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Chapter Fifteen

Nora

O rgasms for the win! No, seriously, I mean that.

After the wave of bliss faded and the subsequent panic settled, I went back to the room. Of course, Rafael was gone. He probably thinks I’m completely unstable—and honestly, part of me agrees. I’m mortified just thinking about the way I reacted. I didn’t run because I was scared of him. No, I don’t think I could ever be afraid of him again. I ran because of how he made me feel.

When he looked at me from between my legs, his hair tousled by my fingers and thighs, his lips glistening with my arousal, and that almost boyish pride on his face—I felt something stir inside me. Something more than just lust. It was tenderness, affection, something dangerous and overwhelming. My husband, and I was basking in it.

But then, like a bucket of ice-cold water, the thought of my own mother’s life flashed through my mind—the parallel of it all. And I panicked. I fled.

Now, as I wake up and try to push past the lingering shame of running away like some impetuous child, I notice something strange—I feel… better. The usual ache in my muscles has eased. The constant tension in my body has melted away, even if just for a moment. It makes no sense.

Curious, I grab my phone and start searching. Turns out, there’s actual science behind it. Orgasms release endorphins and oxytocin—natural painkillers and stress relievers. Apparently, they can even help with muscle tension and improve sleep. It’s not a cure, but for someone like me dealing with chronic pain, it feels like a little miracle.

Too bad I can’t really indulge in this again, not until I figure out how to keep my growing feelings for him at bay.

I want to stay holed up in my bed all day, avoiding everything, but I know that’s childish. He’s not angry—not too much, anyway. He texted me last night, saying he had to leave for an emergency. It was a quick, unemotional message—so very him. Yet it felt miles away from the man who pleasured me to the point I saw stars.

I shake off any remaining embarrassment. I need to enjoy today, enjoy feeling good, because I don’t know how long it will last. I learned young that good moments are fleeting, and when they come, you savor them fully.

I think I need to face my husband, thank him for Columbia, and prove that I’m not a scaredy cat. But as I wander through the house, I can’t find him anywhere. Self-conscious but unable to resist, I ask Teresa, who admits he hasn’t been back since he left yesterday.

That insidious thought creeps back in.

He left because I ran. He said he wouldn’t go anywhere else, but I left him hanging. I didn’t miss his erection, and?—

I shake my head. No. I know him now. He’s not going to do that.

Is he?

“Why don’t you have coffee with me?” Teresa’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, offering a welcome distraction. For someone like Rafaele, who’s feared by so many, it’s odd how calm and unafraid those closest to him seem to be. It only makes me more curious about him.

She smiles warmly as she sits down beside me. “Were you wanting to talk about Mr. Lucchese’s birthday? Don’t worry, he never celebrates it. He doesn’t want anything.”

I freeze, mortified. Today is Rafaele’s birthday. I should’ve known that—I did know that. The date was right there on our marriage certificate. How could I have forgotten? Now, I feel even worse.

“He never celebrates?” I ask, trying to push down the guilt creeping up inside me.

Teresa shakes her head, still smiling. “No, he’s never liked the attention. But maybe with you, things will be different. He’s already been… different since you came. More… human.”

Her words startle me, sinking in deeper than I expected. More human. I didn’t realize how much hearing that would mean to me.

“Have you worked for Rafaele long?” I ask, finally finding the courage to dig deeper. I’ve always wondered but never had the nerve to ask before. Now feels like the right moment.

“Oh yes,” Teresa says, her smile widening as she reminisces. “I worked for his family first, then for him. He’s always been driven, even when he was young. When he bought this house three years ago, he brought me along. He didn’t really need me—he was hardly ever here before you—but my husband Hector was sick, cancer, and Rafaele offered me the job and the garden house to help us out.”

“That’s… really kind of him,” I say, surprised by how thoughtful that gesture was.

Teresa pats my hand gently. “He’s kind to those who show him loyalty. You’ll see.”

She’s right. I can’t say Rafaele is warm, at least not before last night in my room, but he has been kind to me. Giving me an ally for the wedding, bringing Fate into my life, and now helping with Columbia—he’s shown more kindness than most people in my life ever have.

“Does he normally stay out all night?” I ask, curiosity and a hint of worry creeping into my voice.

She sighs, shaking her head as she stands up, leaving her coffee untouched on the table. “No, but it’s usually because he’s cleaning up after his brother. The boy is trouble.”

