Tony was always involved with Papà’s work, but my father was probably giving him the day off, considering the good beating he’d taken last night and the fact that Nico had been the one to give it to him.
I paused. Nico?
Merda.
I padded barefoot to the counter to grab a glass. Swimming always made me feel like I was dying of dehydration.
Opening the cabinet, I stared at the empty bottom shelf. It was getting to the point I was about to put a lock on the entire cupboard, of which only the women in the house knew the code.
Sighing, I stood on my tiptoes and struggled to reach the glass far back on the top shelf. As I was about to give up and climb the counter, I felt it.
The hair on the b
ack of my neck rose.
Nico’s body heat brushed my back as an inked forearm reached above me, grabbed a glass, and then set it on the counter next to me.
I tensed, my gaze focused on busted knuckles and an ace of spades tattooed on tanned skin.
Anger rolled off him, and in the dark kitchen it sent a cool mixture of fear and anticipation buzzing through me. Dropping to my heels and grasping the cup, I breathed, “Thanks.” I tried to move away from him, but I was forced to step back when his hands gripped the counter on either side of me, trapping me.
My heart drummed so fast it stole my breath.
“You know what happens when you dance around men looking like this?”
I swallowed and shook my head.
“They don’t respect you.” His voice was rough and so close to my ear it sent a shiver down my neck.
“Who said I want their respect?”
His grip tightened on the counter. “You want him to fuck you?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Christian,” he growled.
“And if I do?” I asked quietly.
“My earlier statement is withstanding.”
I inhaled slowly, trying to think clearly in his presence.
“Do you respect me?” I had no idea where it came from, but it was there now, lingering in the air with a heavy insinuation.
He didn’t answer.
A wave of shock rolled through me when the pad of his finger traced the hem of my swimsuit bottoms that still bared too much of my ass. My breath stopped when his other hand slid up my side and gripped my waist, beneath my breast. My nipples tightened, tingling in expectation. Heat pulsated between my legs, and I fought the desire to grab his hand and slide it up until he palmed my breast. I swayed, fighting the need to lean back against him, to feel his body against mine.
His finger slid under my bottoms, gliding over the curve of my ass where it almost met thigh. All the blood in my body sizzled when he came too close to a taboo part of me. Though, it was probably only taboo to me since no one had ever touched me there before.
Wetness pooled between my thighs. The desire for him to touch me, to slip his fingers inside me right here in the kitchen, was so strong I inched up on my tiptoes and arched my back, urging his hand lower.
He cursed roughly and pulled the fabric out from between my cheeks. His hand slid around my hip, grasping my waist to match the other one. They were so close to my breasts I was losing my mind. I fell back until I was leaning against him, and my entire body sang like it never had before.
My nerve endings buzzed and sparked like rain on a live wire. He was so warm and hard. His erection pressed against my lower back. Nicolas Russo was turned on, and I’d never experienced a single thing more thrilling.
My head rested on his chest, and the buttons on his dress shirt tickled my bare spine. I brought my hand to my waist and slipped my fingers between his. Our breathing filled the kitchen.