Friends Without Benefits (Knitting in the City) (30 page)

He took a step back, no longer crowding me, no longer pressing me against the wall. “But I’ve
finally learned my lesson.” His eyes fell gradually away, and when he spoke next he addressed his words to panel of buttons; he released the emergency stop, and the elevator began to descend.

“Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

“Goodbye . . .” I stared at him; the elevator jostled.
“Goodbye?”

He didn’t respond. His eyes were affixed to the numbers counting down to the lobby.

I rushed for the panel again, pressed the Emergency button. The same shrill alarm started; we both covered our ears. But this time he released a string of expletives which—though I couldn’t actually hear—I was fairly certain I could discern based on the movement of his mouth.

“What the hell?” He growled at me
after the alarm stopped, tried to reach around me to release the button. I took the opportunity to grab the front of his jacket.

“
No—you need to listen to me now. You’ve had your say. It’s my turn.” I pushed him against the wall, my hands still fisted in his jacket. “You know what I felt at Garrett’s funeral? I felt despair. I felt despair because I loved him, I loved everything about him, and my fifteen-year-old heart couldn’t fathom feeling that way about anyone else ever again. And then you started coming through my window.”

I shook him when he tried to slide his eyes to the side, forced him to meet my gaze; “You came to me and held me. You
brought me through the numbness, you saved my life. Did you know that?”

His eyes were glassy as they
searched mine. He swallowed.

“You did. And then four months went by, the summer was coming to an end
, my father was taking me away, and my heart started feeling something again and this time it was for you.”

The words hung between us. His expression wavered between
frustration and elation.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I couldn’t. I was afraid.”

“So you let me make love to you
? Why did you do that? Why did you come to me that night?”

“Because I wanted my first time to be with someone—someone I
had feelings for.” I released his jacket. “I used you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. I made a decision. I didn’t ask you, that night, I just knew what I wanted and I didn’t even give you a chance to. . . I’m so sorry.”

He rocked backward on his heels,
the information were a blow to him. “Then why did you leave?”

“Because
I didn’t want your pity and I didn’t think you would ever return my feelings.”

Nico’s mouth fell open
, and he blinked, seemingly disoriented. He needed a full minute to recover from my truth. “Why would you think that?” The words were tortured because he already knew the answer. His face twisted with heartbreak, the kind associated with regret.

I sucked in an unsteady breath. “
God, Nico.” I gained a step backward. “I spent my teen years thinking you hated me. Then, when Garrett was sick, you tolerated me. Over that summer I assumed that you pitied me. You’ve just always been so untouchable. So beyond me, beyond my reach . . . You make me a coward.”

He
studied me, his eyes intent. “You’re not a coward, Elizabeth.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “Yes, I am.
With you, I am. When we’re together—not all the time, but in flashes—I feel fourteen again, and you’re knocking the books out of my hands or pushing me into the boy’s bathroom, or—” I closed my eyes, unable to continue.

“
I’m so sorry. God, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“I know.” I opened my eyes
; I sniffed, shrugged, pushed the unpleasant memories from my mind. “You were right about Dr. Ken Miles. When you showed up here, in Chicago, I was making plans to use him
because
I don’t like him. And tonight, what you saw, was me telling him I couldn’t go through with it—
because
I don’t like him.”

Nico considered me
; he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his unzipped jacket. “You haven’t slept with him?”

I shook my head. “No. I haven’t.
I can’t do it. Just the thought of it makes me gag.”

His mouth hooked to the side
, and he glanced at his boots. “Me too.”

I laughed involuntarily, backed up to the panel, let my head fall against it. “I don’t know what to do.”

I felt his gaze sweep over my ridiculous outfit, his intentions shift. I braced myself against a sure onslaught of his charming, eye-twinkling brilliance. His voice sent shivers tumbling down my spine.

“
You were wrong. I was never out of reach. I’m right here and I’m completely yours.” His hands found and held mine; he pressed them to his chest.

My chin wobbled
, and I rushed to blink my eyes against an ambush of stinging moisture. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes. It really is.” Nico tugged me forward, away from the safety of the wall, and fit my cheek in his palm. He forced me to meet his stare. “
Unless you don’t want to be with me.”

“
I’m in love with you, you idiot!” My words tumbled out of my mouth, and fat tears fell from my eyes.

Nico half
-laughed and released a breath; it sounded like he’d been holding it within him for years. He brought my forehead to his, his big hands slipped around my waist, and he pulled me against him.

“Thank god.”
He whispered just before he unrepentantly claimed my mouth. I moaned, clinging to him; my nails dug into his jacket then, frantically, slipped under his shirt. His kiss was hot, demanding, urgent. There was no exploration, only desperate conquering, and the situation escalated quickly.

I wanted to fe
el him, every inch of his skin. My fingers were greedy, caressing the firm ridges of his stomach, the warm, smooth skin of his back. My body arched against him, craving connection, his heat, his touch. He yanked off his jacket and let it fall to the floor. His shirt followed next.