“But—”

“I’m planning to make lasagna for dinner—one of Mr. Lucchese’s favorites. Would you like me to teach you how to make it?”

It’s clear she doesn’t want to dwell on Leo, and I can’t blame her. “Yes, and I’ll bake something for his birthday… maybe.” I shrug, still feeling a little awkward about forgetting.

Teresa grins. “He’ll love that.”

Will he even join me here in the library after last night? I’m overthinking it. I know that, but now I feel silly for making him muffins late last night and leaving them like some kind of peace offering.

I push myself up from the couch and decide to go to the kitchen, thinking I’ll just remove the muffins and pretend it never happened. But when I get there, they’re gone. My heart skips a beat, and my cheeks flush. Did he see them? Did he eat one?

Then, I notice the soft glow of light coming from under the door to his office. He’s back. He’s been back. My heart thuds in my chest, and before I can talk myself out of it, I decide to go to him.

Taking a deep breath, I walk down the hallway toward the door, my fingers trembling as I raise my hand to knock.

But I hesitate. What am I even going to say? Happy birthday? Sorry I ran out on you? The words jumble in my mind, my hand hovering just inches from the door. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to knock softly.

"Come in."

When I step inside, I find Rafaele sitting behind his desk, his laptop open, the plate that once held the muffins now empty except for the crumpled paper wrapper. His eyes widen slightly in surprise as he looks up at me.

"Nora," he glances at his watch, "is everything alright?"

You tell me , I think, but instead, I nod. "Yes… I just—" I clear my throat, feeling ridiculous. "You were gone for a while. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

His expression shifts, softening, a look I’m beginning to realize he reserves only for me. "Leo and his antics." He sighs, leaning back in his chair. "Took longer to handle than I anticipated."

"Can I help?" The question slips out before I can stop myself. It’s a silly question—I have no idea how I could help.

But he gives me a small, half smile. "You already do."

I tilt my head, my heart racing at his words. His dark eyes, which usually remind me of cold coal, seem warmer today, like rich, melted chocolate. "How?"

He gestures toward the empty plate. "Thanks for the birthday muffin. As you can see, I devoured it."

A grin spreads across my face, warmth blooming in my chest. He’s never been shy about complimenting me, and yet it always feels unexpected.

"You're welcome. I actually created it for you. I call it Midnight Delight because I noticed you have a sweet tooth late at night. Whenever I get up for water or something, I see pieces of cake missing. So, I thought mixing dark chocolate with espresso—since I know you love both—and adding raspberry would create something rich, with depth but also a hint of complexity… something that reminds me of you." I stop, realizing I’m rambling, and feel heat rise in my cheeks. "Anyway… now that I see you’re home safe, I’ll leave you to your work."

His smile widens, his eyes twinkling in that way that always throws me off balance. "Were you worried about me?"

"I…" I hesitate. The truth is probably written all over my face. Why lie? "Maybe a little."

"Maybe a little," he repeats, his voice soft as he nods, his gaze on me a moment longer than usual.

“Well, now that I see you’re fine, I’ll just—” I start to say, ready to make my escape, but his gentle voice stops me.

“What happened last night, Nora?” he asks, closing the laptop in front of him and focusing all his attention on me.

I can’t pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about. I knew it would come up eventually.

“If I misinterpreted what you wanted?—”

“No,” I interrupt quickly. Of all the things I don’t want, it’s for him to feel guilty. “No, I wanted it. Truly. There’s nothing you did last night that I didn’t want, I swear.”

“So what is it?” His voice is calm, but his eyes search mine.

I take a deep breath. “I… I was overwhelmed. I’ve never felt anything like that. It was the most intense, pleasurable moment of my life. I saw stars and the—” I stop, noticing the curve of his lips. “Are you actually grinning?”

He leans back slightly, a full-on, boyish grin spreading across his face. “How could I not? I gave my wife incredible pleasure—of course I’m proud.”

I flush at his words, but I can’t help the warmth that spreads through me at his confidence. “It’s just… all of this is so new to me. I didn’t know how to handle it.” The unspoken words remain between us. I’m scared, terrified, of how much I’m beginning to care for him. Because if I let myself fall, I know he could break me, maybe not intentionally, but he would.

He tilts his head, studying me. “It’s just as new to me.”

I know he’s talking about the relationship, not the physical aspect—because judging by his skill last night, that definitely wasn’t new to him. A small speck of jealousy rises, but I quickly push it aside. It’s not the time for that.

