Page 4 of Nicoli

“She’s about to come,” Caelian says. “Her cunt is fucking throbbing.”

I let go of her neck and twist my hand in her ponytail, pulling her head back so she cranes that pretty throat of hers. “You know the rules, slut. You come when we give you permission to.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies with a heavy breath, and her hips slow their rhythm as she tries to control her body.

“That’s my girl,” Caelian murmurs, his hungry eyes raking down her naked throat. “You’re so fucking good. If my brother wasn’t here, I’d let you run down these halls so I can chase you. Nothing makes a cunt feel so fucking perfect like a little resistance.”

The moan that slips from Vera’s lips is proof that my brother’s words had a straight line down to her soaking pussy. I can hear the wetness between her thighs as Caelian slams into her, feel it lube my cock as it spreads between her ass cheeks. There is no better sound than a woman’s arousal while her pussy gets smacked. The sound of sex. The sound of pleasure. The sound of zero fucking control.

The rhythm Caelian and I have starts to falter as we both chase our own pleasure inside her. I lean closer, my chest flush against her back, my lips brushing along the shell of her ear. “Come for us. And make sure everyone in this building can hear you.”

Vera doesn’t disappoint, a scream tearing from her throat as she bucks her hips, doing what Caelian wanted her to do…make a fucking mess on his dick.

“I’m about to cream her pussy, man,” Caelian says between labored breaths.

I give a few more thrusts, pushing in deep before pulling out of her and squirting my jizz on her naked back. For one hot, sweet, dirty minute everything goes black. Then, beautiful green irises fill the image inside my head, blood red lips a teasing glimpse bursting through the haze in my mind. It’s always like this.

She’s always. Fucking. There.

ChapterTwo

NICOLI

Ipark my car in front of the house—my new Maserati GranCabrio’s headlights casting a stark light against the old-world elegance paired with the modern architecture of the Victorian-style mansion. The LaFerrari lost that new-car smell which, to me, is always justification enough to buy a new car.

Leaning my head back against the seat, taking in the view of the house, I remember a time when getting my dick wet had me feeling like I was on top of the fucking world. A time when a trip to Myth would have me smiling all the way back home.

Now…not so much.

Now, I just feel numb, and try as I may, I can’t seem to fuck myself out of this humorless funk. It’s like the older I get, the stronger the battle with my own head.

I step out of the car, and my eyes are immediately drawn up to the second floor. I’m not the least bit surprised when I see Alexius and Leandra fucking against their bedroom window, Leandra’s naked body writhing against the glass, her palms and tits flush against it. The gentle yellow pools of light from the outside lamps illuminate them, accenting their curves. Leandra looks down, and our eyes meet. I don’t look away, and neither does she. This is what they do, what they get off on—having people watch them fuck each other. It’s their guilty pleasure, and sometimes mine, too.

Alexius slips a hand between Leandra and the window, cupping her breast and tugging at her nipple. His other hand reaches around her waist and dips low, cupping her pussy, and I know he has his fingers on her clit by the way her warm breath leaves a mist against the glass.

I smile, thinking of an old memory. A secret memory. Ours.

I have to give it to my brother; he landed a fucking jewel when he found that woman. But standing out here in the cold watching them also reminds me why I have to get out of this damn house every chance I get. It’s Alexius and Leandra’s constant, high-pitched gushing over the twins, Isaia’s newfound platonic friendship with Leandra, Maximo’s talent to somehow be everywhere at the same damn time—it’s all working on my last goddamn nerve. And don’t even get me started on Mirabella and those plump, blood-red lips and hourglass curves.

I can see it every time our eyes meet, her silent desire and screaming questions. Those are the moments I become the world’s biggest asshole by looking away as if the thought of sparing her a single fucking glance is beneath me—like she’s nothing but an insignificant piece of furniture in this house. When it comes to her, I’ve perfected the art of aversion.

Her constant smiling, her incessant babbling, and positive take on life annoy me on a good day. One would think after what she had been through, she’d see the world for what it really is. Fucked-up, unfair, and just a giant black hole that swallows everyone who isn’t strong enough to survive it. But no, she goes around smiling as if life has only given her roses, rainbows, and unicorns.

She suffocates me. The air becomes heavy and dense, like smoke, whenever she enters the room, and that’s why I can’t fuck-off out of there fast enough.

I’m a douchebag around her. Well, technically, I’m always a douchebag, but when she’s close, I become a douchebag with a side of asshole.

Raindrops start to fall, the water droplets slipping down the black paint of my Maserati. Even the weather is pissing me off. The sunny days, chilly breeze, and late-night thundershowers say that the seasons can’t make up their goddamn minds. So, is it still summer, or is it time for motherfucking fall already? Jesus.

My heavy footsteps break the silence of the house as I start up the stairs. If my mom were still here, I’d make an effort to be quieter, but she still hasn’t returned from the family vineyard in Tuscany. She left last year, shortly after my father died. The plan wasn’t for her to stay there permanently, but we knew it would happen. This house is haunted by too many memories—good and bad. But it’s the good ones that make it impossible for her to walk through these halls without being reminded of what she lost the day my father took his last breath. It’s been a year, and the weight of his influence and power still lingers in every corner. Vincenzo Del Rossa was once the heart of this family—the one that built the Dark Sovereign into the empire it is today. An empire my brothers and I will protect with our lives. Ask my uncle, Roberto, whose body got burned and his ashes flushed down the motherfucking toilet. Fucker wanted to ruin our family so he could rule and forge alliances that would one day put the Dark Sovereign in the hands of people who didn’t have Del Rossa blood flowing through their veins. He refused to accept that the Dark Sovereign doesn’t forge alliances. We don’t bargain, and we don’t make deals. We are strong enough to stand on our own. But that fucker had to die to figure it out.

“Hey, man.”

I still and turn to face Alexius, watching him pull a shirt over his head and close his bedroom door as he steps into the dimly lit hall.

“Everything good over at Myth?”

“Yeah.” I square my shoulders. “You’d know that if you were at the club more often.”

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