The Sweetest Oblivion

by Danielle Lori

  My heart threatened to beat out of my chest.

  Nico took a step toward my papà. “You want to know how to start a war with me, Salvatore? This would be how to do it.”

  My eyes widened. This can’t be happening . . .

  Papà’s jaw tightened. Tony and Dominic remained silent and unreadable, their attention and guns unmoving from the Russos in the foyer.

  “Come here, Elena,” Nico demanded.

  Papà shot me a narrowed gaze. “You’ll go to your fucking room. Now!”

  Indecision twisted so violently in my stomach it felt like I might be sick. I didn’t know what to do, who to listen to. Why this was happening to me. I wrote a note . . . I should have known Nico wouldn’t have found that sufficient.

  Nico’s gaze flicked to me. His eyes were dark around the edges, but the irises were shimmering depths. Awareness ran through me. He said nothing, though he didn’t have to. He wanted me to choose him and he was letting me see it. It was the most vulnerable thing I’d ever seen him do, and the fact that he might show me a side of him not many had before sent a throb to my chest.

  As my hands grew clammy and my breaths short, I did the thing that had been ingrained in me since I was a child. I listened to my papà and took a step toward my room.

  But something stopped me.

  If I picked my papà’s side, it could mean violence and death. Possibly war.

  Although, that wasn’t only it.

  A tug deep in my stomach pulled me in the other direction. A place near my heart grew cold and empty with the small step I’d taken.

  As I hesitated, the tension hung over my head like a formidable cloud.

  My papà sold me to Oscar Perez.

  Nico killed him for me.

  I avoided my papà’s gaze as I descended the stairs, but his anger was strong enough it burned my skin. I sucked in a shallow breath as Luca reached out and wrapped a heavy arm around my waist as though I might change my mind.

  My gaze met Tony’s. While he was usually the first one to pull out a gun at the word war, he didn’t seem to want the same thing as Papà, or he wouldn’t have let me by him. Maybe he and Nico were on better terms now that they’d beaten the crap out of each other. Whatever it was, I was grateful.

  I’d already been the cause for one man’s death.

  I couldn’t survive another.

  Luca walked me like a prisoner to the car, his arm a warm shackle around my waist.

  Nico and the others were still inside, and I prayed they were doing the Made Man version of hugging it out, which usually involved violence of some kind, but not war.

  “Instead of running off next time,” Luca said dryly, “I’m betting if you ask him for something he might just give it to you.”

  “I didn’t run off. You were a little busy”—my gaze hardened—“so I left a note on the island.”

  His eyes narrowed. “There was no note.”

  I blinked. What?

  He watched my expression before giving his head a shake, muttering, “Fucking Isabel.”

  I sat cross-legged on my bed, flicking the Zippo open and closed.

  If you ask him for something he might just give it to you.

  I’d come to the conclusion that Nico made me as crazy as he was. Because asking was an easy fix to a problem I wouldn’t have hesitated to utilize with anyone else. It was simple: when Nico was in the equation, all rational thoughts were lost.

  I flicked the lighter open, and hope ignited with the new flame.

  Perhaps I didn’t have to see him with other women, to share a bathroom with one. The hope was only an ember, barely flickering with light, because the idea that there would be other women at all cut me straight through the chest, leaving a raw and bleeding ache behind.

  However, infidelity was a fixed denominator in a Made Man. Like a surfer and a board. A writer and a pen. You couldn’t separate the two. And asking would be a fruitless endeavor.

  Out of sight, out of mind, as the saying went.

  I could live with not knowing.

  My grip on the lighter faltered when the quiet purr of an engine drifted to my ears. I walked to the window to see Nico get out of his car and head into the garage. Luca had hung out in there since we’d gotten back close to an hour ago.

  When I’d come inside, I found my crumbled note in the trash. Fucking Isabel was right. I hadn’t gone about anything the right way, but I hadn’t left without telling anyone, as Nico must have believed.