“I don’t regret anything,” I continue softly. “In fact, I want more.” I want to see him come undone too. I want to see him lose control, just like I did. It’s silly, but there’s a need in me to see him vulnerable, to have him at my mercy, just as I was at his.

He blinks in surprise, clearly taken aback. “More?” He pushes his chair back slightly, turning it toward me, his eyes darkening with desire. “I’ll be happy to give you more.” His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and my cheeks flush with heat.

I shake my head, stepping closer, the space between us crackling with tension. “No, this time… I want to be the one giving you pleasure.”

His expression shifts from playful to something deeper, darker, as he watches me approach. The air thickens, charged with unspoken desire.

“You want to give me pleasure,” he repeats, his voice huskier now, his eyes never leaving mine. He leans back in his chair, hands resting casually on the arms, but there’s nothing casual about the tension radiating from him. It’s as if he’s holding back, waiting for me to take the next step.

I swallow hard, nerves skittering through me, but I refuse to back down. “Yes.”

His eyes darken even more, and I can feel my heart racing in my chest. My breath catches as I stand before him, and for a moment, all the confidence I mustered starts to waver. But then I remember the way he made me feel last night—completely unguarded, completely undone—and I want him to feel the same.

"I want to make you feel good, Rafaele," I say softly, my voice a little shaky but filled with intent.

He exhales slowly as if trying to control himself, but I can see the strain in his body. “Then do it,” he says, his voice low, almost a challenge. “Show me.”

My heart pounds in my chest as I kneel between his parted legs, the sound of my own pulse thundering in my ears. I’ve never done this before, and that realization tightens my throat. I know what this should be like—after all, I’ve seen enough films, heard enough whispered stories back in high school. But knowing and doing are two very different things.

Rafaele’s voice cuts through my thoughts, low and rough. “Nora, you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Despite the obvious desire straining against his pants, his concern is clear. It tugs at something deep inside me. Here is the most feared man in the Italian mafia, and yet, with me, he’s cautious, gentle. If I had any doubts before, they’re gone now.

“I want to,” I whisper, looking up at him through my lashes as my hands travel up his thighs, feeling the warmth of him even through the fabric of his suit. My fingers tremble slightly as they reach his belt. “I really want to do this… just tell me what you like.”

His eyes darken, and he leans back in his leather chair, cupping my cheek with one warm hand. “I like everything you do,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse with restraint.

My heart leaps at his words, and despite the nervous energy buzzing through me, I manage to unbuckle his belt, my fingers fumbling only briefly before I unzip his pants. When I free him, my breath catches in my throat. He’s warm and heavy in my hand, thick and long, the contrast between his hard flesh and the softness of his skin striking. Like him—strong and unyielding, but with an undercurrent of something deeper.

I wrap my fingers around him, giving an experimental squeeze. He hisses sharply, his hips jerking slightly as he groans my name. “Nora…”

His reaction sends a surge of power through me. Emboldened, I lean in, letting my tongue flick over the drop of moisture at his tip before swirling it around the smooth head. His moan is low and guttural, and I feel his muscles tense beneath my hands. His fingers dig into the arms of his chair as I take him deeper, feeling his hardness press against my lips.

“Nora…” His voice is a strained plea, filled with need and something else, something raw.

A thrill shoots through me, the heady mix of control and desire making my pulse race. I’ve never done this before, but the way he responds to every flick of my tongue, every subtle movement, tells me I’m doing something right. And I want more. I want to hear him say my name again like that, to feel him lose control in a way only I can make happen.

His hips lift slightly, a silent request for more, but he’s holding himself back. I can sense it—the restraint, the tension—and I want to break it. I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper, my hands gripping his thighs to steady myself as I work him with my mouth, eager to push him further.

As I take him deeper, I hear his breath catch, a strained groan escaping his lips. His hands, which had been gripping the arms of his leather chair, flex and clench tighter, knuckles turning white with the effort of restraint—he doesn’t want to push me too far.

I hollow my cheeks, working him with my mouth, feeling him twitch as I slide my tongue along the underside of his cock. He moans, his hips jerking involuntarily, and the sound sends a jolt of heat straight to my core. I want him to lose control. I want him to take what he needs.

That realization hits me hard, making my body burn with a new kind of desire. The more I focus on him, on his pleasure, the wetter I become, the ache between my legs growing unbearable. I want him to dominate me. To claim me.

