The Sweetest Oblivion

by Danielle Lori

  I realized how weak I truly was at that moment, because if this man told me to kiss him, I would. I would do anything he wanted. But he never did. He only watched me with a narrowed gaze while breathing my air like it was his to take.

  “Take it off,” he gritted.

  He didn’t speak of my clothes. He looked at my face, but he might as well have stared at my left hand. Now I understood it wasn’t the nails on his neck that had bothered him—it was the ring.

  I swallowed and tried to think through the mist he’d created in my mind. I’d told myself I wouldn’t take the ring off until I did what I could to make amends. I hated to admit it, but I wanted this moment more than a guilt-ridden reminder. Though, the truth was, it wasn’t simply about what I wanted anymore.

  I needed him. More than morality or honesty.

  I knew I shouldn’t sleep with Nico, not with my deceit so close on the air I could taste it.

  But, as I took the ring off and let it fall from my fingers to the floor, this was the moment I knew I wouldn’t be so bad a Russo after all.

  Heat and satisfaction rolled off his body. Without another thought, I grabbed the hem of my t-shirt with both hands and pulled it off in one swoop.

  He groaned, and before I could even lower my arms, his mouth latched onto my breast, giving it one slow suck while dragging his teeth across the nipple. White heat shot like lightning between my thighs before pulsing in an empty ache. I swayed into him, running one hand around his neck and into his hair.

  His hand shoved down the front of my shorts, brushing over sensitive skin and cupping me with a roughness that brought me to my toes. His entire palm rubbed back and forth, a firm pressure against my clit. My head fell back with a moan.

  “So fucking wet,” he growled. He sucked a nipple into his mouth and then slid two fingers deep inside me. Hot, sweet pressure filled me, threatening to overfill as he fingered me. Fast and then lazy. Over and over.

  Maybe I should have been embarrassed that I was so wet the room filled with the sounds of his fingers pushing in and out of me. But my skin was hot enough it felt like I’d been doused with kerosene and then lit by a match. The fire burned into my lower stomach, creating a blaze that needed to be fed. And if not . . . I would go up in smoke.

  “Oh, God . . .” I moaned, digging my nails into his shoulders. I was so close, so so close. “God, please.”

  He trailed over every inch of my breasts, kissing them like he would my mouth: with lips and tongue and teeth. His fingers slipped out of me, pulling wetness to my clit, and when he pushed them back in, that was it.

  Pressure burst into tingles and flame. My veins burned up like a line of gunpowder, shooting flames of light behind my eyes. A shudder fluttered through my body as though three shots of liquor poured straight into my bloodstream, before a languid heat spread.

  As I came down, I realized my legs had given out and I sat on his thigh. I hadn’t opened my eyes yet when his lips and a deep rasp touched my ear. “Jesus, you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Satisfaction still shimmering with an orange glow dripped into my chest like a leaky tap. “Thank you,” I breathed, my cheeks flushed enough to singe if touched. His hand slid from my shorts and I shivered at the loss of contact.

  His eyes were heavy-lidded, the color black intoxicated. His thumb grazed my lips and his words were coarse like he hadn’t spoken in a while. “You’re welcome.”

  He left a streak of wetness across my mouth, and I knew it was of me. I drew my tongue across my bottom lip and licked it off.

  His gaze flashed. “Get on the bed.” It was a demand, his lazy mood hardening into a harsh one that made my heart thump against my ribcage.

  I pulled away from him and crawled onto the bed. It felt like I lay on a cloud of Nico as I got settled on my back. It was too soft to be him, but it smelled like him: warm whiskey, sandalwood, and an unnamable scent I associated with sweet temptation and danger.

  While holding my stare, he slipped his sweatpants off, and my cheeks grew warmer even though he still wore boxer briefs as black as his full sleeve. I swallowed as I glanced at his erection that strained through the fabric. Anticipation thrummed to life between my legs. He was so hard, and it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

  My body was languid, pliable, and still high on an orgasm, but as this man watched me while he walked around the bed with a volatile darkness in his gaze, my pulse began to tremble in my throat.