  Shame became a heavier weight on my shoulders with every minute I waited. I’d been upset, and the choice to leave was rash and not me.

  Luca left the garage and rubbed his jaw before getting in his car. I stood there, waiting for Nico to make an appearance, but he didn’t. I’d spent the last hour wondering how he would react, what I was going to say to him, and now that he was here, a restlessness inside me demanded I get it over with.

  I headed down the stairs and out the back door. The cement was hot against my bare feet as I stood in front of the garage. Nico’s hands were braced on the worktable, a glass of whiskey sitting nearby. His shoulders tensed when he realized I was here.

  His gaze came to me. It was dark, warm, every emotion in between. A shiver danced across my spine, and before I knew what I was doing I walked toward him. I didn’t expect a rough palm to cup my face and brush across my cheek. My heart glowed like a Zippo flame.

  He made a quiet noise of satisfaction when I pressed my face into his chest. His hand slid from my cheek to the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair.

  He smelled so good. Felt so good. Like comfort, security, and need, all in one. There was a name to it, but I didn’t know what.

  “I’m sorry,” I breathed. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

  He let out a breath in between disbelief and amusement, and I thought he muttered, “So this is the Sweet Abelli.”

  He’d done something no other Made Man should do and paraded his mistress in front of his fiancée, and somehow, I had ended up apologizing for the outcome.

  My nonna and mamma were right.

  This man would eat me alive.

  But he was so warm, felt so right, it was hard to even care.

  His fist tightened in my hair, tilting my face to his. His gaze hardened.

  “Where’s your cell phone?”

  I suddenly realized I hadn’t taken it with me when I left. I hadn’t had one for so long it was hard to remember. “I forgot it.”

  “Convenient.”

  I swallowed. “I wrote a note.”

  “So I heard.” His gaze fell to my hand. “Where did you find that?”

  I glanced at the lighter, recognizing I’d brought it with me. “On the floor after you got into it with my brother.”

  “You kept it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  I hesitated, a lie forming on my tongue before I swallowed it down. I felt bad enough about today that I couldn’t stand to be untruthful.

  “It was yours,” I breathed.

  It went so quiet I could hear the beats of my heart.

  Bu-bum.

  Bu-bum.

  “You’re forgiven,” he rasped.

  A heavy pressure drifted off my shoulders.

  His tone was harsh. “You won’t leave this house again without talking to me first, do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Say it.”

  I forced myself to meet his gaze. “I won’t leave the house without talking to you first.” My lungs tightened because it wasn’t a promise I could keep. Not yet.

  “If you want to see your family, I’ll take you.”

  I chewed my bottom lip. “My papà might shoot you.”

  “Maybe.” He seemed unconcerned.

  Something twisted in my chest at the thought. Made me feel hollow.

  He pressed my back to the workbench, braced his hands on either side of me, and then he leaned in and kissed my throat. I sighed and t
ilted my head. I hadn’t expected it to go like this, but it could be said I never was that great at guessing what Nico would do.

  “Can I ask for something?”

  “Shoot,” he drawled against my neck.

  I said it before I could stop myself. “I want Isabel gone.”

  His lips traced my ear, and seconds passed as I held my breath.

  “Done.”

  My heart ached.

  His hand ran up my thigh and around to my ass, pulling my body against his. He kissed a line down my throat.

  “Can I ask for one more thing?” I breathed.

  I felt a smile on my neck. “You’re awfully needy today.”

  I swallowed. “No women . . . not here, okay?”

  He stilled for a moment, and with a sinking sensation in my belly I wondered if I’d taken it too far. If he would say no.

  “That’s what you want?”

  No. I want to be enough for you.

  I want you to want only me.

  “Yes.”

  In the next moment of silence, the anticipation of his answer wrapped around my lungs and squeezed.

  His face came up to mine. Our gazes met. Lips inches apart.

  I wouldn’t take a simple ring off when he’d asked, nor would I kiss him. The knowledge settled between us, mixed with the smell of motor oil and summer.

