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While he did so many delicious things to my body all night long.
Fuck, Ari, get your head together. I chastised myself silently.
“Am I supposed to sit at the table alone with only the wallpaper that my sweet, dead mother painstakingly picked out and loved, to keep me company?” He raised an eyebrow at me and looked out the corner of his eye as I shrunk in my seat at my blunder. “I’ll take your company today instead,” he finished, letting me off the hook.
“Hmm,” I hummed but was saved from needing to reply as Alec brought over our plates with our lunch on them. “Alec,” I groaned, leaning forward to take a sniff, “You’re spoiling me.”
On each of our plates were the most beautifully crafted slices of pizza with fresh basil and mozzarella chunks melted to perfection, paired with a beautiful green salad filled with fresh vegetables and vibrant fruits.
“My pleasure, Ma’am,” Alec said, bowing his head once as he wiped his hands on his apron. “I spritzed the pizza with lemon since you so enjoyed it last time. Be sure to let me know how you find it today.”
“Oh, I will.” I swallowed, eager to dive in. My mouth watered as I eyed the gooey cheese. “Thank you so much.”
“Enjoy,” he replied and backed out of the kitchen to leave us in privacy.
I ate in the kitchen to enjoy their company, but with Nicolas’ presence at my side, both Alec and Mariella had abandoned me.
Traitors.
I covered my lap with my napkin and realized that Nicolas was silent at my side, so I looked over at him.
Finding him scowling down at me.
“What now?” I groaned. “That face alone is trying to ruin this meal for me and I’m going to get angry if you succeed.”
“Are you fond of my chef?” he asked firmly, “You’re both overly comfortable with each other.”
“Oh, knock it off.” I rolled my eyes dismissively and reached to pick up my pizza, realizing my mistake too late.
Suddenly, I was pulled off my stool and sat directly on the counter in front of Nicolas who narrowly moved his plate and utensils before I swallowed them with my ass. “Nico!” I gasped in shock, “What is wrong with you?”
“Are you fucking my chef?” he snapped, staring directly into my eyes, thanks to his height.
“Do you honestly think I’m fucking your chef?” I snapped back, “Simply because he is nice to me? You’ve never been nice to me, yet I still fuck you. Clearly niceties aren’t what gets me off.”
He stood up and pushed my legs apart, stepping between them as I leaned backward to keep space between us as fear and excitement pulsed through my spine.
No, niceties weren’t what got me motivated at all.
“Nobody touches what’s mine,” he snarled, resting his hands on the marble countertop underneath my ass. “I thought I made that explicitly clear when I took your virginity.”
“I’m not a whore, Nico,” I argued back, “I’m not like you.”
He raised his eyebrows and his upper lip pulled up in a sinister smirk. “Are you calling me a whore, Wife?”
“I think the tabloids did that for me recently.” I hissed and instantly regretted it.
Last week, when he was gallivanting around the city, paparazzi photographed him in the lobby of his penthouse with a woman. She was dressed to the nines and dripping with sex appeal, as she stared up into his eyes like he was the sexiest man on earth.
Which he very well may be.
The story said:
Notorious businessman Nicolas Capasso was seen entertaining the wife of one of his rivals in the lobby of his building. Sources close to the businessman confirmed the woman had spent the evening in the penthouse suite multiple times recently.
I’d been so enraged when I read the newspaper that had been laid out on the floor outside of my bedroom door one morning, I tore it to shreds and then flushed it down the toilet.
Comic section and all.
