Nicoli: A Forbidden Romance (Dark Sovereign Book 4)
Nicoli: Chapter 8

“I want to do my own thing.”

“And what, exactly, is your thing?” Caelian asks, taking a sip of his whiskey.

“I want to help a blushing bride plan the perfect wedding just as she had always dreamed of. I want to plan an old couple’s fiftieth anniversary and help make it even more unforgettable than their wedding day.”

“You want to be a party planner?”

“Not a party planner. A dream maker.” I smile and settle back in the tufted chair, already seeing the perfect setting of a dream wedding in my mind’s eye. “And since Mrs. Del Rossa is no longer here, and there’s a new first lady in the house, I have more free time to do what I want.”

“Like going to nightclubs?” Nicoli leans against the arched wall, his sleeves rolled up and tie loosened. His muscles are so defined you can see it through his shirt. He’s fucking beautiful. Tall. Attractive. Exasperating.

I arch a brow. “That topic is closed for conversation, Nicoli. Move on.”

“So, you’ve accepted that you’re not going?”

“No. You’ve accepted that I am going.”

He scoffs. “Like fuck I have.”

I narrow my eyes as I notice his bandaged hand. “What happened to you?” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“It’s just a scratch.”

“Of course it is.” These men never give you straight, true answers. Everything is either a bullshit response or a fucking riddle.

“If you don’t mind? Caelian and I were in the middle of a conversation until your rude ass interrupted.”

Caelian smirks, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Yeah, I heard. So, you want to be a party planner.”

“Dream maker,” I correct him while framing my glare with batting eyelashes.

Nicoli crosses his arms. “Alexius won’t fall for it.”

“It’s not up to him.”

“Of course, it is. Everything revolving around this family is up to him.”

I stand, cross my arms, and mimic his stance, shooting out a hip for good measure. “And why won’t he fall for it?”

“Because the last thing he wants is a member of this family being out there planning other people’s parties and weddings and shit—”

“And shit?”

“—unprotected and vulnerable. An easy fucking target.”

“An easy target?” I seethe. “You think I can’t protect myself? That I’m this vulnerable little princess whose only place is in a goddamn tower brushing her hair and looking pretty all day?”

Nicoli shrugs. “Sounds about right.”

“Screw you, Nicoli. I can take care of myself. And the last time I checked, this is a free country, which means I can do whatever I want.”

“Haven’t you heard? This country’s laws don’t apply to us. We make our own. And one of our rules is that every member of this family will remain protected twenty-four-fucking-seven. You going out there and planning parties and shit—”

“And shit?”

“—and going to nightclubs and bars is not protection. On the contrary, it’s asking for trouble.”

Caelian chuckles, clearly enjoying watching the back-and-forth between Nicoli and me.

I shift my weight and square my shoulders. “I’m not asking for your permission, Nicoli. And neither do I need your approval. This is my life, and I choose what to do with it. Not Mrs. Del Rossa. Not Alexius. And sure as hell, not you.”

Nicoli lets out a humorous laugh. “We’ll see.” He turns on his heel and walks away.

“What the hell does that mean? We’ll see. We’ll see what?” I turn to face Caelian with a giant question mark on my face.

“Don’t ask me. What do I know about this continued drama between you and my brother? I’m just here for the sheer entertainment of it.”

“Ugh.” Frustrated and pissed off, I stomp out of the living room, fuming while rushing to my room. I don’t care if anyone hears me slamming my bedroom door. It’s the only place in this goddamn house where I feel I can breathe without running the risk of being reprimanded and told what to do. I’m not a child. I’m not a Del Rossa wife. I’m not even a Del Rossa. God, I wish I was in Tuscany with Nicoli’s mom right now, living my life far away from these controlling freaks who suffocate me with their oppressive expectations.

I kick off my shoes and step out of my dress, dropping it on the floor. My room. My dress. My floor.

I yank open the cabinet and snatch a cotton pad, wiping away the makeup on my face. The scar stretching down the side is more visible and enhanced without foundation masking its presence.

I grab the orange and bergamot candle, strike a match, and light the wick, desperate for some peace. It’s been a day, and all I want to do is take a long bubble bath and feel all the negative energy drain from my body. And by negative energy, I mean Nicoli. And Alexius. And pretty much all the Del Rossa men. I just need some me time without being bombarded with orders and everyone else telling me what I can and cannot do. At least I have some control over choosing which bubble bath I want to soak in. Magnolia blossom…which is not where it’s supposed to be because Leandra used it last night. Seriously?

I have other options, other bubble baths I can use, like rhubarb and rose or jasmine. But I’m so determined to do what I want and not what other people’s actions force me to do—like borrow my goddamn bubble bath—that I choose to wrap a towel around myself and stalk down the hall to get my magnolia blossom bubble bath.

I peek out of my bedroom, scanning the hallway for signs of life. Once I’m sure the coast is clear, I tiptoe across the lacquered floors, rushing toward Leandra and Alexius’ room. I clutch the towel tightly in front of my chest, peering behind me every few steps. As I turn the corner, I walk straight into a brick wall with a pulse.

“What the f—”

“Oh, God,” I gasp, and three things happen at once.

The towel drops.

Nicoli’s eyes widen.

And I die.

