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“You slept here?” Nick cracks a sad smile. “Didn’t wanna leave you alone.”
I didn’t know a body could simultaneously tense and relax but mine does when Nick’s arm flops toward me, a thumb swiping what I’m sure is an extremely puffy undereye. “How do you feel?”
“Marry him.” My groan echoes around the living room. “Luna.” “He teaches you self-defense. He beat up Dylan. He brings you coffee. He works in a bookstore.” She flicks a finger up with each sentence, her voice becoming squealier and squealier as she counts all the reasons why I simply must become the next Mrs. Silva. “He’s fucking perfect.”
“Not gonna lie, Amelia,” he twirls a strand of hair around his finger and tugs, “you’re hot when you’re jealous.”
“No one else,” he murmurs, the scissoring of his fingers inside of me almost frantic. “Just me and you, querida.”
Looking all too proud of himself, he leans back, a wholly indecent glint in his eyes as he licks his fingers clean. “Thanks for dinner.”
😦????????
Reaching up, I swipe a thumb down the bridge of a freckled nose, grazing downturned lips before sloppily cupping her jaw. “Beautiful girl.”
“You’re gonna fight someone for staring at my ass?” “Querida, I wanna fight people for staring at your face.”
I sigh at his wet hair soaking the neckline of his top, shrieking when it suddenly soaks me too as Nick wraps himself around me like the world’s friendliest bear. “You’re dripping all over me.” Humor rumbles in his chest as he dips his head, purposely brushing wet curls against my cheek. “I think that’s my line.”
“Gosto mais de você do que desejo.” “I don’t know what that means.” Nick laughs. “Me neither.”
Fuck me, she’s not going to make it to class if she keeps calling me Nicolas.
“Talk about her again and I’ll fucking kill you.”
“So, we all agree that was hot as fuck, right?” “Ben,” I chastise with a hiss, elbowing my way too ecstatic friend. Although, I can’t find it in me to argue. That was, in fact, hot as fuck.
Fucking. Men.
I’m climbing into the passenger seat of his truck, letting him strap me in, and accepting the sweatshirt he drapes over my bare shoulders and the kiss he drops on my forehead with absolutely zero complaints. Pathetic little woman.
“An hour ago you were all ‘me caveman, no touch my woman.’ Where’d that energy go?” Nick turns in my grip, shifting so he’s leaning against the counter next to the stove and not at risk of burning his perfect ass to a crisp. A slow, slick smile lifts his lips. “Did you just call yourself my woman?”
the general vicinity of my ovaries at how Nick devotes his full, loving attention to her, muttering compliments in a language I don’t understand and chuckling as she swats him away when he tries to ruffle her hair.
“You’re beautiful.” You’re killing me. “You look average.” You look so handsome I want to cry. “Did you copy me on purpose?”
let myself simper like a smitten fool, attempting a kiss that I should’ve known could never be chaste. Nick holds me in place by the nape of my neck, kissing me hard and just long enough to fluster me entirely.
Nick’s expression softens as he leans in again, stealing another soft peck. “You feeling better today?”
☹️❤️
He got me a book. An important book that clearly means a lot to him, if his behaviour is anything to go by.
😭😭😭😭😭
“Why are you here, Nick?” I’m smart enough to read between the lines; she’s not asking why I’m in her apartment. She’s asking why I’m here when she’s trying her best to shut me out. “Because I want to be.” Because I care about you.
“Tell me to go and I’ll go, querida.” Don't tell me to go, I silently beg. Please don't fucking tell me to go.
And I’m not sure a Nicolas Silva heartbreak is something I can recover from.
Because that’s what I do best, evidently. I lie and avoid my feelings, uncaring that I hurt people in the process because at least I don’t get hurt.
“Scared of what?” Him. Myself. Us. The frightening amount I like him.
“I need to leave because you are everywhere, all the time, and I can’t fucking think straight. I can’t fucking breathe, Amelia. I can’t stop wanting you and I hate it because you don’t want me.”
can’t sneak around,” he continues, and I bite down on a pathetic whimper, “and act like I’m not falling for you because it’s not fucking working. It’s too hard, Amelia.”
Home, I realize. That’s what kissing Nick feels like. Safety and peace
and home.
“What do you want, querida?” “You.” Folding my legs beneath me, I rise up on my knees. “All of you.”
A hand wraps around my throat and yanks my head upward, grip tight enough that I couldn’t escape if I wanted to, ensuring I have a perfect view of everything he’s doing to me. And if his silent command to watch wasn’t clear enough, he all but growls, “Eyes on me, querida.”
“Fuck.” His head drops to the crook of my neck, his lips brushing my collarbone. “Fucking ruined me, beautiful girl.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Let them hear. Want everyone in this house to know how good I fuck my girl.”
I like him crushing me. I like being smothered by his heat and surrounded by the smell of him. I like feeling safe.
“Nicolas Silva,” I drawl through a tempered yawn, “are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” Golden eyes flash and my heart skips. “I’m not asking.” I laugh and Nick swallows the noise, kissing me leisurely like he has all the time in the world and as we lie there, limbs tangled and breath shared, I feel something I haven’t genuinely, completely felt in a long time. I’m happy.
“I love your hair,” Nick murmurs so quietly I almost don’t hear him over the din of hot water pelting down on us. “That was the first thing I noticed about you.”
“You think you’re the only one who gets jealous?”
“He’s not worth it.” No, he isn’t. But she is.
I’ve had enough for one week. Enough for a fucking lifetime, actually.
I get it, I’m damaged goods and you didn’t sign up for all the baggage but fuck-“ Soft warm lips connecting to mine cut me off mid-sentence.
“You can’t do that,” I hiss yet I make no effort to move away, enjoying the comfort I’ve been seeking for days too much to give a shit about anything else. “I’m mad at you.” Nick’s smile is rueful, fingertips grazing my neck as he smooths my hair away from my face. “I know,” he says quietly, breath tickling my cheek as he kisses the bruised skin gently, wearing an honest, truly apologetic expression. “You’re not damaged, Amelia, and I’m sorry I made you feel like that. But,” I reel back, narrowing my eyes at the sudden twinkle in his eyes, “can you be mad at me in the car? We’re late.”
I'm begrudgingly grateful for Nick's obsessive bundling, as grateful as I am for him standing flush behind me, acting like another layer. Chin resting on head, his hands sneak around my waist and join mine where they're stuffed in my coat pockets, fingers lacing with mine like a living pair of gloves.
“My fucking beautiful girl,”
“You are unbelievably sappy today.” “You love it.” “Yeah.” I let my head fall back against his chest when he spins us to face the ocean again, his lips lavishing my cheek with affection. “I really do.”
"You are the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me."
He is perfect. Legitimately perfect. The best person I've ever known.
“You're the best thing that's ever happened to me too.”
I drop my head to her shoulder, kissing the curve of her neck. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
“You're supposed to say 'thank you for breakfast, my wonderful girlfriend'.” “Thank you for breakfast, minha namorada maravilhosa,”