Large h
ands gripped my sweater, tugged as his mouth moved desperately over mine. I knew his urgency was fueled by years of restrained desire. I felt my need echoed in him.

His movements became somewhat jerky and frustrated
, and he abruptly pulled away from me. I felt the loss of his body acutely.

“What
are you wearing? How am I supposed to get you out of this?” He was breathing heavy, half-growling, surveying my sweater like it was a Rubik’s cube.

I searched his eyes, his words cutting through the dense fog of need, the blood rushing between my ears, the galloping pace of my heart. “What?”

He tugged roughly at my sweater. “This. How does it come off? It’s like a straightjacket . . . Are those ties
and
buttons?”

I groaned, closed my eyes, and
pressed my head to the bare skin of his shoulder. “I need to change my clothes.”

“You don’t need to change them, you just need to take them off.” His hands attempted to reach under the contraption
, but it was no use; there was no way for him to access my skin. Giving up he tried cupping me over my thick clothes. His face scrunched in an aggravated scowl. “How many layers are you wearing?”

“A lot.”
I laughed, kissed his chest, my hands moved to his pants, enjoyed the way his stomach tightened in response to my light touch. I gripped his waistband, my fingers dipping into the elastic of his boxer briefs. He sucked in a breath.

I couldn’t stop feeling him—the hardness, the
smooth softness of his olive skin. I wanted to bite every inch of him then lick him from collar bone to co—

“Oh no, not fair. You can’t touch me until I can touch you.”
His hands grabbed mine, and he stilled their downward trajectory.

I tried to reinitiate my assault
, but he bowed away and caught my wrists. “Nico. Let me touch you.”

“Elizabeth.” He brought my hands behind my back, held me in place. “You take off your shirt first.”

“It’s actually three shirts and sports bra.”

“Well
 . . .” He looked lost, forlorn. He breathed out, incredulous. Abruptly, as though suddenly struck by genius, he grinned then reached into his back pocket. I only had a moment before I recognized his intent, eyeballing the large pocket knife in his hand.

I stepped back, covering my chest. “What are you doing?”

“I’m cutting your clothes off.” He reached for the first tie and batted my hands away. “Hold still.”

I opened my mouth to object
, but was too late. Nico, with a force that was as hurried as it was careful, dissected first my sweater, then my other sweater, then my shirt. In all it took him maybe fifteen seconds. His eyes burned brighter with each opened layer, roughly pulling them from my shoulders then discarding them on the floor.

It was hot. I liked it. His hands pawed at me
, and his mouth captured mine for quick kisses. When I was down to my sports bra, I moved as though to pull it off, but he stilled my movements, slipped his finger under the elastic, made a single cut, then tore it in two.

Oh Nico.

Dear Reader—I’ve included two versions of Chapter 22 in this book. The first describes a “closed door” love scene where specifics of the scene are minimal. The second version of Chapter 22 describes an “open door” love scene where the specifics of the scene are provided. I’ve included both so that you, the reader, can choose the chapter which matches your comfort level/preference. I know this is unusual! But I’m not afraid of taking chances and trying new things; obviously neither are you if you’re reading my book ;-)

—Sincerely, Penny Reid

Closed Door Love Scenes

Nico’s hands and mouth were greedy and unrelenting. I purposely overlooked the irrationality of making love in an elevator. In fact, I didn’t care where we were. All I knew was that we were finally, finally touching like I needed, like I’d been starving for.

I was blind to everything other than the fact that I needed him—his touch, his strength and caresses, his sweet words.
As ludicrous as it was, my mind couldn’t fathom waiting another moment, not even the five minutes or less it would take to get to my apartment.

Nico seemed to feel the same urgency.
At first his movements were frantic, rough, focused, needy. He murmured to himself, words of desire and wanting, seemingly lost in us and the moment; but then gradually, as though sensing his power over me, he became teasing and maddeningly, adorably arrogant.

Freaking Nico!

I couldn’t help but try to tease him in return. Then his eyes and my name on his lips were my undoing. He looked lost; yet in that moment I felt found. I waved my white flag of surrender.

I soothed him by reminding him that I loved him, I repeated the words over and over until they became a chant.
I loved this man. I wanted all of him, everywhere, surrounding me, always. I wanted to breathe him in and own him, possess him. I wanted to be everything to him as he had become to me.

He drew out my moans and sighs
. His hands explored the peaks and valleys of my body with a covetous command. And when we found each other I was overwhelmed by our shared bliss as I gazed into his beautiful green eyes.

I hoped
he saw the love I witnessed in him reflected in me. I hoped he knew how momentous and real my feelings were. I hoped he understood that what we did was not lightly done. It was a pledge. A gift.

And it was meant only for him.

~*~

We made our way back to my place shortly after recovering from the dazed euphoria that accompanies great love making. In complete honesty, I don’t know if we would have ever left the elevator if given the choice. However, it started to move
, and I yelped at the realization that all my clothes, but my leggings were shredded—by his knife—and in tatters on the floor.