  Goose bumps spread across my skin as the air-conditioner kicked on with a blast. He opened the nightstand drawer, pulled out a condom, and tossed it on top of the table. My stomach tightened, and a noise of surprise escaped me when he grabbed my ankle and jerked me to the side of the bed.

  “These fucking shorts,” he gritted, grabbing the waistband and yanking them down my legs along with my thong.

  A somewhat manipulative part of me knew exactly what he meant. The shorts resembled underwear, and I might have worn them in front of him while he was still my soon-to-be brother-in-law.

  He tossed my clothes on the floor behind him. “Were you trying to fuck with me, Elena?”

  The orgasm might as well have been truth serum, because I breathed, “Yes.”

  He grasped my thighs, parted them, and then let out a low curse. His gaze flicked to my face, hardening. “Who else do you fuck with?”

  The words hit me in the stomach and turned every drop of lust sour. He still thought I was a slut, and here I lay with my legs spread for him? With a glare, I yanked my thighs out of his grasp and stood. “Screw yourself, Nicolas.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’d rather screw you.”

  “Too bad,” I snapped, pushing past him.

  I didn’t make it another step before his arm wrapped around my waist, my feet left the floor, and he tossed me onto the bed. The air whooshed out of me and a breathless annoyance flared. “I’m not a doll you can throw around, and I’m not sleeping with you.”

  He crawled onto the bed and kneeled between my legs. “No one said anything about sleeping,” he drawled.

  I hated to admit it, but my body loved his voice and responded by growing warm everywhere. I was such a pushover. “Nico—”

  “Platonic.”

  I faltered. “What?”

  A sigh escaped me as he ran his calloused palms down my thighs, spreading them. “You want me to stop, you say Platonic.”

  The word only reminded me of how very un-platonic I wanted to be with him.

  His fingers tightened on my inner thighs as two tense seconds passed between us. And when I didn’t say a word, his eyes grew so dark I could see his blackened soul. He lowered to his stomach, and anticipation fluttered and flared in every nerve ending.

  I sighed a half-hearted “Wait,” but I should have saved my breath. It wasn’t the right word, and while I didn’t want to come off as a pushover, I didn’t want to say Platonic more. I leaned on my hands watching him, and as he pressed his face between my thighs and inhaled, my head fell back.

  I once said that whatever Nico did, he did it with his all.

  And God, did he ever.

  His arms wrapped around my thighs, lifting them slightly, and then he licked me all the way from ass to clit. Steam crawled through my blood, lighting me on fire. I gasped, my fingers fisting the sheets.

  It was so dirty, so wrong, so inappropriate, but God, maybe that’s why it felt so good.

  A deep sound of satisfaction came from his throat.

  “You’re disturbed,” I breathed. “Do that again.”

  For the first time ever, Nico listened to me.

  The hot sweep of his tongue sent a violent shiver through me. A mindless haze brushed my thoughts away, leaving lust and insanity behind. I was so hot, burning up like a comet falling from space. My hips rolled beneath his mouth as he licked me everywhere he could reach.

  Each fiery wave coalesced into an empty ache between my thighs, until I could only feel empty.

  I needed him. In a mindl
ess, archaic, bordering madness kind of way.

  And if it made me a slut, I didn’t give a damn.

  “Nico . . . stop.” I learned his compliance was a one-time thing, because as I tried to pull away, he did nothing but tighten his arms around my thighs. However, I then lost track of my end goal for a moment, my eyes rolling back into my head.

  So empty.

  I yanked his hair as hard as I could, and he finally deigned to give me his attention. The gold in his eyes had burned up, leaving nothing but char. They narrowed around the edges. I didn’t say a word, but he must have read what I needed on my face.

  He crawled over me, licking and nipping my stomach and breasts as he did. His body covered mine. He was so heavy. A warm, blissful heavy that made my skin sing with satisfaction. He kissed my neck, while bracing his hands on either side of my head.

  I realized he’d licked every part of my body and I’d barely touched him. Tension rolled through him as my hands slid down his back, his sides, and when they settled on his abs, he closed his eyes, his jaw tightening.

