Chapter Twenty-Eight
Always forgive your enemies;
nothing annoys them so much.
Oscar Wilde
“Attention! Attention! I ate ants for breakfast!”
At my words, Mina breaks out in the cutest fit of giggles.
“Your turn!” I remind her.
“I-I c-can’t. Can’t. S-stop. Laughing,” she gasps between bursts of sweet, innocent laughter.
I accidentally drop my tablet onto the mattress when I hear a deep voice mock, “You ate your aunts for breakfast?! My love, aunts should only be eaten at dinner time. Uncles are for breakfast!”
“I gotta go,” I say to Mina while she bursts into another fit of laughter.
“Bye, Minka!” She shouts, “Bye, Niccolaio!”
After Niccolaio says bye to her, I end the video chat and turn off the television. For the seventh time since Niccolaio gave me the tablet, Mina and I were watching French daytime soaps together.
Instead of subtitles, we decided the first time we did this that it would be more fun to guess what the actors were saying. Guessing turned into making random and ridiculous things up, and now this is a fun game I look forward to every day.
I was surprised when Niccolaio joined in for the first time a few days ago. Now, I’m used to it, but I still don’t understand why he’s doing all of this. I’ve been pushing it out of my mind, because it’s easier not to think about it, to continue to villainize him.
Instead, I’ve been focusing my attention on studying for my LSATs and talking to Mina every day. Sometimes, I’ll get Jax something to eat, but Niccolaio usually deals with him, which I’m thankful for. That basically means that, for the first time in a long time, I can relax and take some much-needed time to gather my sanity again.
And in the back of my mind, I know that I owe this opportunity to Niccolaio.
It’d be so much easier if he gave me more reasons to hate him. Yeah, he still speaks with way more assertiveness than I’m used to, but I’ve come to realize that it’s part of his charm. And yes—Niccolaio is charming.
Dangerously so.
Which is why, as he loosens his tie and approaches me, looking way more attractive in a tailored suit than should be legal, I make sure I have my defenses up.
I clear the lust out of my throat and say, “I didn’t hear you enter.”
He smirks and arches a brow as if to say, duh.
I roll my eyes. “Did you find Naz’s getaway driver?”
He shakes his head. “From the video footage we got from street cameras, we traced his car back to a building in Brooklyn, but we didn’t get any decent resolution images of his face. I sat with a Romano sketch artist today to do a mockup of his face.”
“And then what?”
“Vince is distributing the sketch to all of his contacts by the end of the week. Hopefully, it’ll turn up some new leads. Either way, it doesn’t really matter. It’s safe to assume the driver is just one of many people after me.”
I nod. “But he’s the only one who we know for certain knows about me.”
His eyes darken, and his voice is serious when he says, “I won’t let anything happen to you or Mina.”
My breath catches in my throat at the simmering promise in his words, and I don’t know what to make of them. He doesn’t have to protect me. He owes me nothing. Nothing that happened is technically his fault, yet… I’m starting to think Niccolaio is a decent guy under all that bark—and bite—of his.
So, I stare him right in the eyes and say, “I believe you.”
And I do.
Truly.
The storm in his eyes clears at my words, and he takes a seat on the bed beside me. “I have a favor to ask.”
My brows raise. “From me?”
“No, from Jax.”
I snort unattractively, and we both turn towards Jax, who is—finally—passed out on the floor. Aside from when I get to talk to Mina, my favorite time of day is when Jax is asleep. Unfortunately, the guy has more energy than the Energizer bunny. He sleeps just four hours a day and is up the other twenty.
It’s exhausting to deal with.
I wish we could get rid of him—and quickly.
But I don’t want to kill him, and Niccolaio doesn’t want him free to try to kill us again.
That means the only thing left to do is pawn him off on someone else to watch, which Niccolaio refuses to do since he trusts no one, or continue to look after him until Niccolaio no longer has a hit on his head, which is starting to feel like never.
“Seriously, though… Can we get rid of him?”
“Honestly, probably not for a while.”
I sigh and, remembering the favor, gesture for him to continue.
He does. “Lucy’s wedding is coming up.”
“I know. She invited me.”
“Perfect.”
