“Here,” he murmurs. “Try that.”
The seat slides smoothly into place. I try not to focus on how close he is. Or how he’s still hovering, like he’s waiting for an excuse to stay there.
I clear my throat and turn the key. The engine purrs to life like a wild animal. My pulse spikes. I’ve always wanted to be in a car like this, I just never thought I’d actually be the one behind the wheel.
“You do know how to drive, right?” Nico asks, amused.
I shoot him a look. “I’m not an idiot, Vitale.”
He smirks. “Alright then. Looks like you don’t need my help.”
I shift into gear and pull out slowly, feeling the way the car hums beneath me. It’s smooth, fast, and dangerous. Just like him.
And suddenly, I’m not sure if I’m taking the car for a test drive, or if the car is just another game he’s letting me win… for now.
I ease the Maserati down the long, winding driveway, my grip steady on the wheel, pulse anything but.
The engine begs to be pushed, to be let loose down some open stretch of highway, but I keep it slow. Not because I’m scared, but because I know he’s watching me.
Nico lounges in the passenger seat like a fucking king, one arm slung over the center console, fingers tapping lazily against the leather. His gaze never leaves me. It’s hot as sin and twice as dangerous.
“Didn’t peg you for such a cautious little driver,” he says after a beat. “I’ve seen grandmas take sharper turns.”
I scoff, keeping my eyes on the road. “I’m not wrecking a designer car just to impress you.”
His chuckle is low and indulgent. “Funny.You seemed pretty eager to impress me last night.”
My jaw tightens.
I don’t answer.
He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping to that low, wicked tone meant to disarm me. “What’s the matter,piccolino? You can take my cock like a champ, but mywordsthrow you off?”
I grip the wheel tighter, trying not to let my expression falter. “Shut the fuck up,” I mutter. “Don’t make me slam on the brakes.”
He grins. “Do whatever you want. It’s yours now.”
The car glides down the final bend of the driveway. I catch him watching me again out of the corner of my eye. His eyes are dark and knowing, like he’s pulling strings I don’t even see.
I press the gas a little harder, just enough to feel the engine growl. “I could drive us straight into a ditch, you know.”
“And waste a perfectly good car?” he muses. “No. You like it too much.”
“You don’t know what I like.”
He arches a brow. “Don’t I?”
For a moment, the only sound is the purr of the engine and the thrum of heat between us.
We hit the main road.
I ease the Maserati into a smooth, confident 60, right at the speed limit. The engine hums beneath my hands like a well-fed predator, sleek and dangerous.
Nico glances over at the speedometer, smirks, and clicks his tongue. “Sixty?” he says, his voice low and mocking. “What are we, driving to church?”
I keep my eyes on the road. “There’s traffic cameras.”
“There’sexcuses,”he murmurs, shifting in his seat so he’s facing me more directly. “And then there’s the truth.”
