My teeth graze his ear. I feel him tense—his body going rigid under my hands, but not from resistance. His cock’s already responding, pressed against my hip, rock hard. A thrill curls through me.
“You’re an animal,” I whisper, pure amusement in my tone, like a cat playing with a mouse.
“Dovrei dirle quanto è duro il tuo cazzo,” I murmur in Italian.Should I tell her how hard your cock is?
Nick lets out a short, low laugh, trying to keep it in but losing the battle. “Okay,” he says, dipping his chin, “I know you’re a little nympho, but not at work, princess.”
“Here’s your drinks,” Alexa spits, nostrils flaring like she’s about to breathe fire.
I unwind my arms and turn, taking the drinks with a plastic smile. “Thanks so much, Alexa.”
Her eyes narrow into slits. I swear I see a vein throb in her temple.
“You’re welcome, Mel.” Her teeth are clenched so tight, I’m amazed she can speak.
“Please, call me Mrs. Consele. I just can’t hear it enough.”
“Okay, princess,” Nick mutters behind me, smacking my ass as I walk away. A jolt shoots through me—sharp, hot, unexpected.
I glance over my shoulder with a smirk. “Promise.”
I sway my hips as I head back to the tables, and I can practically feel Alexa’s hatred boiling behind me.
Hours later, I’m in bed, wide awake. My body’s still buzzing. Sleep won’t come—won’t even pretend to. Alcohol would knock me out, but I already know how that story ends. I glance at the clock—2:15 a.m.I sigh, throw the covers off, and Loco stirs at my feet.
“Sorry, buddy,” I murmur, scratching behind his ears. He looks at me with sleepy dog eyes.
“Maybe chamomile tea will help.” I pad downstairs, the housequiet, cold pressing in at the edges. I open a cabinet in the kitchen when I hear something outside.
A voice. Low, frantic.
“Mike, no. Stop. Mike. No.”
I freeze. My hand stills on the cabinet door. I glance out the window. Nick’s on the couch, tangled in a blanket, thrashing. His face is twisted, locked in some torment.
My stomach knots. I run outside, cold air slapping my skin, guilt crawling up my spine. He’s been sleeping out here, and December is approaching. He can’t keep doing this.
“Nick,” I say, shaking his shoulder. “Nick.”
He doesn’t wake. I shake harder. “Nick.”
Suddenly, he bolts upright, hand around my neck in a blur. His grip is crushing. My breath chokes off instantly.
“Ni-Nick… I-can’t… breathe…” My hands claw at his, but he’s too strong, too deep in whatever nightmare has him by the throat. Then his eyes focus. Realization dawns. He releases me like he touched fire.
“Sorry,” he gasps. “ I-I’m sorry. I was having a bad dream.”
I cough, rubbing my throat. “Clearly.”
“Why did you come out here?”
“I couldn’t sleep. Went to the kitchen to see if you had chamomile tea.”
“Tea?”
“Yes. Trying not to drink, diabetes, remember?”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “I’m impressed.”
