16. Chapter Sixteen

“What the hell have I gotten myself into, George?” I ask him as he paddles around the inflatable pool in my office.

After our first night together, Nico kept his distance for a few nights, and then it seemed he just gave up trying. He’s since spent the past five nights in my bed. And I have no words to describe what happens there. All I know is we talk and laugh and fuck—a lot. And that each morning we drag ourselves out of it, my bed feels less and less like mine and more like ours.

Which is insane because he’s Nico Vitelli, a mafia Don. A criminal.

George looks up at me, then goes back to paddling. He doesn’t even quack. I guess he’s fresh out of advice today.

“I’ve got to say, buddy; it feels like I’m carrying all the weight in this friendship.”

This doesn’t seem to concern him.

I sigh and grab my cell phone. Hopefully, Mags will have better advice.

“Hey, Sparrow-girl,” she answers on the second ring. “What’s up?”

“I really, really liked that black Mustang,” I spin around on my chair, picking up our conversation from last week as if it was a minute ago.

Mags chuckles, not missing a beat, “Bet it looked good on you, too.”

“Ugh, it did, Mags.”

“So, is this a walk down memory lane, or is there more to it?” she asks, always the insightful one.

“Nico’s the Mustang,” I tell her again.

“Because he makes you want to ride him hard and often?”

Yeah, there is that. Not quite what I meant, though. “He’s a criminal. He’s supposed to be off-limits for me. I was never going to do this again.”

“You never did it to begin with,” Mags points out. “You and Rafe never crossed that line. You didn’t return his feelings.”

“True,” I agree.

“And now you’re afraid that… what? He’s going to brainwash you, have you doing his dirty work, and then make you his fall girl?”

“Of course not,” I laugh at how ridiculous the notion sounds. If only it were that simple. “Mags, I’m afraid of not being able to stop.” It feels good to finally admit it.

“And you worry he might end up dead like Rafe or AWOL like your mother?” She probes, her voice gentler now.

Or he doesn’t feel the same way I’m starting to feel about him.“That about sums it up,” I say as I push off from the desk and spin around again. The movement makes me long for simpler times, when the clubhouse was like a castle, and all the men in it were my knights in shining armor—shining leather.

“Sure, it’s possible those things could happen,” Mags says, her voice even softer. “But so also could car accidents, heart attacks, robberies, and cancer. There’s no limit to the horrible shit that can sneak up on you and steal away the people you care about, Sparrow.”

“I know,” I sigh. But that doesn’t mean I have to help disaster out by painting a bullseye on my back.”

“Is it that serious between you two?” she asks.

I open my mouth to say no, but the word gets stuck, which is ridiculous. We’ve only known each other for weeks, not months or years, and in that time, he’s contemplated killing me, threatened the people I care about, and broken into my place of business.

“I have no clue. I just know I don’t have to pretend with him. He likes me to be… me.”

He likes my hair. And my tattoo. And my home. And the unusual funeral rituals. And even Mud Night.

“Then I suggest you get out of that pig-headed brain of yours and ride him hard and often until you see where this leads,” Mags blurts.

“I’m not pig-headed,” I object.

She laughs. “Your daddy might have named you Sparrow, but you’re the most headstrong, stubborn, obstinate little bird I’ve ever met.”

“Headstrong, stubborn, and obstinate all mean the same thing, Mags.”

“The point required emphasis.”

She might not be entirely wrong.

“But Mags, aren’t you the least bit worried I might end up at the bottom of the Atlantic with a pair of concrete shoes?”

Mags laughs harder. “Your daddy, Cade, Rafe, and I taught you well. So, I pity any man who tries to cross you.”

I smile—I can’t help it. That was one of the perks of growing up with total bad-asses.

Before I can say more, there’s a knock at the waiting room door.

“I’ve got to go,” I tell Mags, “But… thanks.”

She doesn’t always say what I want to hear, but I can always count on Mags for honesty. She doesnt tiptoe around the truth—just one of the things that makes her totally awesome.

“Any time, Sparrow-girl.”

I hang up the phone and stand up. The room spins slightly, so it takes me a minute to make it across my office and into the waiting area, but I manage to stay upright.

I brace my hand against the wall and unlock the door, expecting to find Eva. She often forgets her stuff—her cell phone, her purse—but thank God she manages my timetable better than she manages her belongings.

