Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 11
ARRIANA
Okay, so I just panicked. I walked myself into a conversational corner with no clue how to get out. This night is having a real mind-fuck effect on me. From learning that he worked for the mob, that he was Nico the Nightmare, and then the kiss, the touching… I was going to tell him about his wife’s affair. But something stopped me. So I blurted out another secret, another truth.
I didn’t expect him to stop at the side of the road. His breath is coming out like a bull’s, hungry and so hot it’s almost like he’s heating up the car. He stares at me in the rear-view mirror with his stunning green eyes. Before, I couldn't imagine him as Nico the Nightmare, but not anymore. I can see how this man could move through the night like a force of nature, doing dark deeds.
“Is it that bad?” I ask.
“Bad?” he says, shaking his head as if waking from a dream. “No, it’s just… a shock.”
“I haven’t been concerned with boyfriends.” I shrug. “I’ve never felt attracted to anyone, not until…”
“Don’t say it,” he growls.
He’s right. I shouldn’t. But I do. “Not until you, Nico.”
He holds onto the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him rooted in place as if he let go, he’d come back here again. Kiss me again.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You’ve got no idea how badly I want to take you someplace private, Arria. Kiss every inch of your perfect body. Make you so hot and sizzling before I bring my hard dick to your pussy, slide into your virgin slit. Just… just pleasure…” He trails off as if realizing what he's saying. “Jesus. Christ. You make me feel drunk.”
“I know the feeling,” I whisper, rubbing my legs together. His words are pushing me closer and closer to an edge I have no business being near, let alone toppling over.
“I shouldn’t be talking like this to you,” he admits.
“No, you shouldn’t. But we both like it when you do.”
I’m not helping anything. After what I learned tonight, I should be eager to back the hell off. He’s not only dangerous from a relationship and life perspective, but now, being near him is actually dangerous. It might be easier when we’re not in the same physical space where I can’t still taste his lips or feel his phantom touch on me.
“We need to stop this, whatever it is, now,” he says sternly.
“You’re right,” I murmur.
He nods, but I can tell he isn’t happy about it. Neither am I. But I should be. I need to be strong—uncle, uncle, uncle. I’ll chant that in my head, a mantra to keep me away from him. Or… Nightmare, Nightmare, Nightmare. And my aunt, oh God, my aunt—what’s wrong with me? I just betrayed her. The same aunt who took me on photography trips before we left for the West Coast, the same aunt who always encouraged me, who bought me my first camera.
Suddenly, what we’ve just done hits me like a tidal wave—any fun drains from the moment. The intoxicated feeling leaves me numb instead. It’s not surreal anymore. It’s brutally real. So what if she’s cheating, too? That doesn’t make it okay, and he doesn’t know that. We’ve just cheated on his wife, as far as he knows, and neither of us has even mentioned it.
“Arria?” he whispers when I cry.
I hate crying. It makes me feel weak, but I can’t help it now. He climbs into the back seat. This time, he doesn’t kiss me or touch me like before. He pulls me into an embrace instead. Being intimate with him is the whole reason for my tears, and yet I push my face against his chest. I weep as I cling to him as if he can make everything better.
“We shouldn’t have done this. What about Aunt Lucy?” I look up at him. “What about your wife?”
He shakes his head. “We haven’t betrayed your aunt, Arria.”
“How can you say that? You just cheated on your wife.”
“Lucia and I have never been intimate. We’ve never kissed, except once, at our wedding, and we didn’t enjoy that much at all. Our marriage isn’t what it seems.”
“What is it, then?” I ask.
“I can’t tell you.”
“I saw her with another man,” I blurt out. “At our coming home party.”
He nods, not at all surprised. “Giancarlo,” he says. “Yes, they’ve been together for five years. They’re thrilled—as much as they can be, considering our circumstances.”
“You’re not making any sense,” I snap. “So you and Aunt Lucy are married… but you’re not really? You have an open marriage?”
“No,” he replies with a sigh. “I mean—yes, in the sense that we’re not romantically obligated to each other. However, an open marriage implies that we have a marriage on some level. We don’t. It’s… complicated. I’m sorry. The less you know, the better.”