  My fingers trailed the line of hair below his navel, but as they reached the waistband of his briefs, I hesitated. I’d been with a man, but that didn’t mean I knew everything about touching one.

  “Lower,” he gritted.

  My heartbeat fluttered with expectation and uncertainty, but I slid my hand down until I cupped his erection through his briefs. His forehead fell to rest on mine and a rumble escaped his chest. He pressed himself further into my palm.

  I felt how hot he was through the fabric, how thick, how big and hard and utterly masculine. Any hesitation was pushed away by a rush of longing, and I slipped my fingers beneath his waistband and wrapped my hand around his length.

  “Ah fuck,” he groaned.

  So hot and smooth. Holding it in my palm filled my lower stomach with warmth. I could taste the anticipation of how it would feel inside me. A pulse bloomed between my legs. I ran my hand down to the base and then all the way back up.

  “I want it,” I breathed.

  His hand cupped the side of my face.

  “Ask me nicely,” he rasped, nipping my jaw.

  When I squeezed, he hissed and shot me a narrowed gaze. I gave him a slow, gentle tug and whispered in his ear, “Please.”

  His eyes were lazy and dark as he dropped to his back beside me and pulled off his briefs. My face burned as I watched him grab his erection at the base and reach for a condom on the side table.

  The action was so primal, so surprisingly hot, something burned to life inside of me. Before I knew what I was doing, I straddled his hips. Resting my hands on either side of him, I leaned forward and kissed his throat like I would his mouth.

  “Fuck.” His hand cupped the back of my head, his fingers lacing through the strands.

  He tasted like he smelled, and I couldn’t get enough. I was all over him, running my hands over his biceps, pecs, and into his hair. I kissed his throat with tongue, nipped at his earlobe, and sucked on his neck.

  “Enough,” he growled with frustration, and fisted the hair at my nape to make me stop.

  I pulled back with half-lidded eyes. My breasts brushed his chest, sending sizzles of pleasure lower and making me ache for friction. I ground down on his erection. It spread a fire through me that made me drop my head and dig my fingers into the sheets.

  “Wait,” he gritted, tearing the condom open with his teeth.

  I had a fever. A hot and itchy and empty one, and it wasn’t possible to stop. I rolled my hips against him, using his chest for leverage and rubbing my wetness up and down his length.

  Just as he got the condom out, he froze, and then groaned so deeply I could feel it vibrate through his chest. I’d ground down hard enough the head of his erection had slipped inside of me. He was so big it stung. A tremble rolled through me, my exhales heavy and uneven. My fingers curled on his abs as I sank onto him another inch. As the pain faded into a delicious fullness, a throaty sigh escaped me.

  His body was pulled taut beneath my hands. The condom wrapper crinkled as it disappeared into a clenched fist.

  “No. Condom,” he ground out.

  It might have been the stupidest, most impulsive thing I’d ever done, but I didn’t want to use a condom from his nightstand that he reserved for all his randoms, or, even worse—a regular. I wanted to be different, needed to be.

  My response was a whimper as I slid further down until half of his length disappeared inside me. We both watched it happen, my breaths coming out erratic. I was so filled it burned. As I held myself there, my thighs ached like I’d run a mile.

  He stared at where we were joined with a dark look rivaling madness. And then, with a growl, he tossed me onto my back and thrust all the way inside of me.

  I cried out, my back arching off the bed. So full, too full. I pushed on his chest to get him to ease out, but he remained so deep I could feel him in my stomach. His body was so heavy as he lay on top of me, one hand braced on the bed and the other cradling my head.

  We stayed like that for a moment, his chest panting for air against mine. His ragged breaths fanned my neck while he remained still.

  His lips pressed against my ear. “You want to know a secret?”

  I shivered at the deep voice, but I didn’t answer because I was still trying to figure out how to breathe with him inside me.

  “I’ve never fucked a woman without a condom.” He nuzzled my neck. His voice was warm and smooth, but his teeth were clenched. “And I’m afraid you’ve just created a monster.”

