Page 62 of Triplets for the Mafia Prince

His lips brush my neck, and I arch into him.

“Are you awake?”

“I am now.” I wonder if it’s morning. The room is still dark except for a sliver of light from the bathroom. “What time is it?”

"Early." His hand continues its journey between my thighs, making me gasp. "Too early to think."

He's right. Thinking only leads to questions I'm not ready to face. Questions about what happens when we get to New York, about whether I'm just a distraction until he deals with hisfather, about why he never mentions a future that includes us together.

His touch erases those thoughts. His fingers find sensitive spots that make me writhe. “Ready?”

“Yes…” I’m needy for him. He lifts my leg, and from behind, he enters me. The fullness of him chases away everything but the sensation of his moving inside me.

His breathing grows ragged against my neck. The room fills with our gasps and moans. This connection between us feels too intense to just be physical. But maybe I'm just young and naive, seeing meaning where there is none.

I push the doubts away and lose myself in the pleasure building between us. His movements grow more urgent, and I match his rhythm. When release claims me, I cry out his name.

“Fuck yes…” He comes too, the energy of him quick and frenetic, and then it slows until he stops.

I nestle into Nic spooned around me. I could stay here all day. All the days.

"We need to get moving," he says but makes no effort to let me go.

"I know." I press closer, stealing a few more moments.

He rises first, going to the shower. I follow when he’d done. As we prepare to leave, I want to ask what happens next, not just today's plans, but after. I'm afraid of his answers, afraid they'll shatter this fragile thing between us.

I slide into the passenger seat of our stolen car, watching Nic's profile as he navigates us back onto the highway. The morning sun catches his dark hair, and my fingers itch to run through it like they did hours ago in bed.

“How much longer is the drive?” I ask.

“Four or five hours. Depends on whether we take detours.” He’s back to being serious, focused.

Just an hour into our drive, Nic pulls into another shopping center parking lot. "We need to switch cars again."

"Already? We just changed yesterday." I scan the lot, guilt twisting in my gut at the thought of stealing another person's vehicle. These poor people. Sure, insurance will pay, but what a hassle to figure out how to get home, filing for insurance, living life without a car until they can get a replacement.

"Can't be too careful." Nic parks near a weathered sedan not that much different from the one we’re in. “We can’t afford to have my father find us, or the cops. In either case, we’re dead. Jail won’t protect us from him."

A few moments later, I’m in the next car. He switches the plates with the car parked in front of the one we’re stealing, then we’re off again.

“Now New York?” I ask.

“We’re going to New Jersey.”

I wonder if he’s been keeping the details of his plan from me on purpose or if he’s winging it. Considering how much time he’s spent thinking about it, it must be the former.

"You know, we're kind of like Bonnie and Clyde.”

Nic rolls his eyes. “We’re not robbing banks.”

“Did you know that Bonnie and Clyde preferred to rob small stores and funeral homes over banks?”

He glances at me. “How do you know that?”

“I watched a show about it. Bonnie wrote poetry. Maybe I should compose some verses about our adventures.”

He laughs. “Over the river and through the woods, to kill Gino Nardone we go?”

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