Page 4 of Nico (Members From Money Season 2, #154)

She was normally stingy with her Sundays. It was her only day off. She had one or two mornings off where she got to run errands and do her personal stuff, but Sundays were her day to just indulge and unwind.

Andre and two other staff members took over and she was only called in if there was some sort of emergency or if a very demanding patron was asking for her.

But she realized she did not mind sharing it with Nico. They had arrived half an hour after stopping for some donuts and more coffee.

Now he was ensconced on her living room sofa with his feet propped up on the coffee table. Normally she would protest but stayed silent. She liked the fact that he was at home in her place.

She had showered at his place and that had delayed them even further.

He was still insisting on the drive, but she would see.

Dumping the sorted clothing into the machine, she went to grab the jug of lemonade she had made yesterday and smiled at his shouted encouragement at the basketball game playing on TV.

"Hey." He looked over as she came into the room with the jug of lemonade and some store-bought cookies.

"I thought you could do with some replenishing."

She set the jug down and was about to leave when he snagged her hand and tugged.

"Nico, I have work to do."

"I know." He nuzzled at her neck, the game forgotten. "You smell like a garden in full bloom."

"That's not going to work. If you keep this up, we're going to end up killing each other."

"What a way to go." He parted the shirt she had put on and murmured in his throat when he saw just skin. "If you wanted me to leave you alone, you would have put underwear on."

"I was out. Haven't done laundry in a while." She hissed out a breath when his clever and swift hand snaked up her thigh.

"Hmm. Soft and ready." His eyes were steady on hers; those bottle green intense eyes stayed on her as he slid a finger over her and then into her. "And wet. Just the way I like it."

She could feel him, bursting through his jeans. And her body reacted violently. With a helpless gasp, she erupted around his finger and rode him. His eyes darkened and he knew the control was slipping.

That was another thing he had a difficult time understanding. He was always the placid type. Sex to him had been a release, a quiet enjoyment where he ensured the female received the utmost satisfaction. He took pride in his work and would walk away with his composure intact.

Not so with the woman sitting in his lap. His control snapped like a rotten twig and turned him into a raving and greedy lunatic.

Lifting her several inches off him, he fumbled with the damn zipper and almost destroyed it in his haste to release his swollen shaft. He was hot, throbbing, and desperate. When she straddled him, he whimpered in relief. It was going to be rough, he thought dazedly.

Grabbing the remote, he hit the off button and leaned back against cushions. And drove all the way in. Her back bowed, fingers digging into his shirt as she rode him.

He watched her, his breath escaping through clenched teeth as he tried to hold back. Reaching down, he slid his finger over her swollen flesh and had her crying out in shock.

"God! God! God!" Her fingers curled into fists as the climax tore through her like a lightning bolt. She was left weak, dazed, and unable to think.

With a tortured groan, he emptied himself, hands gripping her vibrating hips as he plunged into her over and over again, his body shuddering.

She collapsed on top of him, her body fluid and boneless. Wrapping his arms around her, he closed his eyes and willed his heart to slow down its erratic pace.

The machine trilling out the end of the cycle had her lifting her head. "Duty calls. And I remember a certain someone offering to help with the housework."

He rubbed her back and tried valiantly to gather himself. His brain was muddled, and he was as weak as a kitten. "Why don't you have a maid?"

She eased back to get a good look at him. "Would you be trying to get out of your promise?"

"Just asking a reasonable question. I could pay to.

.." The rest of the words came out as an unintelligible mumble as she covered his mouth with her hand.

She distracted him enough to ease herself off his lap.

Plucking up the shirt he had tossed to the hardwood floor, she pulled it on and left the room.

Leaning back, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Straightening, he zipped up his jeans and rose. And went to find her.

"I'm your humble servant." He came up behind her and wrapped his hands around her waist. "Put me to work."

The morning passed pleasantly with them working.

She gave in and went for a drive with him. It took the scenic route. Fall colors were rioting in the leaves of the trees they passed. He was familiar with the rural areas, because it was mostly where he gathered his inspiration from.