But it’s none other than Nico standing there sans lockpick kit, looking as ridiculously hot as always. And now that I know all the planes and grooves beneath the suit, my mouth waters and my fingers itch to explore them more.

I plaster on my best flippant smile despite the sudden urge to climb him. “It turns out you do know how to knock. I was beginning to wonder.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

I step back and let him in, but he just leans over the door frame.

“Rough day at the office?” I joke.

“Something like that.” He sounds tired, and there’s a tension in the taut set of his shoulders.

“I’d ask you about it, but I have a feeling I’ll get the equivalent of ‘it’s club business.’”

He nods and looks me over. While the smile hasn’t reached his eyes, there’s plenty of heat and unmistakable hunger there now. He steps over the threshold and reaches for me.

My heart pounds in anticipation. I know exactly what he wants because, God help me, I want it too. Badly. “It’s the middle of the day, Nico,” I manage a half-hearted protest.

“So? I want therapy.”

“Nico—”

He slams the door shut, presses me up against it, and takes my mouth. His kiss is urgent and uncontrolled, like something inside him has snapped.

When his mouth leaves mine to trail down my neck, his breathing is ragged, just like mine.

“I could be in the middle of a session, you know,” I gasp.

“You’re not,” he says with too much certainty.

“How can you be so sure?”

Like I even need to ask?

“It’s Tuesday. You’re closed now. Eva left half an hour ago.” He slides his hands down my thighs to the hem of my skirt and yanks it up around my waist.

“Stalker,” I mock-chastise him.

“I won’t be home tonight, Sophie.”

I freeze, then rear back as my heart skips a beat, not in panic but with how good that word sounds. “What do you mean ‘home’?” I question.

His cheek dimples attractively as he grins. “You’ll have to forgive me for that slip of the tongue, Sophie.” Then he deliberately thickens his accent, “English is not my first language.”

Bullshit.“Like hell it isn’t—” My argument melts away when he slips his thumb beneath the side of my thong. With one tug, the scrap of black lace gives, leaving me bare from the waist down.

He leans back to get a look as he unzips his pants. “Show me that pretty pink pussy, Sparrow.”

He hooks an arm behind my knee and lifts my leg, spreading me almost obscenely while he stares at me. I can’t help it; I moan as my inner muscles contract involuntarily a trickle of wetness seeps through my slit.

“Fucking hell, baby, look at you. All dripping wet and so fucking greedy.”

“Nico, please.” I flush as his words hit me hard; their impact seems to land on my clit.

He pulls out his cock—that glorious hard, thick flesh with the piercing that seriously must be the best thing since… well, fuck sliced bread; the piercing is a thousand times better. I’m not the only one dripping here. There’s a drop of precum hanging from his piercing, making my mouth water for a taste. When he goes to rubber up, I put a hand on his, stilling him.

“Wait, Nico,” I push against his chest. When he sees the direction of my gaze, he releases my leg so I can drop to my knees in front of him.

“You’re driving me insane,” he groans.

“I haven’t even started yet.” I dart my tongue to lick the wet head of his cock, catching his precum.

His cock jerks and his eyes flare with heat. I wrap my hand around the thick base and just take in his fat, beautiful cock. No wonder the man feels so fucking good. I run my tongue around the tip, flicking across the sensitive ridge and the barbell.

He lets out a heavy breath as his fingers tangle in my hair, taking out the single pin I used to hold it up. The moment I open wider and suck him in, his breath catches, and his fingers clench tight.

I take him in deeper, hollowing my cheeks, then work my way back to the tip, working my hands on him in tandem.

“Fuck, baby.” He keeps a firm grip on my hair, but he doesn’t take over; he lets me set the pace, taking him in over and over again and flicking my tongue over the plump head of his cock each time.

His breath huffs out in hard and fast. His free hand, once clenched in a white-knuckled fist at his side, now rises, trembling, to join the other. Together, they grasp and entwine in my hair as he watches me. Our eyes meet, and the live sexual current in the air snaps brighter. Hotter.

“You’re perfect, fiammetta.”

In addition to making me hornier, his words do something to my rapidly beating heart that I don’t care nor have enough working brain cells to examine right now.

I take him as deep as I can, moaning at the sensation of having him where no other man has ever been. Then I withdraw and run my tongue back and forth over the smooth round metal knobs, unable to resist playing with his piercing.

