He rises, hooking my leg over his hip and sliding his cock against me, thrusting along the ache that has yet to die. His chest heaves, muscles tense against mine as his hips rock fast against me, pushing me toward yet another orgasm.
“You’re mine!” he growls, taking my hand and guiding it to his warm, hard cock, slick with a mix of my and his arousal. I feel it throb in my hands as he guides me into stroking him. “Fuck, baby. Just like that!” he grunts, hissing when I tighten my grip. I watch through dazed eyes as the man I’ve wanted for years comes apart in my arms. He climaxes with a hoarse groan, his body shuddering against mine, and ropes of cum shoot over my hand and between my legs, painting me as he did last night.
His mouth finds mine in a slow, lingering kiss that sends my toes curling on the shower floor.
Afterward, he takes his time washing me—warm hands working shampoo through my hair, running soaped palms over my shoulders and down my spine with a thoroughness that is somehow more intimate than everything that came before. When he finally collapses against me, his face buried in the crook of my neck, I realize that every reason I had for being afraid of this morning—of him waking and retreating and leaving me alone with the wreckage of what we’d started—was wrong.
He isn’t going anywhere.
***
The hotel restaurant is tucked away in the corner, a quieter space away from all the casino noise. I welcome the calm that sets in when we enter. The dining room is a stark contrast to the gaming floor outside—tables set with white linens, soft lighting,and the low hum of conversation. It feels calmer, more relaxed, which makes me feel immediately at ease.
Nico follows behind me, already scanning the room. Unlike him, I’m not particularly worried about some mysterious enemy of the Rossi family jumping me here. My family may be powerful and infamous, but mine is not a face that’s known in their circles. It’s very unlikely that anyone would connect me totheRossi family even with my last name.
“Stop worrying,” I tell Nico, patting his arm before I can stop myself. I turn when I spot the hostess making her way to us. She greets us, then we’re led to a table by the window. But before we can sit, someone calls my name. My brows arch in confusion until I turn around to see Professor Arturo walking toward us, and I relax. He smiles as he approaches, but his steps falter a bit when he spots Nico standing close to me.
“Gabriella,” my professor says, casting a careful look at Nico that surprises me. He doesn’t appear pleased to see Nico, but that makes no sense. I chalk it up to him being surprised. Nico has the kind of face that tends to intimidate people, which makes sense for why my professor would be wary of him. “I’m happy to see you made it. You don’t mind if I join you for breakfast, do you? It would give us a chance to talk about the exhibition.”
“Of course not,” I say, pointing to the chair across from mine. “Oh, and this is Nico. My…stepbrother.”
“Family,” the professor says, and he sits up straighter in his seat. “Of course. I remember him now. You were at the senior project art exhibition a couple of weeks ago.” He turns to Nico, who nods. “It’s always nice to meet a student’s family.”
Jesus Christ.
I flush at the memory of what Nico and I did this morning, his hands roaming my body, his fingers stroking me. Those calloused hands cupping my breasts and working soap down my body in the shower. Why did I introduce him as my stepbrother when there’s nothing about Nico and me that is familial? Still, our closeness is evident as breakfast progresses—from the way Nico caters to me to the brief touches that don’t go unnoticed by Dr. Arturo. Nico doesn’t seem to care, but it makes me blush thinking about what my professor must think of us.
Breakfast thankfully ends fast, and we leave together for the art gallery to meet with the gallery manager and check on my paintings, but just as we’re entering the exhibit hall, Nico’s phone rings. He takes it out, probably to mute it, but when he sees the caller, he excuses himself, motioning for us to go on ahead without him. I imagine it’s Matteo or one of my brothers calling him about work—he never ignores those. Still, he doesn’t go far, but stays at the entrance, his eyes on me as he takes the call.
“Ah, there he is,” the professor says, taking my focus from Nico and to the white-haired man walking toward us. The man introduces himself as the gallery manager and takes us to the displays. We talk about the details of the exhibit, but I find my eyes seeking Nico’s every few minutes. And to think I wanted to come on this trip alone, and now, a part of me is terrified that he’ll disappear, and then I’ll wake up from this beautiful dream.
I nearly jump when I feel a hand brush mine. “Gabriella, I like the strokes in this painting,” Dr. Arturo says, pulling my focus from Nico again and back to him. At some point during my daydream, the professor moved, and now he’s standing too close. “I have to say, you have a talent for texture as well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
When his hand brushes mine again, I move away, brushing it off as an accident. The gallery manager says something, and Dr. Arturo responds, but my focus is on how close he is again, his hand so close to touching mine again. I turn to study him as he talks and notice that he seems tense and a little awkward, so unlike the self-assured man I know him to be. I figure he must be stressed over the exhibit since he’s representing the university, and I’m the only familiar face around here. I guess it makes sense that he’d want to be close, albeit a little weird.
The gallery manager compliments my art before excusing himself to attend to others. I turn to Dr. Arturo to find his eyes on mine, but before he can say anything, a voice calls from behind us.
“Gabby.”
We both turn to find Nico standing there, all six foot two of him, steel muscles and stunning good looks. He walks forward and takes my hand, and just like that, I melt into a puddle. I forget about the paintings and the professor, or the fact that it might look strange to him to see Nico holding my hand.
“Are you done taking your call? Who was it?”
“Matteo. He wanted to know how you were doing and talk about work.”
“Oh, I should probably call him later.” I’m not exactly on speaking terms with Matteo or my father. I can’t believe Matteo kept the trust details a secret from me and effectively ruined all my plans of running from home. Sure, it worked out in my favor in the end but Matteo’s betrayal still stings.
“He knows you’re busy and not exactly his biggest fan at the moment,” Nico says, brushing a strand of hair from my face, making me blush. I fight the urge to nuzzle his hand when itlingers on my skin, and it’s not until someone clears their throat that I am reminded that we’re not alone. Christ, I forgot all about the professor. My flush deepens when I turn to him, but he has an annoyed look on his face that makes me flush.
“Prof—”
“If you two will excuse me.”
And just like that, he’s gone. It must have been awkward for him to stand there and watch us behave nothing like the step-siblings we are. I cover my face with my hands with a groan. “New rule. No touching me in front of my professor.”
“You are the one who introduced me to him as your stepbrother.”