  What he didn’t know was that soon I would ruin everything to the point he’d never trust me again.

  A thumb ran across my lips, down my chin. “Done.”

  The band around my lungs released, though a tainted feeling remained. Thick as tar and black as night. Like a venomous snake in a tropical paradise.

  “So loyal to your family,” he said quietly. “Yet you listened to me and not your papà. Why? Preventing a war?”

  That’s what he expected. I could read it in the way he looked at me with a sort of forced detachment.

  I did it because it felt right.

  An unfamiliar ache began in my chest. A need for him to know.

  I met his gaze, as golden as the glass of whiskey beside me.

  “Maybe I wanted to,” I whispered.

  He watched me for so many seconds it made my pulse race. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Come on. Let’s go inside.” He grabbed my hand and tugged me along.

  I followed.

  He was comfort, security, and need, all in one.

  It had a name.

  Home.

  “A kiss that is never tasted, is forever and ever wasted.”

  —Billie Holiday

  HE HELD MY HAND AS he shut the back door behind us.

  My breaths turned shallow as he pulled me to the couch. He sat, and I stood between his legs, waiting to see what he wanted. I would do it all, anything he told me to. Maybe it was my submissive heart, or maybe it was the romantic one trying to find a way to thrive.

  His palms skimmed my legs, pushing my dress up until he found bare thigh. My skin danced with anticipation. His hands fit me so right, were the perfect roughness and the warmest heat. I suddenly didn’t know what I would do if I could never feel them again.

  He tugged the backs of my knees, pulling me closer until I straddled him.

  Chest to chest. Heartbeat to heartbeat. My pink dress to his black dress shirt and tie. We were so different, I realized then. Big and small. Hard and soft. Demanding and docile.

  We breathed each other’s air for a moment before he leaned in and ran his lips down the length of my throat. “You smell so good,” he rasped. His scruff tickled my neck as he trailed downward past my collarbone and then pressed his face into my breasts. “And fuck, these tits.”

  I sighed, my hands running down his chest. “My nonna said you only want to marry me for my boobs.”

  “Not true.” I felt him smile against my skin. “This too.” I yelped at the sharp smack on my ass. He tugged my dress off my shoulders, baring my white strapless bra. My breasts tingled as he palmed and squeezed them through the fabric.

  “My boobs and ass, then?” My words ended on a moan as he folded a cup down and ran his tongue across a nipple before sucking. My head lolled, a breathless haze overcoming me.

  He cupped me between the legs. “This is also the nicest puss—”

  “Nico,” I cut him off, every inch of my skin warming.

  He chuckled.

  I loved the sound of his laugh, the way the warm timbre ghosted down my spine.

  I shivered.

  He ran a thumb across the goose bumps on my arm. “Cold?”

  I shook my head, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. “Nervous.”

  He unclipped the back of my bra, his eyes darkening as I straddled him topless with my dress around my waist. “Why?”

  My hands slid downward, his abs tightening under my touch, to even lower. I traced his belt buckle with a finger. “I want to do something,” I whispered. The insinuation that I wanted to please him, to taste him, was heavy and thick in the air.

  His gaze immediately flicked to my face. Nerves danced in my veins as I began to undo his belt. He tensed. I leaned forward, pressing my breasts against his dress shirt and my lips to his neck. God, he smelled so good it made me dizzy. I nuzzled him, trying to soak it all up.

  His hand cupped the back of my head, sliding downward to my nape. “Why would that make you nervous?”

  I swallowed. “Because I haven’t done it before.”

  I tried to slide backward to my knees in front of the couch, but he suddenly grabbed me by a fistful of hair. His gaze swam with turmoil and disbelief.

  “You’re lying.” His voice was sharp.

  I laughed weakly, though in truth his words pierced my chest. “I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough that I’m not.” I was so nervous it vibrated beneath my skin. My hands were clammy, and I fought not to wipe them on my dress. Like an idiot, I wondered how many blowjobs this man had gotten and from how many experienced women.

