Page 49 of Till Death Do Us Part

With one hand against my back, he pulls the other free, sliding it between our bodies until he finds my clit and makes rough circles around the nub. I tug his hair, pulling him from my mouth so I can breathe. Instead of taking me again in another kiss, he leans down, closing his lips over a pebbled nipple and sucking it hard enough that a cry slips out of me.

He claims every piece of me then—as he said he wanted to.

In this moment, I’d give him everything he could ask for.

Wanton need rushes me in waves, a coil of pleasure threatening to explode as he continues to thrust inside me. He pinches my clit and stars flash in my vision as I barrel towards my climax.

“You’re so fucking hot, Princess. Wet and tight,” he growls, pounding into me harder. The glass at my back shakes with every thrust, my body on the cusp of orgasm as my pussy pulses around him. “Give in to me, baby. Choke my dick with your cunt. Claim me as yours as I claim you. Come for me.”

His words send me over the edge, and I give him all of me then; a scream on my tongue as I come harder than I ever have before. This only drives him more, and he thrusts harder and harder, his orgasm following mine moments later.

His forehead drops, pressing against mine as his breath fans my cheeks. Gun shots still ring out beneath us—but there isn’t a thing in the world that could pull me away from this bubble with him.

For one perfect moment, he is mine and I am his.

The rest of the world be damned.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Thescentofbloodpermeates the air—the metallic tang sitting on my tongue as the sounds of muffled screams reach through the wooden door. For the last hour, I’ve tried to lose myself in the words on the pages in front of me . . . but it’s pointless.

After we cleaned up on the balcony, Leonardo dragged me out to the car and demanded Nico drive me back to the penthouse with strict instructions that no matter what I heard, I was to stay in the bedroom and not come out.

Unfortunately for him, following orders doesn’t seem to be something I’m very good at. Though he certainly reaped the rewards of my rule breaking earlier tonight—so he can’t complain too much.

Rolling my neck, I close my book softly, laying it on the bedside table before sliding out of bed. There’s a chill in the air this evening, a bitterness that washes over me as I stand. I grab the hoodie I woke up in this morning, pulling it over my head and inhaling the soft scent of sandalwood that lingers in the fabric.

The hem falls to my mid-thigh, so I skip grabbing anything for my bottom half and pad out of the room on soft feet. The sounds are coming from the farthest room to the back of the hall. And though I know I should go to the living room and put something on the television to drown them out, my curious nature stops me.

I tiptoe my way to the door, my palm pressing against the wood gently while I tip my ear towards the noise. Voices talk over one another, the sound brittle and broken when it reaches me. Whatever is going on in there isn’t pleasant, though, that’s for sure when another muffled scream bounces off the walls, and I can’t help but wonder who is behind the door.

A shiver passes over me, my back stiffening when I hear my name whispered. My hand presses against the metal handle, pushing lightly before I can think better of it.

“I wouldn’t.” Startled, I spin on my heel, clapping a hand against my chest as Nico stares at me pointedly, his brow cocked. Blowing out a breath, I shake my head.

“I wasn’t, I was—”

“Just taking a midnight stroll?” he asks, cutting me off with a low chuckle. “I can promise you, Shortie, you don’t want to go in there.”

“What did you just call me?” I ask, propping my hand on my hip and stalking towards him. He only laughs further, flinging an arm over my shoulders and pulling me into the kitchen with him.

“Sorry, not sorry. You’re tiny compared to all of us, so it’s what I’ve been calling you in my head since you got here,” he tells me, pushing me to the island.

“Good to know, I guess.” Wrinkling my nose, I hop up onto one of the bar stools propped by the island. My feet swaying in the air as he flicks the kettle to life. Aside from the odd occasion I’ve been in the car with Antonio, Nico hasn’t said more than five words to me in all the time I’ve been in New York. “Are you allowed to talk to me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Dunno.” I shrug, tapping my fingers against the marble counter. “You’re just very quiet usually. I guess I figured you didn’t like me much, or you weren’t allowed to fraternise with the boss’s belongings.”

“Neither. But if you haven’t noticed, Ant is a man of few words. So it’s easier just to stay quiet.”

“Do you like him?” I blurt without thinking, mentally slapping myself when he chuckles deeply and slides a mug of tea over to me. Asking questions like that, to men like Nico, can only lead to terrible things.

“He’s my boss.” He smiles, though there’s something hidden in the depths of his hazel eyes that I can’t read.

“He’s my husband.” I shrug, the vodka from earlier clearly loosening my tongue as I continue without conscious thought. “But that doesn’t mean I like him much.”

“Touché.” He laughs for a moment, shaking his head before his face turns solemn. “Though maybe be careful who you’re letting your tongue slip around. Words such as those might just get you killed.”

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