Page 63 of Single Malt Drama
Nico furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand.”
Christ, why can’t I just spit it out?“I don’t want a fake marriage.”
She pressed her hands together as if she were praying and brought them to her chin. “But we’re already married…”
Get a grip, or you’re going to screw this up.
“Yes, and I’d like to keep it that way.” I swallowed to loosen the lump in my throat. “Forever, if you’ll have me.”
Nico’s beautiful brown eyes widened.
I dipped my chin. “I love you.”
She covered her mouth and nodded several times. “I love you, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” She launched herself at me.
I caught her waist and held her close, but not close enough. Never close enough. Anything less than skin-to-skin seemed downright chaste. “Just to be clear. No annulment or dissolution. We’re doing the until death do us part routine, right?”
She groaned, took my face in her hands, and gave me a quick peck. “Right.”
I pressed my lips to hers again, lightly at first, then more urgently. From there our instincts took over—my body on top of hers, her tongue in my mouth, mine in hers, our hips moving in opposing unison with each other.
"We don’t have to… we can take it slow.” Slow, fast, hard, soft, whatever she needed, I’d gladly give her.
“I want to.”
As soon as she’d said the words, we started kissing again. I buried my hands in her hair, and she dug her fingers into my shoulders. Each sensation was new, but easy somehow. There was none of the usual first time, new partner awkwardness. We knew each other, maybe not in a carnal sense, but just as intimately.
Nico kissed my jaw, chin, ear, anywhere she could reach. "You feel amazing."
“So do you…my god, so do you.” I eased back enough to slide her tank top over her head.
Staring at her breasts, I licked my lips. I’d seen them before. We’d been in our late teens, and I’d caught her reflection in the mirror while she was trying on clothes. For a brief terrifying moment, I thought she’d seen me standing in the hall, but she’d turned her back and walked away from the mirror. Even then, our parents assumed she’d marry Enzo when she came of age.
Would our lives be different if I would have kissed her then? If I would have asked her father for her hand? No looking back.Now thatI had Nico in my arms, I’d never let her go. Burying my face in her cleavage, I made sure I covered every inch of her chest in kisses.
Nico laced her fingers in my hair and arched her back. Other than the rabbit-fast beat of her heart and her busy hands, she hadn’t responded since I’d taken off her top. No moans, no gasps, no indication of what she liked or how she liked it.
Propping myself on my elbow, I met her gaze. “Are you nervous?”
“A little.” She kept her elbows pinned to her sides, which did fantastic things for her tits, but seemed uncomfortable at best and rigid at worst.
Is she posing, giving me what she thinks I want, like she does for the camera?
“Do you want me to slow down?” I traced a line down the center of her body from her chin to the waist band of her shorts.
“No.” She forced a smile.
I was at a loss. If I pushed the issue, I ran the risk of making her feel even more self-conscious. If I said nothing and continued, I worried she wouldn’t enjoy herself.
“What’s wrong?” Nico chewed her lower lip.
“Nothing. I’m debating what to do to you to get you to relax.” I drew slow circles around her navel. “What do you do to get yourself off?”
She blushed from the tips of her ears to her chest.