  I tried to pull away again, but his grip only tightened. He watched me with a tension that radiated from his gaze. I swallowed as awareness settled between us. Keeping his stare, I slipped the ring off and let it fall from my fingers. His fist loosened, and I slid to the floor.

  He stretched out, like he was getting comfortable, like a woman on her knees at his feet was a daily routine. God, this man. He never made anything easy.

  I unbuttoned his pants, and the sound of the zipper sent a seductive echo through the room. He rested his elbow on the armrest and watched me.

  I hesitated. I knew I couldn’t do this with perfection, and I wished I’d had more practice so I could. He certainly knew what he was doing in the oral department, and I was scared I’d be a disappointment.

  “You gonna stare at my crotch all day or take it out?”

  He looked like a king sitting there, demanding and impatient. Though, I believed he was close to unraveling by a tightness in his shoulders and the tension passing through his eyes.

  My hands trembled as I pulled his briefs down and wrapped my fingers around his erection. How was I going to get this thing in my mouth? Even though a part of me was apprehensive, an unexpected tenacity demanded I try. He was so smooth and warm. Hard and thick. He felt so good inside me, and I wanted to thank him for it. I leaned in and rubbed his erection across my cheek.

  His thighs spread further, a hand running across his mouth while the other clamped into a fist on the armrest.

  My mouth watered as I rubbed my face, my lips, all over him. I drew my tongue out and licked him like an experiment. I did it again, all the way from the base to the top. His stomach tightened, a quiet groan escaping him. His reaction was so hot that a hum of satisfaction traveled up my throat as I gave him little licks everywhere, not missing a spot.

  “Quit playing with it,” he said harshly.

  Jeez, he was moody about his blowjobs.

  I shot him a narrowed gaze.

  “Suck,” he demanded.

  In an unhealthy way, his bossy tone sent a warm wave be
tween my legs. I obeyed, running my tongue around the head before sucking it into my mouth.

  His head fell back with a “Fuck, that’s it.”

  My breasts rubbed against his thighs, and sparks of pleasure fluttered through me. I sucked him again, taking more in my mouth and gliding up and down.

  “Just like that,” he hissed, his hand grabbing a fistful of my hair. He moved my head, controlling the rhythm. Up and down, and deeper into my mouth every time. “Look at me,” he ordered roughly.

  My gaze flicked to him.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  When he pushed himself deep enough it hit the back of my throat, I gagged and my eyes watered. With a groan, he pulled me away from him. His breaths came out heavy as he rested his head against the couch and watched me with a half-lidded gaze.

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “What’s wrong?”

  “Gonna come,” was all he said.

  My brows pulled together. “That was quick.”

  I meant it as I wasn’t ready to be done, but as soon as I said it I realized it sounded like he was a two-pump chump.

  He let out a laugh. “I’m going to fuck you hard for that.”

  I flushed.

  His gaze burned hot and lazy. “Take it all off and come here.”

  I stood and slipped my dress and thong down my legs. As soon as I straddled him, his mouth latched onto my breast. Fever consumed me, a shot pouring straight in my bloodstream. He touched me, rough and urgent, and it only fed the fire.

  My hands buried in his hair as he sucked and nipped on my breasts, on my throat and neck. He squeezed and smacked my ass, grinding me against his erection.

  “Stand up,” he rasped. He barely got the words out before he was jerking me upward and then pulling me down on his face. I groaned, bracing a thigh on the back of the couch and a hand on his shoulder. He sucked and licked while I rolled my hips against his mouth. My skin burned. Pressure built and built.

  “So close,” I moaned.

  I gripped a fistful of his hair right before the release shot through me, buckling my legs and stealing my breath. I slid to his lap, gasping for air. Before I realized his intentions, he grabbed my hips and slammed inside of me.

  I choked as pain spread through me. “Nico, I’m so sore.”