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“Fuck me,Bambina,” he groans, his voice hoarse with need as my legs tremble and my arms wrap around his neck. “That was the hottest thing I think I’ve ever seen in my life.”

His lips capture mine again in a lazy, possessive kiss, his cock still moving into me at a slow, deliberate pace. He gives me a moment to return to Earth, to bask in the glow of my release.

But it doesn’t last.

“I want to see it again,” he declares, his voice rough and savage. Before I can respond, he pulls out completely and flips me onto my stomach with startling ease. “And you will show me, won’t you?” he murmurs, his hands gripping my hips as he lines himself up again.

“Yes,” I moan, even though my arms and legs are trembling, far too weak to hold me up. He notices immediately. Grabbing two pillows from the head of the bed, he slides them under my belly, propping my hips up and angling me perfectly for him.

A deep, guttural groan escapes his lips as he positions himself behind me, kneeling. His hands grip my ass firmly, spreading me open before he thrusts into me with one powerful stroke. The sensation pulls a whimper from my throat—I’m still throbbing, still sensitive from the last orgasm, but it only seems to fuel his determination.

No complaints from me.

Curses tumble from his mouth like a dark, reverent prayer as he sets a relentless pace. My fingers clutch the floral comforter beneath me, desperate for an anchor as he drives me back toward the edge of bliss.

Holy fuck. I’ve never climaxed twice in such rapid succession, but I can feel it building, urgent and unstoppable.

“Hold on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal. One of his hands slides around my waist, slipping between the pillows and my body until his fingers find my clit.

And that’s when I detonate.

His fingers move with expert precision, coaxing wave after wave of ecstasy from me. My vision explodes into bursts of light behind closed eyelids, and my throat feels raw from the cries spilling out. My entire body trembles, legs shaking uncontrollably, and the sensation triggers his release.

I feel him pulse inside me as my walls tighten around him, his grip on my hair intensifying. His thrusts grow erratic, and the sound of the skin meeting skin echoes around us, raw and primal.

When the storm finally passes, I collapse onto the bed, still half-propped on the pillows, utterly spent. To my surprise, Nicolas sinks down beside me and pulls me into his arms, holding me close.

* * *

When I wake the next morning, the bed beside me is empty, though the faint sound of running water in the bathroom reassures me Nicolas hasn’t gone far. My body aches in ways I didn’t expect—a deep, satisfying reminder of the night before.

Sitting up, I pull the blanket around me, letting the memories flood back. My chest tightens with emotions, and I’m unsure how to feel—or even what to think.

I need space. I need a distraction.

Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I scroll through my contacts until I find Elena’s name. It’s a little sad that the closest thing I have to a friend is someone I’ve met only twice, but every friendship has to start from somewhere, right?

I send her a quick text, asking if she’d like to meet up. Her reply cones almost instantly:Of course!!!Followed by what feels like an army of exclamations marks and emojis.

Using makeup wipes and a few college-learned tricks, I freshen up and head downstairs. A simple ‘My husband knows I’m heading out’ works on the bodyguards, and within the hour, I’m walking toward Elena, who’s waiting for me in front of a boutique.

As always, she looks impeccable. Her sleek black jumpsuit clings perfectly to her figure, and her dark hair is styled to perfection, with not a strand out of place.

“Rough night?” she asks, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she takes me in.

“Not really,” I reply with a grin, dodging the implied question.

She arches an eyebrow but doesn’t press further. Instead, she hooks her arm through mine and pulls me inside, heading straight for one of the racks. Picking up a dress, she holds it against me with a critical eye.

“Green suits you,” she declares. “You should try this.”

I take the dress, running my fingers over the smooth fabric. “Thanks,” I mumble, draping it over my arm as we move down the aisle.

Elena keeps up a steady stream of commentary—about the clothes, the shoppers, and even the background music. It’s light and distracting, and it’s exactly what I need.

“What do you want out of all this?” Elena asks suddenly, her voice cutting through the rhythm of our casual shopping.

I blink, caught off guard. “Out of what?”