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She thinks for a moment. “It was lonely, honestly. Being an outsider. They tried really hard to make sure I didn’t feel isolated, but it didn’t always work. But we’d spend the whole summer around parts of Italy every year. Papa has several properties out there. I always had the best time, but every year leaving got harder. I used to cry at the end of every summer. Eventually, I just stopped myself from feeling too much happiness, so I wouldn’t feel so sad all the time. Our summers were more like boot camps, so that helped.”
Tightness engorged my chest. I imagined a younger version of her feeling lost, craving affection, and feeling like she didn’t belong.
“I would love to only be around my brothers part-time,” I joke.
She laughs. “Yeah, I imagine it’s different with three boys. Especially violent ones like yourselves.” She sighs. “It wasn’t all that bad, though. I love Manhattan, and I have friends. Have you ever been to Italy?”
“A few times. Don’t remember the scenery much, though. I was more concerned withother things.”
“Other things beingwomen,” she teases, bumping my shoulder.
“What can I say?” I shrug, teasing her back.
I like that she’s jealous.
“I got my first kiss in Naples,” she says, cutting me out of my thoughts. I knew what she was doing, and I was tempted to take the bait. “By one of the boys in the village we’d see every year.”
“Yeah, we don’t have to talk about Italy that much,” I mumble, half joking but half serious. I knew she’d been with men before me, but still, I didn’t want to hear about it.Be cool,Nico.
She laughs. “What about your brothers?”
“What about them?”
“Has Bash always been so...Broody? And Enzo, so charming? Classic older and younger child syndrome. You also have middle child syndrome,” she says.
“First of all, Enzo isn’t charming. He’s spoiled rotten, never struggled a day in his life, and has always been a pain in the ass. Bash was always going to be capo, so he had to be more disciplined.” She looks at me as if she’s sayingpoint made. “And I don’t have middle child syndrome,” I say, trying not to pout.
“Sure you don’t,” she says, smirking.
Chapter Seventeen
Anya
The clock ticks with each passing second. Staring at the ceiling, I can’t sleep. I’m not even sure I’m breathing. If I breathe, I’ll smell his erotic scent. I don’t dare move, either. I know he’s still awake. I can tell by the way he’s breathing. I can tell he feels the tension, too. I want him. And there he is. Less than an inch away from me. If I even coughed, we’d be touching. I regret giving up on my pillow walls.
We’re both lying on our backs, staring at the ceiling, our hands on our stomachs like two virgins at church camp. Not that I would know, but it’s what I’d imagined they’d be like. He hasn’t made a move, but I haven’t missed how he’s found ways to get close to me and touch me. He wants me. Right now, it’s in the tension in his shoulders and the way he’s breathing.
It’s been two weeks since our almost-kiss, after my first day of training. Resisting him is getting so much harder. I think having sex with him would’ve been easier than talking and getting to know him. A part of me is hoping they never find Andrew, so we can stay here forever. I know this won’t last, but I can’t help but wonder.Is it just sex?You can’t ever be together.
Fuck it. I want this. I not-so-subtlety drop my left arm, so now it’s touching his.Your move,Nico. Before I can even finish my next thought, he grips my upper thigh. My body comes to life from the heat of his skin. It’s not a soft hold, not rough, either. But firm and confident.
Neither of us dare move. We sit still for what feels like forever, but it was probably three minutes. We’ve had sex before, so why am I so nervous now?
I feel a rush of bravery run through me. I slowly move and pick up his hand that was still on my leg and gently move it over my now aching core. Painfully slow, I move, giving him a chance to pull his hand back if he wants to, but I was praying he wouldn’t. I don’t think my self-esteem could handle his rejection. Taking control of his hand, I graze his middle finger along my slit over my thin cotton panties, the touch light as a feather and torturously slow. I let out a sigh. He doesn’t stop me, and I can hear his breathing becoming more ragged and desperate. My skin feels like it’s on fire, and I start moving his finger in circles around my slit, still not applying any pressure.
My core is pleading—no, begging—for more. My panties are embarrassingly soaked, and his chest rises and falls with each labored breath. His eyes are closed. I stop the movement, wanting to see what he’ll do next.
Nico
I’m so hard right now I could hit a baseball. Right out of the park.
My hand is on her pussy. She fucking put it there. If that wasn’t the hottest thing I’d ever witnessed. She’s waiting for me to make the next move. I know if I take her now, I’ll never be able to let her go. Do I want to let her go? Let another man touch her someday?Fuck no.
We sit, motionless, and next thing I know, I’m grunting a string of curses and taking the same hand she just used to touch herself with and pull her underwear to the side. I use two of my fingers into her wetness. And fuck is she wet. She gasps as I let out a moan, spreading her legs slightly for me. I move between her entrance and clit, working up her arousal.
Drenched. I already know. I could feel it over the fabric, but touching her skin directly sent a shock through my system. She lets out another moan and circles her hips. That encourages me more. I stroke her slit with my fingers, applying more pressure this time.
“Nico,” she moans.
