Damn, the girl was fast. But Nic was just as quick, because I found myself lifted off my feet, carried into the house, and placed onto the couch in the living room, in what felt like the blink of an eye.

He sat down next to me, leaning over, his face close to mine. “We need to talk.” I pushed against his chest, trying to get out from under him, my mind a jumbled mess after everything I’d just heard. What I’d just learned about him. My Nic was a mobster. It was almost impossible to believe. He was into bad stuff, illegal stuff. Things about which I had zero clue because he’d kept me in the dark.

“We’ll talk,” he promised, his hand sliding under my robe and up my inner thigh. “After.”

“After?” I stuttered, my breath hitching when he sank two fingers inside me.

“After you come on my hand, in my mouth, and on my cock.”

I pushed against his chest again, even as my legs widened slightly, giving him better access to my body. “I’m angry with you, Nic. And hurt. And a little scared.”

He stilled over me, staring down at me with pain filled eyes. “I will never hurt you, mia dolce. Never.”

It was a heartfelt vow, and I believed him. It might make me the most naïve person on the planet, but I knew deep in my bones that Nic didn’t mean me any harm.

“I know,” I whispered softly, one hand sliding up his chest to cup his cheek. “But I’m still unbelievably angry with you.”

“Then take your anger out on my body, Gianna, and let me show you exactly how sorry I am.”