He jerks and groans loudly, and a tremor seeps into his hands. I suppress a smile, feeling like a queen for transforming this dangerous and powerful man into a shuddering tower of lust.

And then my knees are no longer on the floor. He pulls me upright, his eyes dark pools of promise searing into mine. Youll get a good taste of me soon enough, baby. But right now, I need to feel your tight cunt strangling my cock so I can think straight tonight.

He seals his lips to mine, his tongue boldly sliding into my mouth like he owns it. He kisses me until I’m breathless and squirming, then he fists on a condom, lifts me up, and wedges his thighs between my legs, parting them wide.

He lowers me down and thrusts up at the same time, filling me and making me gasp. The stretch, the burn, the exquisite pleasure, and that glorious barbell grinding against my sweet spot… God, it feels so good. Every time without fail, he blows my mind with how freaking good he feels inside me.

He fucks me deep and slow, driving my shoulder blades into the door as I wrap my legs around him, digging my heels into the small of his back.

“Tu sei come il paradiso,”he grinds out between gritted teeth as he reaches between us with his free hand. “Like a fucking slice of heaven.”

He grabs hold of my blouse and jerks hard, sending half the buttons flying off. Then he pulls my bra cups down, making my breasts spill out, watching as every deep thrust makes them bounce.

I reach for his shirt to bare some of that ripped body, too, but he catches both my wrists with one hand and holds them against the door above my head.

“No, cara, you stay there and take every stroke until you come all over my cock.” He drops his face in the crook of my neck and grazes me with his teeth while his hand cups my breast and pulls on my taut nipple.

The pleasure mounts so quickly that it has me gasping. I’m out of control, spiraling upward so fast, it’s dizzying. I wrap my legs tighter around him, holding on, trying to find purchase. My hands curl into fists, grasping onto nothing as my moans get louder every time he bottoms out inside me.

I want to prolong the pleasure, to savor it, but it’s too intense. I’m too close.

My orgasm hits me like a lightning bolt, hot and bright.

“Nico!” I cry out as my body ignites and explodes into a thousand shards of bliss.

His grunts get louder and more feral until he thrusts in deep, so deep I swear I can feel him everywhere as his cock swells impossibly more. Then he stills, throwing his head back as he climaxes. The roar that comes out of him is so wild it makes my muscles clench around his hard cock.

As he comes back down from his orgasm, he leans his forehead against mine, silent except for the sounds of our breathing as it begins to slow.

“There’s a duck tapping on my leg,” he says, finally leaning away and looking down.

I laugh as I follow his gaze. “He must like you. A poor judge of character, if you ask me,” I tease as Nico lowers my feet to the ground.

Chuckling, he fixes my skirt and bra, then bends to put on the shoe that had come off my foot.

There’s nothing to be done about my torn shirt, but he picks up my hairpin, plants a kiss on my temple, then grabs my hand, pulling me across the waiting room and into my office.

Legs still trembling, I collapse into one of the chairs while Nico goes to the adjoining bathroom to take care of the condom.

He returns to the room and heads straight for my couch, throwing his large frame across it while twirling the transparent plastic hairpin between his hands. The tension is beginning to settle back into his shoulders, but I’m surprised when he asks, “How was your day?”

Its a simple question, really, but somehow, it almost feels more intimate than the sex we just had.

Like the first orgasm he ever gave me.

Like that single hand he had on my back at Rafe’s funeral.

Like the bandage he put over my palm on Mud Night. All those times he puts his feelings aside to cater to me.

“It was alright. A bit manic in the morning with an accidental double booking, but we managed in the end.” I kick off my heels so my legs are less shaky, then stand and head for the hidden closet on the far wall. I grab the suitcase stashed inside.

“Do you have other clients who have, or may have ties to the underworld?” Nico asks.

“Like you, you mean?” I unzip the suitcase and rummage through it.

“I’m not your client, fiammetta. I’m the twisted fuck who wants to ruin you.”

That should scare me, given what I’m starting to feel for the man, but it doesn’t. “I suppose that’s a leg up from the twisted fuck who wants to kill me.”

“Damn straight,” he deadpans. Then, as if just noticing what I’m doing, he asks, “You keep a suitcase full of clothes at your office?” He stands as I pull out a fresh shirt.

