I’m glowing, warm and comfortable.
“So that was sex,” I murmur, wiggling my hips. I can feel his cock still half-hard against my ass.
“That was your first time,” he says and I hear the smile on his lips. “Tonight,” he adds.
“You’re not done with me?”
He rolls me over and I look into his eyes.
“Not even close.”
He kisses me and I feel a thrill—will it always be like this?
Yes, yes, I think it will be.
Chapter 29
Nico
My princess is insatiable.
We fuck two more times after that. The second one is fast and furious, a frenzy of lips and bodies and tongues, culminating in a wild and vicious orgasm as I fuck her from behind and claim her as my own.
The last time is slow and tender. We make love beneath the covers slick with sweat and each other, and when we finish, she falls deep asleep in my arms.
I can still hear the sounds of partying outside. The music is a dull bass throb in the distance and the occasional formless voices echo up from the yard. I gently disentangle myself from her arms and legs and check the clock: just after three in the morning.
I stand, stretch, and grab some clothes. I can’t sleep, not right now. I just had the best sex of my life—by a massive margin—and I should be absolutely spent.
Instead, I’m buzzing with energy.
Why can’t I seem to keep myself from spiraling?
It’s always been like this as long as I can remember. Any hint of something good and I instantly try to find a hundred different ways to ruin it.
It’s the foster care system. I know it is—because I was forced to learn that any kindness came with a price, that any gesture of good will and humanity was followed by something vicious and awful. I learned how to buy and sell myself and how to understand when the price is too much to bear. Anything good, anything worthy cost something back then and I’ve never been able to lose that sense of impending doom.
Karah is good. Karah makes me feel something I’ve never experienced before: joy, real joy, and all she asks is that same joy in return. Maybe it’s love, maybe it’s just lust with a hint of hatred, I don’t really know, but we fucked like we were one body and it was delicious and magnificent and incredible, and there’s no price to pay, not really. The only price is my continued devotion to her—and that doesn’t cost me a damn thing.
I’m half-hard just thinking about her, and I already filled her deep three times tonight.
But I can’t relax.
Maybe it’s Rinaldo. He’s still out there and he has a grudge against Karah. I don’t know why he stayed in the city or what his plans are, but fucking Casso made me lose him and now the bastard’s on the run. He could be anywhere, and tonight feels like the perfect time for him to strike—security is lax and there are dozens of drunken revelers still stumbling all over the house.
I stalk through the house, unable to stay still. One particularly wasted guy shoves a glass in my hand. “The fuck you still doin’ up, groom? Don’t you got a wife to satisfy?” He grins at me and I nearly punch his fucking teeth in until I realize it’s the chief of police’s son.
So instead of killing him, I merely shove him away. “Thanks for the advice,” I say and walk on.
I don’t know what I’m looking for. I throw the drink back and it burns in my stomach as I toss the glass aside. Something to distract me? Something to exhaust me? Maybe I should drink until I’m too wasted to stay awake.
Tomorrow, I’ll have a wife and my new life will begin.
I drift toward the library in the far back corner of the building. It’s quieter back here, away from the drunken partiers. I step inside thinking I’ll pour myself several tall glasses of whiskey from the small bar tucked up next to the fireplace, but I pause in the doorway.
Don Bruno sits in front of a crackling flame, the orange glow casting long, lazy shadows across the leather-bound books. It smells like binding glue and fireplace ash, and I’m about to sneak away to somewhere more private when he looks over his shoulder.
“Nico,” he says. “What are you doing up?”
I can’t go now that he’s spotted me, so I shrug casually and take a step in. “Can’t sleep.”
“How’s my daughter?” He grimaces and waves his drink in the air. “Never mind. Please don’t answer.”
“She’s sleeping.” I walk to the bar and pour something brown into a cut crystal glass. Don Bruno watches me with vague, glassy eyes, and I realize he’s drunk. I can’t remember the last time I saw him drunk. I guess his only daughter’s wedding is a good excuse to let loose for once in his miserable life.