Deep russets, flaming orange, glossy ruby red, with a mix of green drifted to the ground in a kaleidoscope of color that dazzled the eyes.

They spoke of art, something they both had in common. He explained the methods to her as they stopped at the crest of the hill that had the town spread out in magnificent glory before their eyes.

Taking her hand, he linked their fingers as he began. "You're sure you want to hear? I don't want to bore you."

Angling her head, she glanced at him. "Have you ever known me not to speak my mind?" she chided.

"Never since I met you." He grinned at her. "I have been known to get carried away with my explanations. Like a lecturer droning on and putting his students to sleep."

Leaves rustled, and the sun slipped behind a patch of gray clouds, but they did not notice.

"If and when that happens, I'll let you know. You know how interested I am in your work."

He gave her an appreciative smile.

"I first thought I wanted to paint."

"You do paint."

He tugged on her hand to remind her to be quiet while he discoursed.

"I thought I wanted to paint. I was fascinated with the colors, the techniques, the simple or complexities of capturing something on canvas or even on wax.

" His expression turned inward, and she had the feeling he was far away.

"But then I started studying sculpting."

A smile tugged at his sensuous lips and sent her heart skittering. "I went to an art exhibit in a tiny Italian village and was fascinated. It was rough and amateurish at best, but the enthusiasm, the simple glow of the gentleman showed that he was lost in his work."

He squinted as several squirrels made a play for a lone chestnut before racing up the bark of the oak tree.

He turned to face her and rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

His touch was gentle, grounding her in the present. She watched him, noticing the way his eyes collected the shifting light, as if he were cataloging each fleeting shade for some future masterpiece.

"I realized then," he continued, "that sculpture is painting in three dimensions. It's about releasing the form that already waits inside the stone or clay. There's something raw and honest about it, almost primal. With every chisel mark, you're discovering what's hidden."

She listened, captivated, her gaze softening. "Isn't that what art is? Revealing what's hidden, giving shape to things most people only sense but never see?"

He nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Exactly. When I'm working the clay, my hands get caked and dry, and time falls away. I lose myself, and for those hours, I'm not thinking about bills or deadlines or anything else. It's just creation, and me in the middle of it."

She leaned into his side, letting her head rest on his shoulder as they looked out over the valley. The world was hushed in that moment, the wind whispering secrets through the trees, the golden hush of autumn pressing close.

"Promise you'll show me your studio someday?" she asked quietly.

He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Promise. Maybe you'll even let me teach you, if you're brave enough to get your hands dirty."

A laugh bubbled from her, genuine and free. "With you, I think I'd try anything."

They lingered at the crest, watching as sunlight returned in shimmering patches, and for a while, words were unnecessary, the silence between them filled with the gentle promise of shared dreams.

He treated her to ice cream. The park was on their way back to her place and was mostly empty because of the weather.

Double mint chocolate which happened to be her favorite and held her hand as they wound their way through the maze of playground equipment and swings empty and clanking almost eerily as if some magic hands were moving them.

Leaning forward, he captured a smudge at the seam of her lips and turned it into a kiss that stole her breath.

"Just wanted to get a taste of yours." He had bought strawberry for himself. "And of you." He guided them to a bench at the far end of the park which afforded them some privacy and shade from the rising wind.

"This is nice." She murmured. "And feels like a date."

Wrapping his hand around her shoulders, he hugged her to him.

"I would like to take you out on a proper date.

" He rubbed a hand up and down her arm absently.

"We get dressed up and have a night out on the town.

The function I'm hoping you'll accompany me to on Saturday does not count.

Dinner and dancing and necking on the dance floor. "

Turning her head, she stared at him. "You dance?" She laughed at the injured look on his face.

"I happen to be a terrific dancer. Both my sister and I were required to take ballroom dancing when we were growing up."

"Of course." Her dry tone had him tugging on her lobe.

"Rich people."

"Trying to make me feel ashamed?"

"Oh, of course not. Just noting the difference between us. Ballroom dancing? What a crock. Do you remember the steps?"