The Hard Count(61)

“You push me, Reagan. You…” he chuckles. “Damn, do you push me. You push my buttons sometimes, and then…you show up to my house all clumsy, with your camera and this crazy film thing. I wanted to kiss you then.”

His lips pass over mine again, softly, and I open my mouth to feel him just as much, my tongue touching his lightly at first, his lips quickly capturing mine with more force as his fingers slide further into my hair. Nico begins to stand, his lips still on mine, my head tilted up as he moves over me until I stand to meet him. He kicks my chair to the side, never letting our lips part.

“I wasn’t going to kiss you, I swear, it’s just,” he chuckles against my mouth, towering over me, the front of his hair falling forward and tickling my face. “I did, and now…I can’t stop.”

My hands reach up to cup his face before sliding down his chest, my fingers clutching his gray T-shirt, and Nico begins to take steps forward, walking me back until I feel my legs hit the supply cabinet on the far wall. His hands slide down my sides, reaching around my thighs and lifting me so I’m sitting on the counter as he steps between my knees, his mouth even harder on mine now.

He pauses for breath, his chest rising and falling fast while he sweeps his lips over mine, as if he’s afraid to leave them untouched.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” I say, my eyes closed until Nico’s fingers find my chin, tilting it up so I can open and look him in the eyes.

“Yeah?” he asks, the gold flecks so bright, his smile so perfect.

“I had a dream you did,” I admit, letting my head fall forward into his chest. His arms wrap around my head, and his lips kiss the top. “Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be,” he whispers into my ear. “I dreamt about you, too.”

“You did?” I ask, my voice echoing against his body.

“No, not really. I was just trying to make you feel better,” he says, the rumble of his laughter vibrating where my face hits his chest.

“Oh my God,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut.

Nico steps back and lifts my chin again, his fingers sliding strands of wet hair from my face. I blink open to see him looking at me carefully, studying each hair and putting it back in its place until his eyes come to rest on mine. His mouth tugs up, the familiar curve in his cheek that I love there. I breathe deeply through my nose, and he leans forward to kiss the tip of it.

“I like the way you blush, too,” he says.

“I do that a lot,” I say.

“Yeah…but still…” He smiles. “I like it all the same.”

Nico leans forward again, and I let my head fall back completely, looking up at him, so warm against his chest, my mouth smiling against his as we fall into one more long and tender kiss. Minutes pass as his mouth works over mine, closing over every inch of my top lip first, then my bottom, tasting me in long strokes of his tongue, his hands never leaving from their home on either side of my face.

Home.

Nico is so much like home; like no home I have ever known.

When he steps away the final time, his hand runs down my arm until our fingertips link, and he gently tugs me to my feet and back toward the chair in front of the computer. He pauses to kiss me lightly one more time before I sit, when I finally do, he leaves his hand on my knee, his thumb drawing gentle circles that send shivers throughout my body and leave me constantly on edge and quite out of focus.

I flip through photos with him, dropping ones he likes into a folder on the desktop before moving back to the video and running through his favorite parts. Nico points to the screen sometimes, and his hand covers mine, stopping me when I click, teasing me. His comfort in touching my body makes my heart race every single time.

Every. Single. Time.

When I look at the clock, I realize that the sun has long since risen in the sky. More than that, it’s noon. We’ve managed to string together dozens of his favorite shots, and Nico has actually learned things…things that I taught him. I added effects and suggested spots to trim his video, to splice sections together, to let Alyssa’s words run in the background.

We watch the end result, and he pulls my hand into both of his, his fingers kneading mine, feeling each individually, almost as if he’s constantly testing to make sure I’m real. His touch both keeps me grounded and sends me floating, like a push and pull, the rhythm in sync with my heart’s. I force myself to pay attention to the screen, letting the sound of Alyssa’s laughter fill my ears, my chest, my heart—she fills everything.

“Where’s your brother, Nico?”

I let the question linger, and I’m patient for his answer. I’m almost ashamed of what I expect. Even more when he finally speaks.

“Afghanistan,” he says.

I let his fingers play over mine, and we sit quietly taking in his niece’s sweet face in front of us.

“He left, three years ago. He…” Nico swallows, and I squeeze his hand in mine, looking down at how our fingers fit, wishing there was a way I could feel his touch more. I want to—I want to make every touch feel like more, so I can hold onto it when I’m alone.

“Vincent got mixed up with the fifty-seven,” he says, and I nod slowly, not really sure what that means. “They’re like…a pretty bad gang. There used to be a few drug houses in West End, but the cops busted them, moved them out. It doesn’t mean that the gang goes away. It just means…it means they move, the same problems, slightly different address.”