  He held me by a fistful of hair at my nape and then he fucked me.

  Skin against skin. A scrape of teeth. The heavy weight of him. Unrelenting. It was so intense I fought to find air to breathe, to find anything that wasn’t harsh and him. Soon, the intensity softened, my body warming and molding to his. Every thrust began to kindle a spark inside of me that only the next thrust could sate. My nails dug into his biceps, and a small shudder rolled under his skin.

  He talked while he screwed, right against my ear in a deep rasp, and it made me crazy.

  “You take it so good,” he praised.

  “So fucking tight.”

  “So wet for me.”

  The words sank into my skin and filled every space in my body with warm satisfaction.

  Every time his pelvis ground against mine, molten heat spread from my clit outward. A throaty moan escaped my lips with every thrust, as though he pushed each one out of me.

  I was nothing but heat and flame and pleasure.

  “Fuck, you’ve got to be quiet,” he groaned in my ear. “Or this is going to be over before I’m ready.”

  I tried to stop, but I couldn’t. It was like trying to stop breathing.

  He covered my mouth with his palm, while the other hand remained fisted in my hair. It was rough and restrictive and so addictive.

  And I suddenly knew this was what had drawn me to Nicolas Russo. What fascinated me. Maybe the Cosa Nostra had tainted me from the start, like a poison in the water supply, because I needed this: restraint, domination, to feel him everywhere. I’d known it would be like this, so intense, but it felt so much better than I’d ever envisioned.

  The orgasm was immediate and so violent it sent a shudder through me that chattered my teeth. Heat pulsed in my lower stomach before branching out in tingles and dazzles of the best feeling ever.

  When I came down, it was to him motionless inside of me, watching me with a gaze dark as night. He pulled his hand from my mouth, and by the teeth marks I realized I’d bitten down on it when I came.

  “Who fucks you?” he growled.

  I shivered. “You do.”

  “Who else?”

  “Just you,” I breathed.

  A rumble of satisfaction came from his chest, and he rested his forehead against mine. “I’m going to come inside you and then I’m going to fuck you again.” His lips hovered above my own. They were so close that with a slow thrust and a tense breath, they brushed
mine so lightly it was like it never happened.

  I could almost feel his lips pressed against mine, sliding and licking and biting. Wet and messy and rough. Because that’s how Nico would kiss. I wanted to experience it violently enough it was a war between my head and my mouth.

  He’d taste like whiskey and bad decisions.

  This time, my head won.

  He stayed like that, our lips inches apart, as he thrust inside of me, deep and slow, and with an intimacy that made me feel like someone had rubbed my skin with sandpaper until I was raw and exposed.

  But I couldn’t escape it, not with his fist in my hair and his body on mine. Not with his dirty words still resounding in my ears. Not with the warmth that blossomed in my chest at the mere mention of his name.

  I’d let him inside of me.

  And now I’d never get him out.

  “Love is like a virus. It can happen to anybody at any time.”

  —Maya Angelou

  HEARTBEATS ARE FICKLE THINGS. BEATING one moment and then stopping the next. Raging a storm and then lying as still as a tranquil sea. But what I didn’t know is that they change. They glow and warm and expand in a chest. They ache and yearn for a reason to beep.

  My heartbeats had a fondness for the romantic.

  They began to skip, to multiply, to fill with a contentment as thick as honey and as warm as the sun. They did it all as my skin grew cold and while I stared at the ceiling and tried to ignore them.

  I couldn’t fall in love with this man.

  I would rather never fall in love at all than to experience it unrequited. I’d seen it enough times to despise the possibility.

  I couldn’t love a man who treated me like a commodity, or even worse—a pretty bird in a cage, and not like a wife. If there was anything I knew with a certainty about Made Men, it was that they couldn’t grasp the concept of fidelity. Those heartbeats tied into a knot, a strangling, uncomfortable ball in the back of my throat.

  I smelled like him. He was all over me, and I’d asked him nicely for it. Someone needed to save me from myself before I got on my knees and professed my inevitable love to him. Might as well make it right after he finished screwing another.