Nero: Made Men novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Elevator

Mona kisses Nero in his elevator and takes him to bed; at four in the morning she hears him promise someone on the phone that she will be at the table.

His loft was over an old bakery on Fawn Street, and the elevator was a steel cage with a gate.

Nero pulled the gate shut behind us and pressed the top button.

The cage jerked and began to climb.

I had my back against the wall and his coat still on my shoulders, and I did not wait for the second floor.

I was eighteen, he was twenty-seven, and I had made up my mind in the car.

"You're staring," I said.

"I'm deciding."

"Deciding what?"

"Whether I let you set the pace," Nero said, "or take it away from you."

I grabbed his tie and pulled it down until his mouth was an inch from mine.

"Try."

He took it.

He kissed me so hard the back of my head hit the steel, and his hand slid under the coat and found my waist.

He tasted like red wine and the cold outside.

I got my fingers into his hair, and he made a low sound against my mouth that I felt in my stomach.

"What is the thirty days?" I managed.

"My initiation," Nero said against my jaw. "Family business."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Not for you."

His teeth closed on my earlobe, and my knees went.

"Then shut up," I said.

The cage stopped at the top with a clang.

He hauled the gate open with one hand and lifted me with the other.

I wrapped my legs around his hips, and he carried me across a dark room full of tall windows and the lights of the harbor.

He didn't take me to the bed.

He put me down on the back of a leather couch, with my feet off the floor and his hands on my thighs, and he looked at me.

"Take the sweater off," he said.

I pulled it over my head.

My bra was plain gray cotton, and I didn't care, because he looked at me.

"The rest."

I unhooked it and let it fall.

His breath went out of him.

"Christ, Mona."

He put his mouth on me.

His hand held my back while his tongue circled one nipple, and then he took it between his teeth and I gasped his name.

"Louder," he said.

"Nero."

"Again."

I said it again, and he moved to the other breast, and my nails raked his scalp.

His hand pushed up my thigh to the button of my jeans.

He opened them and dragged them down with my underwear, and I kicked them off my ankles onto the floor.

I sat bare on the back of his couch while he stood in his suit, fully dressed.

It made my face burn, and I loved it.

"Lie back," he said.

I lay back across the cushions, and he knelt.

He put my knee over his shoulder and looked at me for one long second.

"You're soaked," he said.

"You did that."

"I haven't started."

His mouth closed over my clit, and I almost came off the couch.

He licked in long slow strokes, and then he sucked, and every time I arched he held me down by the hips.

One finger slid inside me, then two, curling hard against the place that made me cry out.

"Don't hold it back," Nero said into my skin. "I want to hear every sound you make."

"I'm going to..."

"Do it."

I came with my hand over my mouth and my heels digging into his back, and the whole room went white at the edges.

He didn't stop until I shook.

He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his scarred hand.

I sat up, still breathing, and I reached for his belt.

"My turn," I said.

"Mona..."

"Take your jacket off."

He took it off.

I got the belt open, then the zipper, and I put my hand around him.

He was thick and hot and hard enough that I made a sound of pure greed.

"You've done this before," he said, between his teeth.

"Not with anybody like you."

I stroked him slowly, root to tip, and watched his jaw lock.

I slid off the couch onto my knees on his floor.

I took him in my mouth as far as I could, and his hand fisted in my braid.

He swore low in Italian.

"That's it. Just like that."

I used my tongue and my fist where my mouth couldn't reach, and he pushed deeper, not rough, not gentle.

I looked up at him, with tears in my eyes, and his face was wrecked.

"Enough," he said roughly. "Get up. I'm not coming in your mouth tonight."

He pulled me up by my arms and kissed me, tasting himself on me.

Then he turned me and bent me over the arm of the couch.

He didn't bother with anything slow.

He took my hips in both hands and pushed into me in one long stroke.

I screamed into the leather.

He was so big that for a second it almost hurt, and then it didn't, because he stopped, buried to the root, and let me feel every inch of it.

"Look at you," he said hoarsely. "Taking all of me."

"Move."

"Say please."

"Nero, please. Fuck me."

He pulled out and slammed back in, and I forgot my own name.

He fucked me hard against the couch, his hand in my hair, the other hand reaching around to rub my clit in fast circles.

Every thrust hit deep and sweet, and the sounds we made filled the glass room.

"You feel so good," he groaned. "I could do this all night."

"Then do it," I gasped.

"Come for me again."

"I can't..."

"You can."

He pressed his thumb down and slammed into me, and I came again, crying out, clenching around him.

He swore and held me tight as I trembled, and he didn't finish.

He pulled out and lifted me into his arms.

He carried me to the bed in the corner and laid me on a white sheet, and he tore his shirt off over his head.

His chest was hard and scarred, a thin white line across his ribs.

I put my palm on it.

"What happened?"

"A broken bottle. I was twelve."

I traced the line with my finger, and he caught my wrist and pinned it above my head.

"Not tonight," he said. "Tonight is yours."

He settled between my thighs and pushed into me slowly this time.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and met every thrust, and we moved together, our foreheads touching.

"Look at me," he said.

I looked.

His eyes were so dark they looked wet.

"I want you," Nero said. "Whatever happens, I want you."

"I know."

His pace broke.

He drove into me faster, and I felt the tight heat building again low in my belly.

"Come with me," I whispered.

He groaned, and I felt him swell inside me, and I fell over the edge with him.

He buried his face in my neck and shuddered through it, saying my name against my skin.

For a long time neither of us moved.

Then he rolled onto his back and pulled me against his chest, and I fell asleep with my ear over his heartbeat.

At four in the morning I woke up cold.

The sheet beside me was empty.

I sat up in the dark.

Past the tall windows, on the balcony, Nero stood with his back to me and a phone against his ear.

The glass was cracked open an inch.

I heard him speak low in Italian, then in English.

"Domenica. Yes, Papa."

A pause.

"She'll be at the table."

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