"Not specific enough." Another devastating curl of his fingers. "Try again."
Bastard.
"I want you to fuck me." The words tumble out shameless and desperate. "Hard. Deep. I want to feel you for days."
Nico groans. His fingers withdraw, leaving me empty and aching. I hear the nightstand drawer open, the crinkle of a foil wrapper.
Then the blunt head of his cock presses against my entrance.
"Remember," he says, voice rough as sandpaper. "You asked for this."
He slams one brutal thrust.
I cry out, fingers clawing at the sheets. He's so deep I can feel him everywhere, stretching me, filling me. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise as he sets a punishing rhythm.
No slow build. No gentle introduction. Just raw, relentless need.
"Così stretta." The Italian falls from his lips like filthy praise. "So fucking tight."
Each thrust drives me forward, the bed frame groaning in protest. I brace my arms to keep from collapsing, but my muscles are liquid fire. Every nerve ending screams with pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
"Harder." The word escapes before I can stop it. "Please, Nico?—"
He growls and adjusts his angle, hitting deeper. Stars explode behind my eyes.
"That's it." His palm connects with my ass in a sharp slap that makes me clench around him. "Take what you need."
I'm drowning. Burning. Flying apart at the seams.
His hand snakes around to find my clit, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts. The dual assault destroys me. I shatter with a scream I barely recognize as my own, walls clamping down on his cock in rhythmic waves.
Nico follows seconds later, burying himself to the hilt as he comes with a guttural groan that vibrates through my entire body.
We stay frozen like that, both panting. His forehead drops to rest between my shoulder blades, breath hot against my sweat-slicked skin.
"Perfetta." He presses a kiss to my spine. "Absolutely fucking perfect."
I collapse forward onto the mattress, boneless and satisfied. Nico withdraws carefully, disposing of the condom before gathering me against his chest. We tumble onto the bed properly, limbs tangled, hearts still racing.
"The strawberries are getting warm," I mumble against his shoulder.
His chest rumbles with laughter. "Then we'll eat them warm."
I smile, pressing closer to the solid heat of him. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my hip, and for this moment, everything outside these walls ceases to exist. No Russians. No ex-husband. No custody battle.
Just us.
Just this.
Nico
The shower water still drips from my hair as I pull on fresh sweatpants. Kristen wraps herself in my robe, the sleeves hanging past her fingertips. She looks perfect.
"Tonight," I say, crossing to where she stands by the bed, "I believe we can have a sex marathon."
The laugh that bursts from her is loud.
"What?" I demand.