In typical Nico fashion he allowed me to panic for a few seconds before offering me his
T-shirt. I pulled it on along with my leggings just in time. The doors opened to the lobby; Nico pulled me against his chest and improvised a ludicrous story to the waiting mechanic.

The man looked not at all impressed, never cracked a smile, then gave us both a knowing, annoyed once over. Wordlessly, he sent us on our way.

We stumbled into my apartment, laughing and kissing and—at least I was—embarrassed.

“Unlike you, I’m not used to people seeing me without my clothes on
,” I told him.

Nico shrugged out of his
jacket, threw it over his shoulder like he hated it, then kicked my door closed. He tugged at the T-shirt on my shoulders. “I’ve never understood why people in the US get so stirred up about nudity.”

“Maybe because we value modesty!” I swatted at his hands unsuccessfully; he, somewhat roughly, pulled the
shirt off and threw it across the room, again like he hated it.

“But why hide such
 . . .” His gaze devoured me, my bare shoulders, chest, stomach; he gripped the edge of my pants and used his leverage on the material to yank me forward, against his chest.
“Perché nascondere una cosa così bella?
[6]
”

And that’s when it happened.

In that moment the world tilted, and I lost complete control of my female organs. Apparently my vagina, uterus, and ovaries were Italian and, when spoken to in Italian by Nico Manganiello, no longer belonged to me. I had no idea what he’d said. Just the sound, coming from his mouth—no lie—was the sexiest thing ever of all time.

I felt woozy and leaned against him, my lashes fluttered like butterfly wings.

“Elizabeth? Are you okay?”

When I spoke I noted that my voice sounded strangely hoarse. “I—I didn’t know you could speak Italian.”

“Yeah, we all spoke it at home, and I learned to speak and write it properly a few years ago.”

“Why
-why-why would you do that?”

He surveyed me, uncertain; h
is big hands stilled on my waistband except for his thumb rubbing little circles over my hips. “Does it bother you?
O ti piace?
[7]
”

I shuttered, gripped his shoulders, and my eyes drifted shut. “Oh god
.”

He chuckled then
tsked
.

“Mi fai impazzire
[8]
,”
he whispered against my ear. Nico licked my neck then blew on the wet spot which immediately made me shiver.
“Ho cercato di dimenticarti, ma è impossibile.
[9]
”

“Guh
 . . .”

“
I tuoi occhi hanno il colore del cielo in estate 
[10]
. . .”
He trailed light kisses down my throat and removed my pants.
“Ti amo da sempre
[11]
.”

“Oh!” I arched against him, my nails dug into his back. I fought another shudder. I failed.

He slid his fingers up my legs, his touch light behind my knees.
“Il contatto con la tua pelle. Oh, non ne ho mai abbastanza
[12]
.”

I pressed against him like a cat
and reached for his pants, frustrated. His unknown words were seriously making me mindless. I was beyond modesty or shame. I was in an uncharted, murky realm of arousal where I couldn’t quite control the sounds I made nor the movements of my body.

“
Mmm.
Il tuo fragranza
[13]
 . . .
” He shifted out of my reach as he bit me. I could only moan my disappointment.

Nico pushed my shoulders
, and I fell backward. I didn’t realize until my back hit the mattress that he’d managed to move us to the bed. He loomed over me, stood at my knees, his eyes glittering with delicious wickedness.

“Please
 . . .” At this point I was really a-okay with begging.

Nico grinned. If I hadn’t been in a near coma of turned-on-ness I would have been highly aggravated by the grin. It was colossally
confident.

“
Anche se a volte sei più testarda di un mulo
[14]
.”

He unbuttoned his pants
very, very slowly. He was driving me to madness.

“
Mi piace la passione che è in te. La tua lingua tagliente mi eccita da morire
[15]
.”

Nico’s
movements were tortuously unhurried. With continued languidity, he lowered himself to me.
“Non ti lascerò mai andare
[16]
.”
His eyes were suddenly sober, serious, and they held mine. I stilled my movements.
“Ti amo
[17]
.”

I blinked at him. Even through the sensual cloud I registered the meaning of his words.

Ti amo. I love you
. 

I swallowed, brushed my lips against his, and panted breathle
ssly in return, “
Ti amo
, Nico.”

He nudged my nose with his, his eyes wide
.
“D'ora in poi non c'è modo di tornare indietro. Sei mia, per sempre
[18]
.”
His eyes lit from within with blazing ferocity, scorching satisfaction.

He claimed me with heartbreaking gentleness. Our breath met
; I breathed him in. I held him to me, wrapped my arms around his neck, wanted to be fully saturated in him, completely crushed.

As I returned to earth I couldn’t help but
brood over the fact that he could have just read me a restaurant menu and I would have been blissfully ignorant. He had a fatal weapon, and I was rendered stupid, powerless against it.

Italians who speak Italian should be illegal, or at least come with warning labels—
may make your panties explode.