“Yup,” I say, shrugging out of the torn one and slipping the silk top over my head.

“Why?” he asks. He’s moved beside me and now peers into the bag.

“For when clients ruin my clothes during sex,” I say, pleased with my straight face.

He cuts me a look, brows drawn down in irritation.

I laugh, “Let me guess; you were a virgin up until we screwed each other’s brains out the other night?”

“That’s not the point,” Nico snaps.

“What’s the point then?”

“I don’t fucking share, Sophie. Just so we’re clear, I’ll put a bullet in anyone who looks at you wrong, much less touches you. And,” he holds my gaze steadily, “I’ll sleep like a baby after.”

I laugh, knowing the way his words warm me indicates that there must be something seriously wrong with me. “Okay, fine. And just so you know, I don’t share either.”

“Why do you think I flew back from Las Vegas last night?”

Suddenly, his blue eyes are too intense. Too serious

“You did that?”

He ignores my question and instead asks, “You still havent told me why you have a suitcase full of clothes.”

I explain, feeling slightly sheepish. “It’s… an emergency bag for if I ever need to grab and go,”

He looks at me; the wheels are turning behind his eyes.

“Is this where you point out that women in nice, ‘new-life boxes’ don’t need grab bags?” I ask, cringing just a little because he wouldn’t be wrong there.

But he shakes his head. “It’s smart, Sophie.I like that about you.”

I open my mouth to respond—though I’m not quite sure what to say—but he beats me to it.

“So, what’s wrong with Maria?” he asks casually, dropping into my chair. He grabs the round crystal paperweight on my desk, slowly turning it around.

“Maria?” I repeat, confused. “I haven’t spoken to her, not since the phone call you already know about.”

“I mean, what’s wrong with her? Why was she coming to see you as a therapist?”

Okay, we’ve gone from exclusive sex, to grab bags, to clients. Pretty sure I’m going to end up with whiplash here, given Nico’s tendency to flit from one subject to another without warning.

“I can’t tell you that,” I say because even if it wasn’t a therapist-client thing, Maria has kept her condition secret her entire life. I’m not sure she’d appreciate me blabbing about it.

“Why not?” he asks. “You saw the news, didn’t you? Maria Ricci is dead.”

I roll my eyes. “But I know she isn’t, Nico.”

He looks at me for a moment, then nods. “I like that about you too.”

I cock an eyebrow at him. “My argumentative side? Yeah, I hear it’s a fan favorite.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me onto his lap. “Your integrity,” he says as he runs his fingers down the side of my face. The touch feels more than sexual; it feels intimate.

I scoff, brushing off his words and the touch at the same time. “I’m sleeping with a criminal after committing to rid that element from my life. I’m not sure my integrity counts for a whole lot at the moment.”

“I disagree,” he says. “You never really committed to such a thing. You only thought you did.” For emphasis, he pulls on my waist-length hair.

The reason I couldn’t cut my hair is the same reason I have kept my knife on me all the time since cutting ties with my home four years ago. But it’s a reason I refuse to let myself examine to any great depth. “I need a haircut.” A proper one this time, not just a trimming of split ends.

“You needed one two years ago, baby,” he smirks, looking far too smug. The glint in his eyes tells me that he knows why I haven’t touched my hair.

I roll my eyes, forcing my mind back onto the subject at hand. “Why are you even asking about Maria?”

He shrugs as he leans back against my chair. “Maria is very picky about those she trusts, but she trusts you. And it sounds like you know her very well.”

Something about his words doesn’t sit right, but I can’t put a finger on it. Nico seems worried about her. Is that why he’s tense today? “Are Maria and Victoria okay?”

“Sì, of course,” he says. It doesn’t sound like he’s lying, and nothing about his body language suggests otherwise.

“Where is she?”

“You shouldn’t really be asking me that.”

“Ugh.” I roll my eyes. I’ll never fully understand his obsession with secrecy, even when there’s clearly no reason. “You do realize I could ask Maria this the next time she calls.”

“So, ask her, then,” he replies.

“I’m asking you, Nico.”

He narrows his gaze at me and grinds his molars, debating whether to answer my question. It’s just one location, one that shouldn’t mean anything to either of us, but somehow, it’s like crossing a significant line.

Finally, Nico says, “Cozumel, Mexico.”

