The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)(96)

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.