The Saint. Tiffany Reisz

The base of his penis grazed her clitoris, and she lifted her head to kiss and bite his shoulders. Fluid ran out of her, glazing her inner thighs. She lifted her knees to open herself even more to him. She breathed in and inhaled his scent—warm and alive, like the new spring that surrounded them in the forest.

      He slipped his hand between their bodies. She shivered beneath him, her head falling back against the bed as he grasped her swollen clitoris between his fingertips and stroked it. He pushed forcefully into her, and Nora gasped as her inner muscles clenched around him.

      The world went still and silent around them. Nora couldn’t even hear the storm anymore, the crackling of the fireplace, the creaking of the bed. All she could hear was the quiet metallic jangling of Nico’s belt, his ragged breaths and the sound of her wetness.

      Every part of her body went tight as Nico bore down on her, and came inside her with a shudder. He pulled out and kissed a path down her chest and stomach. With his head between her thighs he lapped at her clitoris again. Her back tensed, her stomach quivered, and she inhaled and forgot to breathe out. He pushed his fingers into her dripping body and sent her over the edge. Every muscle inside her spasmed violently. She hadn’t had sex in so long that it felt as though a week’s worth of orgasms thundered through her all at once.

      Nico’s semen spilled out of her and onto the bed. Nora wrapped her arms around him as he relaxed on top of her, covering her neck and shoulders in carnal kisses.

      “Thank you,” she said. “I needed that.”

      “So did I. I’ve needed it for months.”

      He kissed her long and deep on the mouth before pulling himself up.

      He crawled off the bed and grabbed his shirt off the floor. She watched him pull himself back together. She’d always loved this part, watching a man dress after sex. She loved the perfunctory way Nico pulled on his shirt as if it never occurred to him she would be watching him and enjoying the view.

      “Where are you going?”

      “You need to drink my wine. Want some?”

      “Nico, if you came in a cup I would drink it.”

      He stared at her. Had she actually made the son of Kingsley Edge blush?

      “We’ll save that vintage for later.” With a wide grin, he left her alone in the bedroom.

      She pulled herself up slowly. She’d come so hard even her arms trembled. Was that from the sex? Possibly. She also hadn’t eaten anything all day. She cleaned herself off in the bathroom and found Nico downstairs in the kitchen uncorking a bottle of red wine. He handed her a glass, and she raised it to her lips. It had a sweet pungent scent, and when she drank it, she could taste its potency. A virile wine, just like its maker.

      “Parfait.” She sighed as she lowered the glass. “But that will get me drunk in about two more sips if I don’t eat something.”

      “Sit,” he said and pointed at the large battered armchair by the fireplace. “If you please.”

      She laughed at his chivalry.

      “I do please,” she said, sitting and pulling her legs to her chest. She felt relaxed now, loose limbed and spent. She could almost make herself forget the box on the mantel. Almost. But not quite.

      “What is it?” Nico asked.

      “Nothing. Only wondering how much trouble I’m in for sleeping with you.”

      “Trouble with whom?”

      “Kingsley.”

      “Is it his business?” From his tone, Nora could tell Nico had no plans to tell Kingsley anything about tonight.

      “You’re his son. He’ll make it his business.”

      Nico brought her a plate of cheese, crackers and grapes.

      “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “If he’s angry, we’ll tell him I took advantage of you in your grief.”

      “Oh, good idea. He might buy that except for the part where you took advantage of me.” She took the plate from him and balanced it on her knee. “He does know me, after all.”

      “Being with you was my choice,” Nico said. “My choice, my consequences. Not yours.”

      “Oui, monsieur. Merci beaucoup,” she said in her best sultry French.

      “You know I speak English,” he reminded her as he took a grape off her plate.

      “I know,” she said. “But I speak French, too. Thank your father for that skill.”

      “He made you learn it?”

      “He and Søren would speak it all the time around me while I stood there like an idiot not understanding a word. I had to learn it so I knew what they were saying about me.”

      Nico sat on the floor in front of her, his arms clasped around his knees. He looked young sitting there like that, but still undeniably strong and masculine. In the low firelight she could see the veins in his forearms, and the light dusting of dark hair on his skin.

      “How do you know Kingsley?” he asked between sips of wine.

      “How do I know Kingsley? That’s a loaded question. You sure you want to know the answer?”

      “I asked.” He shrugged his shoulders and in that moment, in that shrug, she saw his father in him. So dismissive. So French. So Kingsley.

      “Why do you want to know?”

      “I don’t understand him at all,” Nico confessed, and she saw a flash of grief in his eyes. Grief to match her own. She crooked her finger and Nico moved closer, close enough to kiss her knee and rest his chin on her thigh.

      “He’s a hard man to like and a very easy man to love. But he’s nearly impossible to understand,” she said, caressing the back of his neck.

      “But you understand him.”

      “I do. But he and I, we’re the same in many ways.”

      “I want to know him. I want to know you even more.”

      “Unfortunately, there’s no way to tell you the story of Kingsley and me without telling you the story of Søren and me,” she said. “It’s all one story, the three of us.”

      “Will it hurt to talk about it?”

      “Yes,” she said. “But a little pain never stopped me before.”

      “Will you tell me?” Nico asked. He took her hand in his, twining their fingers together. She looked down at their interlocked hands—his tanned, calloused hand dwarfed her paler, daintier fingers. Moments earlier he’d lain between her thighs, and only now did they hold hands for the first time. The day they’d met she’d told him who he was. Perhaps it was time to tell him who she was.

      “Okay, story time, then. But I’ll charge you. I get paid for my stories.”

      “I’ll pay you in orgasms.”

      “It’s a deal,” Nora said and she and Nico laughed. God, it felt good to laugh like this again. A few days ago she would have bet she’d never laugh again. He turned his hand and sensuously rubbed the center of her palm with his thumb.

      “Since this is the Black Forest, we should make it a fairy tale,” she said.

      “I like fairy tales.”

      “You’ll like this one, too. It begins with a whimper but ends in a bang.”

      “Is it a real fairy tale? Are there witches and fairies in it?” he teased.

      “Sort of.”

      “Kings, yes?” Nico grinned.

      “Definitely,” she said. “One king. One queen.”

      “What