knowing this is what he does to me, what he always does when we’re together. Tonight, though, it’s deeper, and while he’s still in control, this is us making love. Realization hits me, and butterflies swirl in my stomach. The man who doesn’t say that word is inside me, making love to me with his body.
“Sei il mio cuore,” he says, body locking tightly, right along with mine. “You are my heart.” My orgasm takes ahold of me. I close my eyes, body arching to stay as close to him as possible as he works our bodies through a storm that’s hot, heavy, with wind swirling around you, tree limbs swaying. The aftermath is when the clouds clear out, leaving the sun to peek out with different hues of orange, purple, and yellows.
“I love you, Nico. God, I love you,” I reply as my body drains of any energy I once had.
“Sleep, vita mia.” Nico kisses my closed eyelids then pulls out of my body and leaves the bed. I hear the running water in the bathroom, then he’s back in the bedroom with me, spreading my thighs to clean me up, taking care of me when I’m too tired to.
“Nico,” I sigh in contentment. I sleepily feel him lie down beside me, moving my body until I’m in my usual place, leg on top of his thigh, head on his chest, hands laced with one another’s. The best sleep I’ve ever had is with Nico in bed with me, and now that things are better, I know this is where he’ll always end his days: here with me.
TWENTY-FIVE
Journey
Over the past few days,Nico has truly shown the real man behind the boss. He’s home around the same time I am, puts the phone down when he walks through the door, and goes so far as to cook dinner with me. Though, it’s not one of my meals that get sent in a box and are easy to throw together. Nico is as talented in the kitchen as he is in the bedroom, probably because he’s a perfectionist at every little thing no matter what it is. I’ve been hyper-vigilant, going as far as to have deliveries sent to Nico’s house to do try-ons here and having Hendrix do Zoom meetings unless we have filming to do. She’s been a champ adding the extra miles and gas to come out this far when my condo is within walking distance. Not that she’ll walk unless it’s on a hike later in the day. There’s nothing worse than showing up to work dripping sweat and with chafed thighs, at least that’s what Hendrix tells me. She’s a hiker, I’m a runner on the treadmill person, and even then, I’m not consistently doing it like I should be. The only time I make my way into Nico’s home gym is when he’s in there, lifting weights, pulling on something that I know he’ll take off after he watches me running. The longest I’ve yet to last is twenty minutes, then I’m being pulled away, and we get our cardio done in a completely different way.
Hendrix only left ten minutes ago, after we worked from the moment she got here, only breaking for lunch. The contract I was leery about was a total wash, and after I respectfully declined, they decided not to renew the other contracts we had together, taking it one step further to buy me out of the one that was still going on. Another lesson learned. Thankfully, I kept it quiet as much as I could and only had a few emails from my followers asking why. It was hard to remain professional after a company you once liked decided to be a major dickhole, but I did it. Call it my good Samaritan act for the year.
I’m just about to get in the shower, ready to relax and have a chill evening, hopefully convincing Nico that we can order in something for dinner and watch a movie. Netflix and chill but for an old married couple. Well, the old would be Nico seeing as he’s in the home stretch in turning forty to my younger age of now twenty-eight. Delaney and Hendrix tease me relentlessly how I’ve got myself an older man, going so far as to ask if I call him daddy, which I do not. Nico dominates me in the bedroom; that’s as far as it gets.
My phone beeps, and after being on it and the laptop for what seems like all day, I’m dreading even picking it up to see who’s texting me. I do it anyway, just in case it’s my mom or Nico needs a decision about the crazy wedding. The event they have planned has already doubled in attendance and tripled in money, so much that I put my foot down because Nico was just going to foot the bill. No freaking way. Plus, it’s not necessary. The wedding we had was all that either of us needed. Reception? Sure. But to say our vows all over again? I’d rather we didn’t.
A smile and a newfound energy wash over me when I see who texted me.
Nico: Vita mia, Wylder’s asked us to meet him and Celeste for dinner. Feel up to it?
This is another thing that’s changed: texts and calls come throughout the day, more than ever. When I told him he’d have to prove to me he meant it when he said he was going to work on our marriage, Nico went all in.
Me: Sure, I just wrapped up with work. What time?
Nico: Enzo is ready whenever you are. I’m already here at the hotel.
I look down at what I’m wearing. I’m still in one of the try-on outfits that consists of a white bodysuit, cream-colored linen paper bag pants, and corkscrew wedges. The accessories are already on—hoop earrings, a few bracelets, and my wedding ring that never leaves my finger no matter what I’m doing.
Me: Tell Enzo I’m walking out now. Love you.
Nico: Ti penso ogni giorno.
My heart soars with that statement. I keep my phone in hand, not worrying about a purse because Nico is there, and Enzo is driving so I don’t need anything except my license and a spare credit card that I keep in the wallet part of my phone case. I’m downstairs, taking in the small additions I’ve added to the otherwise sparse house. I’ve added throw pillows, have fresh flowers delivered from a local florist, and there are stacks of books as well as blankets. I can’t believe Nico didn’t have a single blanket in his house until I moved in. Blasphemy. There are a few framed pictures from our wedding and then the most recent one that we took yesterday. Nico was sitting on the couch, reading through one of my contracts that was entirely too much legal jargon. I took it upon myself to wiggle my way into his lap, held my arm out, and snapped a picture as he pressed a kiss to my forehead. It was sweet and showed me how much he shows me his love instead of telling me.
I walk, turn the alarm from home to away, and walk into the garage expecting Enzo to already be inside, waiting for me like normal, but I don’t see him. The smart thing would be to book it back inside. Clearly, I’m that dumb girl in the horror movie who runs upstairs to get away instead, because I walk farther out of the garage. The door is open, so I assume Enzo must be talking to another guy, when I feel a sharp sting hit me in the neck. My hand covers the place that’s burning, and I pull out the object that’s protruding as I feel myself getting tired, so freaking sleepy, and when I realize it’s a dart, I know it's too late to use my phone to call Nico. It’s light out, and the sound of feet hitting the pavement around me is the last thing I recall.
TWENTY-SIX
Nico
“I’ve gotto take this. Excuse me,” I tell Wylder and Celeste. We’re sitting in his office shooting the shit. Celeste was off for the day and asked how Journey was doing, then suggested we needed to get together more often after I texted my wife to see if she’d be interested in hanging out with her brother and sister-in-law. When my phone rings, the number tells me it’s Enzo. I check my watch, realizing that it’s been thirty minutes since Journey responded to my text. They should be pulling up by now, if they aren’t here already.
“Hello.” There is no response on the other end of the line. My senses go on high alert. This week, we hit Petrov where it hurt. Expecting payback, we tightened security around the house, and I went so far as to have a guy with me at all times as well. Not that I’m happy at all about that situation. Journey took it in stride and is even working from our home instead of going to her condo daily.
“Wylder,” I mouth, letting him know that we may need to make a move, and quickly.
“Enzo, talk to me.” He coughs, clearing his throat before responding.
“Get to the house. Journey’s down. Shot Petrov, but we need backup. Call for it.” It’s then I realize he’s fading. I hang up the phone, praying that Enzo was smart enough to cover him and Journey if something else is happening. I make another call.
“Papà, get to my house, please.”
