“I told you this body was mine,” he purred. “Never doubt that I know exactly how to use it.” He pushed my knees back, opening me to him, then kissed a path from the inside of my knee to my core. I was already so aroused, and my sensitive flesh pulsed for his touch. When his tongue thrust inside me, then rounded up over my swollen clit at the same time as his hand tugged on the string, I thought I was going to pass out.

Over and over he worked me, building an inferno of desire in every cell of my being, but withholding the spark that would rocket me into flames.

“Nico, please …” I sobbed, over sensitized and desperate for release.

“I need the truth, Sofia,” he whispered against my core, his warm breath its own brand of torture.

“You can’t do this. It isn’t fair.”

“You had a choice, Ladybug. You chose this.” His tongue slowly lapped from my opening up my slit.

“I can’t,” I panted. “I can’t tell you everything.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll make me stop.”

“Who says?”

“Me.”

“And if I promise not to?”

“You’ll do it anyway.”

“Then tell me what you can. You can trust me, Sofia.” His fingers eased inside me and curved up, stimulating that perfect spot inside me.

“It was mine,” I moaned the confession. “The painting’s mine.” I was unable to think straight or care about anything but finding my release.

He knew I had lied.

He knew it was my painting—so why fight it?

“And why was it with the bratva?” he pushed.

“I make forgeries, and they find buyers for me.” There, I’d told him. The secret was out, and it felt amazing to free myself of the burden. “Please, Nico.”

“That’s my girl …” His mouth covered my pussy just as his fingers pounded inside me, and his other hand yanked the clips off my tender nipples.

I screamed out my orgasm, erupting in a maelstrom of pleasure that radiated across my body. In that instant, I couldn’t have cared if I’d given the devil my very soul. I was the embodiment of peace and light and everything good. But all good things must come to an end, and eventually, my consciousness slowly found its way back into my body.

Nico freed my hands, then sat next to me on the ground, lifting me into his lap to cradle me close. “Who are you working with in the bratva?”

I shook my head just a fraction. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Yes, you can. It has something to do with your friend Michael, doesn’t it?”

As if he’d waved a smelling salt under my nose, I was instantly alert. Shooting out of Nico’s lap, I grabbed my pants and began to dress. “What do you know about Michael?” I was clearly freaking out, but I couldn’t help myself. If Nico knew about Michael, I was screwed. He would tell my father, and they’d both insist I stay away from him. That wasn’t an option. Michael had become one of the best parts of my life, and I refused to give him up.