I narrow my eyes. “I wasn’t planning on going.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have much of a choice. Will you go with me?”
I have to force my jaw to stay in place. “What? Why?”
“Firstly, Asher donated tablets to every state run group home in the city, including your sister’s.”
That’s a good enough reason to go. He could have stopped at that, and I would have agreed, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he continues, “Secondly, the safe house we’re staying in has been provided to us by the Romano family. Asher may not work for a Romano anymore, but he practically is one still, so it’d be ungrateful to decline his invitation.”
Another valid reason. I should tell him to stop, but I don’t. And that’s a massive mistake, because his last reason absolutely guts me, sending me completely off kilter.
“And lastly, because I want you to.”
My finger eagerly swipes at the tablet, and it moves onto the next page of the book. A Charleigh Rose erotica romance novel. My obsession started out as means of sex research for my gold digging, but after a while, I started to enjoy these types of books. Now, I’m hooked and read them for fun.
It still blows my mind that these women enjoy sex. That they lust for it, wish for it, and think of it all day long. I’ve never been like that. Before Mina was taken, I was too young to pursue it and too busy working to be interested in it. After Mina was taken, it became a means to an end, one of many steps to get Mina back.
Now, I’m more open to learn where these women are coming from. I’ve felt the lust they describe around Niccolaio, so maybe I’d be able to feel like the— I glance hesitantly around the safe house instinctively, though I know it’s empty.
I put Jax in the bathroom earlier, bound, gagged and blindfolded with a clunky set of Beats headphones blasting music in his ears. It’s probably overkill, but I wanted the extra privacy. The idea of reading erotica around other people makes me uncomfortable.
I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to touch myself and feel good doing it. Satisfied that I’m alone, I allow my fingers to drift below the skirt of my sundress and into my panties, pressing against my clit in soft, lazy circles as I read the words in the novel.
“Good girl.”
Only thing is… I’m not good. And I’m about to become even worse than he had ever imagined, because this—right here—his compassion, is driving me nuts. Without thinking about the consequences—something I never do when I’m around him—I push him to the chair in front of me and hop on the wooden counter of the small kitchenette. I part my thighs, ever so slightly. Pretend to check the bloody wound.
He swallows hard, and my eyes catch the movement in his throat. His eyes drop—finally, finally—between my legs as he takes another swig. Victory.
I swallow at the words, my fingers dipping lower, slowly traveling the short length of my slit. I picture Niccolaio as the Mr. James to my Remington Stringer, and I’m startled when I feel a gush of moisture on the very tips of my fingers.
My heart is doing cartwheels in my chest, and even though he hasn’t so much as touched me, I feel myself growing slick. His eyes stay fixed on me, and it gives me the courage to take it a little further. I slide my fingers up toward my plain white bikini underwear and graze my clit over the fabric. For half a second, I’m insecure about my less than sexy undergarments, but the look in his eyes—a little pissed off and a lot horny—squashes that thought.
I can see it in my head, Niccolaio every bit fulfilling my naughty teacher fantasy, taking me onto his boat and watching with thinly veiled lust as I come apart in front of him. Closing my eyes, I let the tablet slip from my fingers and onto the soft mattress. With my now free hand, I pull the hem of my dress up and over my head.
I allow my right hand to trail a path around my nipple, causing the small bud to pebble painfully. With my eyes still closed, my other hand drifts past the lips of my pussy and slips easily inside of me, and I’m amazed when I realize how wet I am—wetter than I’ve ever been in my life just at touching myself to the image of Niccolaio in my head.
I’ve read this book a million times, since I’ve never had the money to buy new books often. But these words have never affected me as much as they do now, when I have the image of Niccolaio in my mind to accompany the words.
Removing my fingers from my pussy, I open my eyes to stare at them, to witness the foreign wetness soaking them with my own eyes. But when my eyes open, I find Niccolaio staring at me from the edge of the bed, his intense eyes roaming the length of my body before they stop on my wet fingers.
I try to process this—him being here. Even in his suit, I can see the hardness of his muscles, muscles that are tense right now, accompanied by clenched fists, a widened stance and crossed arms. His eyes take in the scene before they land on the tablet beside me, and I think I see the faintest glimpse of a smile on his face before it’s gone.