I huff out a breath. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he grumbles.

I shrug. “Trusting me, I suppose. It seems like a little thing, but I know it’s a big deal for you, Nico.”

He grunts. “Do you really?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, you might want to get on your knees and thank me properly.”

My gaze flies to meet his. His eyes are scorching, and the playful glint is back, but there’s also something darker. A challenge. He wants to push me, too, not unlike the way I did to him just now.

I arch a single eyebrow at him. “I don’t know if I’m feeling that grateful.”

Nico wraps a hand around my jaw, stroking my lower lip back and forth with his thumb.

“Then do it because you want to. Because you don’t really need a reason to suck my cock and swallow every drop of cum I give you, do you?”

I’m sick. That’s why his words would make my nipples tighten to achy points and my mouth water for another taste of him. “You’re insatiable, Nico.” I try to sound disapproving, but it somehow only comes out in a breathless moan because I want nothing more than to finish what I started earlier.

He smiles wickedly, “That makes two of us fiammetta. Get on your knees.”

I slip off his thighs and sink to the carpet, already knowing he’ll push me to my limit and unable to believe how much I want him to do it and how slick my thighs have suddenly become.

And I find I’m right. Nico not only pushes me to the limit, but he also shows me a side I never imagined was lurking inside.

Holding my head steady, Nico fucks my mouth hard. My eyes water and I open my throat, but still, I gag around his girth every time he holds himself deep.

Acting on pure instinct, knowing how much Nico needs control, I let my hands leave the base of his cock and creep up under his shirt and around his waist, enjoying the feel of his hard muscles as I go. It’s a silent gesture of surrender to Nico, a sign of trust and permission to do as he pleases.

His fingers tighten in my hair as he gasps, “Buon Dio, Sophie,what the hell are you doing to me?”

I could ask you the same.

Nico isn’t a silent lover, but this time hes uncharacteristically loud. Like he wants me to hear how good my mouth feels. His dark pleasure, his tortured moans, and fevered curses land right between my thighs like hot bolts of lust, making me desperate for release. His and mine.

I remove one of my hands from around his waist so I can slip my fingers into my dripping folds and rub my clit as his groans turn feral and his thighs start to shake. And then, in seconds, hes right there. With a shout, he drives his cock deep and begins coating the back of my throat with his cum.

And there’s a lot of it, considering the man just came less than half an hour ago.

I’m vibrating with an insane amount of lust, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I feel like a naked wire, like if Nico breathed on me, I’d come. I’m not sure if it has to do with it being the first time I’ve ever let a man finish in my mouth, let alone relish his taste. Or maybe it’s the way his eyes, dark and scorching, train on me, watching me swallow his cum.

“Bellissima,”he praises, his eyes filled with intense pride, and the corner of his mouth quirks in a fleeting smile.

I note his erection hasn’t flagged one bit, something I’m immensely grateful for because if he doesn’t fuck this insane throbbing out of my pussy in the next minute, I’m sure I’d die of want.

By the time he bends me over my desk, I’m all but sobbing in relief.

“I won’t go slow, Sophie—” Nico warns.

“Dont you fucking dare! Fuck me hard! Now!”

“Si, bella,” He chuckles, then drives into me with a ferocity that immediately has me screaming. He fucks me through my orgasm with deep, driving thrusts and straight into another. And he goes on and on, pushing me to mind-numbing heights of pleasure.

It’s punishing hard and unbelievably dirty, and I’m certain I’ll never be able to view my office desk the same way again, but its the best sex I’ve ever had. And something tells me I’ve barely scratched the surface with Nico.

God help me.

By the time we eventually scoop George into his carrier and leave, it’s well after dusk. I’m sated, sleepy, hoarse, and deliciously sore. He drops me off at my house, promising to have someone leave my Camaro on my driveway before morning.

“Nico, you’re sure Maria and Victoria are fine, though?” I ask again before I leave his SUV.

“Si,” Nico replies. “As well as can be considering she’s lonely and recently widowed.”

I nod and kiss him goodnight, wishing there was some way I could help Maria. I know suggesting another therapist is out of the question since her last one barely escaped with her life.

Maria is probably going through those early stages of grief,I conclude as I collapse into bed, too exhausted to do more than kick off my heels.

But if I had spidey senses, it so would have been going off right about now.