Nicco

Ch. 11: The Hell That Hides Inside Her

ARIA

I show up at Jackson & James on Monday morning, still a bit sore and tender between my legs. Real talk: When a guy like Nicco fucks you, you feel him everywhere the next day.

For better or worse, this past weekend unlocked something feral in me. Nicco is constantly on my mind, and my past is starting to seep through the cracks in my self-control.

The moment I walk out of the elevator and onto our floor, Megan, our receptionist, smiles and greets me. I smile back at her. A bit anxiously. I feel self-conscious even though I know I have no reason to be. No one's aware of what happened between Nicco and me this past weekend, and, as long as we keep our mouths shut and our pants on at work, no one will ever know. Our secret is safe. Everything's going to be fine.

Totally fucking fine.

I simply need to pretend like everything is normal and focus on kicking ass at my job as I've always done.

However, once I reach my cubicle, stilettos clicking loudly with each determined step, a rather graphic memory from my weekend fuckfest with Nicco flickers across my mind: I'm sitting on Nicco's face, moaning, writhing, sliding my clit against his eager tongue. He eats out my cunt while jacking himself off, his large, veiny hand is gripping his large, veiny shaft—

Oh, God.

Instant heat flares in me. Maybe separating business from pleasure isn't going to be as easy as I thought.

"Hey, Aria." Todd, one of the analysts, pops up behind me, making me jump a little. "Can you let Mr. Vitale know that I'll have an update on the Gravinski deal ready for him by 3 pm?"

Trying not to give anything away even though my brain is acting like a dirty whore, I reply in a pleasant, even manner, "Of course."

"Do anything fun this weekend?" he asks.

Hell, yeah.

My boss.

For a moment, I freeze. Todd doesn't suspect anything.

Right?

He can't. The guy didn't even go to happy hour with us. He's only making polite conversation.

Right?

"Not really. My weekend was pretty, um, uneventful," I mumble, feeling slightly paranoid.

He grins. "What a shame."

"I know, right?"

Through no small effort, I keep my expression friendly and neutral in front of Todd, powering through our small talk like a champ, calm, composed, as though our boss didn't just rail me in every possible position known to mankind this past weekend while making me scream his name every time my pussy convulsed around his massive pierced dick.

Thank goodness Todd is such a clueless sweetheart.

Or maybe I'm just a damn good liar.

***

Barely two days ago, I returned home for winter break.

"A boy came to our apartment today. He was looking for you," my mum shares. Disapproval is written all over her face. "He said his name was Jaime."

A chill travels down my spine.

Fuck.

He figured out where I live?

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I feign confusion and insist as calmly as possible, "I don't think I know him."