“A-are you going to just stand there?” I ask, putting much effort into maintaining an adequate level of sass in my voice.
In only my panties, I feel vulnerable so naked beneath his gaze, but I can still feel the wetness on my fingertips, and I realize that perhaps this is what I want. To let someone—to let him—consume me.
So, I plead, “H-help me.”
His nostrils flare, and for a brief moment, I think he’s going to say yes, but instead, the jerk says, “No.”
My jaw drops, but he’s already reaching forward for the tablet, his eyes skimming through the passage on the screen. “Misbehaved?” he says, amusement in his voice as he reads the title of the book. His lips finally curve up into a sexy smirk, and reads, “I’m afraid he’s going to turn me down again.” He laughs out loud at the coincidence, the seductive sound a soothing balm on the fresh wounds his denial has inflicted upon me.
“Tell me to stop. Throw me in the fucking lake, I don’t know. But he doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, he stands and grabs a beer—once more—then returns to the booth,” Niccolaio’s voice trails off as he enters the kitchen himself to grab a glass bottle of beer, and oh, God, I see where this is going.
He takes a seat on the bar stool, legs spread apart, his elbows on his knees, and an open bottle of beer in one hand and the tablet in the other. “This is the last thing I should be thinking about doing after tonight, but this is the first time he hasn’t shut me down, and I need to know I’m not the only one feeling this. I need to know I affect him as much as he affects me. He sits forward, with his elbows on his knees, the bottle dangling between two fingers as he studies me.
“He wants to watch.
“I lean back on my elbows and bring my knees up so my feet are resting on the edge of the counter. Now my legs are spread wide.”
My heart racing, I back myself up, so my back is resting against the headboard of the bed, tilting my body to give myself a clear view of Niccolaio, thanks to the open floorplan of the studio safe house. Spreading my legs, I allow him to see the wetness staining my drenched white panties.
“If anyone walked in right now, he’d appear to be disinterested.”
And Niccolaio, bless him, makes the perfect Mr. James, his features impassive except the distinct clench of his impressive jawline. I dart my tongue out, trailing a path across my lips, imagining that I’m trailing a path along his jawline instead. His eyes follow the movement greedily, but aside from that, he’s the image of indifference.
“But I know the truth. He wants this. But he wants me to take the choice from him. I rub myself over my panties, slowly circling my clit again.”
I follow the directive, nudging my clit beneath the fabric of my panties.
“Touching myself is nothing new, but with Mr. James watching me, it’s never felt better. A moan slips out, and my hips start rocking into my touch. He licks his lips and takes another drink. When he sits back in his seat, I see exactly how much he wants me through his gym shorts. But he doesn’t make a move to touch himself. Challenge accepted.”
My eyes drift to Niccolaio’s lap, and he gives me a knowing look. A thrilling jolt of lust soars through me at the sight of his massive hard on, straining against the constricting fabric of his suit pants.
“I take a deep breath and pull my panties to the side, showing him the parts of me no one else has ever seen. I’ve never been exposed like this… I’m spread out on display for my teacher, and the thought only gets me hotter.”
Taking a deep, nervous breath, I reach for my black lace panties and pull them aside, giving Niccolaio a clear view of my glistening pussy.
“Fuck,” Niccolaio groans.
They’re Mr. James’ words, but looking at the desire on Niccolaio’s face, and the way his knuckles are almost white from clenching the beer bottle so tightly, I know they’re his words, too.
“I slip two fingers inside, and they slide in easily with how wet I am. My head drops back, and I fuck my fingers harder, rubbing at the tight bundle of nerves with the heel of my palm.”
I dip two fingers inside of me to steal my wetness and drag them to my throbbing clit before returning my fingers inside of me. I thrust the fingers in and out of me, fucking them as I use the base of my palms to rub roughly at my clit.
I’ve read the novel enough to know what Remington says, “I picture you touching me like this almost every night. And in class. It’s all I ever think about.” The stolen words slip past my lips, barely distinguishable between breathy moans.