A wash of heat rushes to my face, and a fire is lit inside my chest. The scarlet towel is pooled around my feet, refusing to obscure the overwhelming embarrassment that floods my system as I stare into sapphire eyes. Humiliation grabs hold of every muscle in my body, and I’m frozen because, apparently, I have now forgotten how to move. All I can do is stand like a statue and feel the shame chew me up in big chunks of awkwardness.

I stare up at Nicoli, regarding me with an expression that seems both unreadable and unfamiliar all at once. Is it because I’ve never seen him look at me the way he’s doing right now? The silence hurts my ears, seconds turning into decades until Nicoli’s blue gaze slowly starts to wander, raking down my body. Too overwhelmed to bear witness to this disaster, I shut my eyes and do nothing but just stand absolutely fucking still. Every trace of our earlier dispute is gone. It’s as if the argument in the living room never happened.

Nicoli clears his throat, and I open my eyes just in time to see him crouch in front of me, his eyes downcast as he reaches for the towel. My heart is beating so fast, and I’m convinced he can hear the thump.

A single wisp of his hair tickles my leg as his fingers grip the towel still draped around my feet. An electric current shoots up my thigh, sparks of anticipation prickling my skin.

“Nicoli, I—”

“Shut up.”

“You don’t even—”

“Just for once, Mira.” He touches my calf, and I suck in a breath. “Keep quiet.” His voice is low. Demanding. And I’m biting my bottom lip nervously, trying to keep myself from saying something incredibly fucking stupid.

His fingertips trail gently up the side of my leg, his deft touch seeping into my skin, leaving me weak-kneed and hardly able to keep myself upright. There’s just too much heat. Too much desire. Too much electricity that I can practically taste.

What is he thinking? Does he like what he sees? Is desire alive in his veins as it is in mine? Is this really happening?

A hankering need coils low in my belly, desire radiating outward from my core, spreading between my legs. I can’t control it. I can’t make my body stop reacting to him. He’s so close I can feel his breath on my skin, his midnight hair framing his face, which bears the mask of barely contained hunger. His gaze is steady on his hand that continues to touch me, slowly tracing up my outer thigh and all along the curve of my hip. I’m nothing but liquid being this close to him, under his touch and at his mercy.

He stops abruptly, his hand hovering over my hip bone, his fiery blue eyes hooded and alive as he stares at my pussy. My pulse quickens, and my breathing grows ragged. Time is frozen, the intensity a taut thread that would sever at any moment. My heart is on the cusp of bursting, the blood in my veins saturated with silent longing.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, his eyes riveted to my sex, licking his lips and leaving a tempting sheen. “You have no idea how hard this is.”

“How hard what is?”

Nicoli brings his face so close to my aroused flesh I can feel the slightest brush of his nose. It sends my body into a spiral, aching for him to put his mouth there. To kiss my sex, eat me out, and make me come.

“To stay away from you.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper and close my eyes, my skin electrified with sweet anticipation.

He takes a slow, savoring, deeply erotic inhale as if he’s relishing the scent of my lust that clings to my folds. A surge of heat weakens me, forcing me to reach out to the wall so I can keep my balance.

He doesn’t move, and neither do I. I don’t even dare to breathe with the amplified silence between us. Every particle of my being is focused on him, drunk on the anticipation that could so easily drown me. My mind is already racing with thoughts of what’s about to happen. My body is primed and pussy slick. I want him so badly it hurts. It’s an ache I can’t describe, deeply rooted and heavily weighted. As angry as he makes me, he dizzies me too.

I want him to kiss me there. I need him to use his tongue and taste my clit. I want it slow. Fast. Gentle. Hard. I want it any way he’s willing to give it to me, just as long as he touches me and gets rid of the hunger that’s taken over my soul.

I swallow hard, my throat narrow and lungs desperate, my heart racing as I pray for him to finally give me what I’ve desired for so long. Him. I want him.

Trying to catch my breath, Nicoli suddenly straightens, and a gasp slips across my lips. With a subtle touch on my chin, he forces me to look up at him. There’s a softness in his eyes that I haven’t seen in years. A gentle hue of affection. I have no idea what he’s thinking, and I wish I could read his mind. I want to know if he wants me as much as I want him. I want to know if he thinks I’m pretty because, to me, he’s the most beautiful creature on this Earth. His dark hair. His crystal eyes. His full lips. The way his mouth curves at only one end when he smirks. Nothing in this world sets me alight with life the way Nicoli Del Rossa does.

He leans his head to the side, his thumb raised to trace the course of my scar. I’m not wearing any makeup, and I know the mark Micah gave me is more noticeable now than any other day when covered. He’s never seen the permanent seam of marred flesh because I always hide it so well. But now…he can see it. He sees me at my most vulnerable, the purest form of me he’ll ever get.

There’s a sudden shift, his eyes no longer liquid but hardened ice as he regards the prominent flaw on my face. His gaze cuts to mine, and the electricity between us vanishes as if it was never there.

He drapes the towel over my shoulders, covering me, breaking every shard of the connection that soared between us half a heartbeat ago, and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Hummingbird,” he rasps, and my chest tightens. He hasn’t called me that in years, and hearing it again has now turned my blistering desire for him into an aching longing.

Nicoli cups my cheek, his touch gentle and soft. “You are the bane of my existence.” The words leave his mouth like a curse, one that shatters my heart and breaks my world. I’m nothing but pain as he turns his back on me and walks away, every step putting a thousand miles between us.

“And you are mine,” I whisper, clutching the towel as my soul drowns.

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