Without thinking, I reach for his hand, resting it on the back of my head, guiding him. His eyes flash with surprise, darkening even more as he grips my hair. I pull back slightly, letting his cock slip from my mouth with a wet pop , my lips swollen and slick.

“Take your pleasure, sottocapo,” I murmur, my voice husky with need. “Take it all.”

Something snaps in him. His fingers tighten in my hair, his grip firm but not painful, and the look in his eyes shifts—fierce, primal. He no longer hesitates.

Rafaele groans, deep and rough, as he begins to guide me, thrusting into my mouth with a raw, unrestrained need. He’s lost in the pleasure now, no longer holding back, and the feeling of his power, of his control, only spurs me on. I love it. I want it.

His cock fills my mouth again and again, pushing deeper with every thrust, and I relax into it, surrendering completely. My hands clutch at his thighs, and I moan around him, the vibrations making him groan even louder. The more he takes, the more I give, and the more my own body responds—my wetness growing, the heat between my legs coiling tighter, almost unbearable.

I’ve never felt this before, this overwhelming need to submit to someone’s pleasure, but it consumes me now, and I revel in it. Each time he thrusts, I feel the tension in his body building, his moans turning into ragged gasps. He’s close, so close, and I want to push him over the edge.

“Nora… fuck,” he growls, his voice a deep, guttural sound that sends another surge of heat through me. His hand tightens in my hair, and his hips jerk as he begins to lose control, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate.

I moan again, my body trembling with need, on the verge of coming just from the act of pleasing him. Every sound he makes, every pulse of his cock in my mouth, drives me closer to the edge, even though I’m not being touched. I want him to come, to fall apart in my mouth.

And then he does.

With one final, broken groan, he thrusts deep, his cock swelling as he spills into my mouth. The taste of him floods my senses, and I swallow it all, drinking him in as his body shudders above me. His grip on my hair tightens one last time before loosening, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

I stay there, on my knees, my lips still wrapped around him, savoring the moment—the taste of him, the sound of his ragged breathing, the feel of his body trembling in the aftermath of his release. I’ve never felt more powerful, more connected than I do in this moment.

With a soft sigh, I release him from my mouth, his now-softened cock slipping from my lips. Rafaele lets out a deep breath, leaning back into his chair, his chest still rising and falling with the remnants of pleasure. I watch as he tucks himself back into his pants, his hands still trembling slightly as he fastens his belt.

He looks down at me, and the intensity in his eyes makes my heart skip a beat. "You were incredible," he murmurs, his voice low and full of admiration. "Perfect. So damn perfect."

I bask in his praise, warmth spreading through my chest. I rest my cheek against his thigh, letting the sensation of being close to him settle over me like a comforting blanket. I tell myself I’ll return to being detached later, that this doesn’t have to mean anything more than the physical. But right now, in this moment, I want to stay like this, wrapped up in his presence, feeling his warmth and strength.

His fingers drift through my hair so gently, as though I’m something fragile. It strikes me how those same fingers could easily bring pain, could wield cruelty without hesitation. But here, with me, they’ve only been soft. Loving.

His phone vibrates on the desk, but he doesn’t stop caressing my hair. I close my eyes, letting the rhythm of his touch soothe me, but the phone buzzes again, then a third time, insistent.

I sigh, tilting my head slightly. “You should get that.”

He inhales deeply, clearly reluctant. “Yes, I should.” But he doesn’t move, his hand still tangled in my hair, his thumb tracing lazy patterns against my scalp.

I give him a small, knowing smile. “Business comes first,” I remind him gently.

The look he gives me in return is unsettling—not because it’s harsh or distant, but because there’s a hint of confusion, maybe even hesitation. As if, for the first time, he’s questioning that principle. His gaze softens, and for a brief moment, he looks almost vulnerable.

“You are the light, Nora,” he says quietly, his voice so soft it feels like a confession. “I hadn’t planned for you.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, filling the space between us with a meaning I can’t fully grasp. But before I can ask him what he means, the phone vibrates again, and this time, he reaches for it with a resigned sigh.

I rise slowly, smoothing my dress as I take a step back, giving him the space he needs. As he answers the call, his tone shifting back to the cool, controlled man I’ve always known, I slip out of the office, leaving him to his business.

But as I close the door behind me, his words still echo in my mind.

I hadn’t planned for you.

And for the first time, I wonder if maybe… neither of us is as detached as we want to believe.