“I stand and walk toward him,” Niccolaio reads, betraying his eagerness by skipping to the part where I bare myself to him completely. “When I’m standing next to the table in front of him, I slide my underwear down my legs, letting them fall to the floor.”
I stand on shaky legs, approaching him slowly, and when I’m a foot away from him, I turn around and slide my panties down my legs, giving him a view of my bare ass before I straighten and step out of my panties.
I wish it was my name on his tongue, but instead, Niccolaio reads, “‘Remington,’ he warns, his voice still hard and gruff. It’s the same stern voice that tells me to stop touching myself. To go to the headmaster’s office. To behave. Only tonight, I will misbehave until I break him.
“Before he has the chance to object, I sit on the corner of the table, swinging one leg around him so he’s in between my thighs.”
When Niccolaio grabs my waist, helping me onto the kitchen counter, I falter, taken aback by the burning sensation his touch leaves on my body. I want him to touch me lower. To trail his hands down my waist and see how wet I am for himself.
My lips part, ready to beg him for his touch, but I don’t say a thing. I don’t want to break this seductive trance we’re in, where he isn’t the guy I’m supposed to hate, to stay away from, and I’m not the girl that conned my way into his life. So instead, I put my legs on either side of him, opening myself up in front of him like I’m serving myself up to him for dinner.
“I prop myself up on one elbow, while my other hand snakes its way back down. His eyes are glued to where my fingers slowly work their way in and out. In and out.”
I follow his directive before slipping a third finger into my pussy with ease, allowing the foreign sensation to build in me. I say the words before he does, meaning every single one of them, “I wonder what you taste like… Your lips. Your cock. Do you ever wonder what I taste like?”
“What do you think?” he says, and I wish to know if he means those words.
If he’s just saying them because they’re in the book or because he wants me as much as I want him—a lot. With shaky hands, I take the tablet away from him and set it behind me on the island, not wanting him to read the next scene. Because when he tastes me, I want to know if it’s because he wants to and not because it’s in a book.
I lean back onto my elbows, allowing my right hand to return to my pussy. Staring him right in the eye, I let out a long, soft moan, picturing his cock as I begin to finger fuck myself with renewed vigor.
“Niccolaio,” I moan out his name, so he knows it’s him and not Mr. James I’m thinking about when I bring myself even closer to an edge I’ve never before leapt off of.
I startle when he uses his knee to nudge my calf, spreading my legs wider for him. I press my leg harder against his, savoring the contact. I’m chanting his name, riding my fingers and rubbing my clit against the heel of my palm. Desperate for him, I lower my body, so my ass is only halfway on the island and my pussy is closer to his face.
And when I feel his breath travel across my pussy, caressing my clit with its warmth, I come hard, screaming his name out like a prayer and jerking so hard off the ledge that his hands reflexively reach out for my upper thighs to steady me. The contact only causes me to come harder, until my wetness is dripping past my lips and making a mess on the cold marble below me.
When I’m finally able to open my eyes again, I see him leaning forward. I tense, thinking he’s going to lick me down there, but instead I feel the coldness of the glass rim of his beer bottle swiping upward along the length of my pussy, collecting my wetness.
Sitting up, I watch with bated breath as he raises the bottle to his lips, my walls clenching in renewed arousal as his full lips make contact with the wet rim of the bottle. He looks me in the eyes, his gaze unwavering as he downs the rest of the beer, swiping his tongue around the rim when he’s done.
There’s a painful second when I wonder if he did that because of the book or because he wanted to taste me. But then, he leans forward against me—his clothed chest brushing against the hardened peaks of my nipples and the hardness of his massive cock pressed against my clit through the expensive fabric of his pants—and says into my ear, “The next time you serve yourself up to me like that, you won’t be thinking about a damn book. It’ll be my fucking orders you take. It’ll be my words that have you gushing onto my waiting fingers. It’ll be my cock pounding inside of your tight, wet pussy, not these pretty little fingers.”
Leaning back a little, he reaches for my hands, bunching them together and pressing a light kiss on the tips of each finger until he reaches the three that were inside of me. He inhales, groaning at the scent before brushing the residual wetness across his lips and briefly pressing them lightly against mine.
And then, not for the first time since I met him, the jerk steps away from me and leaves.