Page 62 of The Cost of Silence

He stands.

For a second, all I can do is lie there, boneless, still trembling from what he just did to me. My thighs are still open, still shaking, my pulse is a frantic flutter under my skin. I didn’t know a body could feel like this, like I’ve been taken apart and put back together in the best possible way.

My breath is uneven. My vision is hazy. My heart hasn’t slowed since the moment he pulled me to the edge of the bed and put his mouth on me. I could hardly take my eyes off him as he kissed, licked, sucked and French kissed the fuck out of my pussy. I saw stars before he even put his fingers inside, and then all I saw was heaven.

God.

I press the back of my hand to my mouth, trying to steady myself, but it doesn’t help. Nothing could. Not when he’s looking at me like that. Pupils blown, hungry. He looks like he wants to devour me, and I want him to so badly. The things he said to me were so fucking hot. I never thought I was into dirty talk, but then maybe it’s because the men I’ve been with before were nothing like Nico Mancini.

He takes his shirt off in one smooth motion, and for a second, my brain simply… stalls. Like every thought I’ve ever had gets shoved out of my head to make room for the sight of him.

Nico Mancini isn’t just fit. He looksforged.

Broad, carved shoulders taper into arms that look like they were built to hold a woman in place. Thick, corded muscle shifting under tanned skin as he moves. His chest is a solid wall of power, pectorals defined in a way I’ve only ever seen on athletes or statues you’re not supposed to touch, the kind guarding ancient temples.

And God, the tattoos.

Ink crawls over him like art drawn on heat, sweeping across one shoulder, scaling down his arm in black and gray, wrapping around muscle and veins. Some designs look old, others newer, layered like a map of every choice he’s ever made. There’s a piece on his pec that looks like smoke and bone intertwining; another on his ribs that moves when he breathes, the lines sharp against the ridges of his abdomen.

And his abs… Six? Eight? I can’t count them fast enough. They’re deep, cut, the kind of definition that only comes from a lifetime of discipline. A faint V disappears beneath the waistband of his pants, it’s obscene how it steals the air from my lungs.

His thighs look capable of lifting a car, or me, without effort. Powerful, thick, built from strength and sheer unwillingness to bend for anyone.

He stands there, barefoot, half-naked, radiating heat and male confidence like it’s an aura.

And all I can think is,This is what danger looks like when it’s beautiful.This is what control looks like when it has a body.

His tattoos make him look untouchable. His body makes me want to touch anyway.

And when his eyes meet mine, hungry, knowing, every inch of him feels like a challenge I’m suddenly desperate to accept.

He peels his boxers down his thighs and my mouth goes dry. Nico Manicini is huge, and I mean everywhere. His cock is thick and curved slightly, lying against his abs and, God help me, I want to get down on my knees and crawl to him when he looks at me like he is right now. I’m not even sure I can take a cock that size. My empty pussy clenches with the need to feel every inch of him.

“Belle.” His voice is low, rough, still thick with the satisfaction of what he just coaxed out of me. “Look at me.”

I am.God, I’m trying not to stare too hard, but I am.

He likes it. I can see it in the slow, knowing curve of his mouth. I like that he affects me so much. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs, moving closer. “Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head.

“Good, because that was just the beginning.” A breath ghosts across my throat as he leans in. “I like you like this. Open. Warm. Still flushed from coming on my tongue.”

Dear God, his dirty talk game is peak. Heat floods my face, my entire body.

“Do you want to come again, Belle?” he asks softly.

The question is a challenge. A tease. A promise. I nod without thinking.

He chuckles, low and satisfied. “Good,” he says again. “Because that was nothing. That was me letting you breathe.”

He steps closer to the bed, and every inch of him radiates control, slow, prowling, utterly sure of himself.

My pulse skitters.

He drags his gaze from my bare legs up my body, stopping at the place between my thighs where he’d had his mouth minutes ago. His eyes darken, and hunger ripples across his face. His hand snakes down and he grips his cock in his large hand andstrokes, all the while holding my gaze. “You see what you do to me, Belle? You see how fucking hard you make me? Since the second I saw you, my cock has been aching to feel your pussy.”

I’m panting now, a desperate, tangled web of need. “Nico…” I whisper.