He nuzzled my neck. “Like having kids?”

“Like having kids.”

Haltingly, he pulled away—but not completely; Nico wrapped a possessive arm around my waist and led me to the couch. He sat first then pulled me to his lap; my knees were on either side of him, my arms draped over his shoulders. A twinkly, content gaze caressed my face.

He looked happy, and I realized that I was also happy. I smiled. It was a stupid, blissful smile. I was in goofy-love.

“So . . . what now?” I nipped his juicy bottom lip.

“Now?” Nico tugged me closer until our chests were flush; he brushed his lips against mine. “Now we have a lot to discuss.”

“Discuss?”

“Yes. Lots of discussions.”

“And touching? Lots of touching too?”

“Yes. Lots of that. Discussions and touching.”

“And stroking?”

He grinned, his eyes now smoldering lethally. “Rest assured, there will be touching of all kinds. A virtual cornucopia of touching. A touching feast.”

“Good. Then what?”

“Then we get married, then a lot more touching and maybe less discussions for a while.”

“I have four-and-a-half minutes left before I have to leave. Do you want to start now?”

“Yes. First, you need to learn how to pronounce my last name—”

“Okay. That seems fair.”

“—since it’ll be your last name soon.”

“What? No. I’m not changing my last name. Not going to happen.”

“Ne parleremo più tardi[35].”

Aaand my honorary Italian lady parts stood at attention.

“Ah! Nico!” I sucked in a sharp breath, “You’re not allowed—”

“Okay, okay. No more Italian.” He petted me, his hands under the suit shirt. His movements were deliberate, a fondling stroke from my back to my bottom; then he squeezed. “For now.”

I glowered at him, attempted to repress my rioting lady parts. “So what’s the next item on the list?”

“We need to discuss our arrangement.”

“We have an arrangement?”

“Yes. We have an arrangement. Our Friends Without Benefits arrangement.”

“Oookay. I thought that we were—I thought—I mean we’ve—”

“We haven’t officially ended the arrangement.”

“But we are getting married.”

“Yes. We are. Therefore, I think we should officially end our Friends Without Benefits arrangement and replace it with a new Friends With Benefits arrangement.”

“A Friends With Benefits arrangement?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm . . .” I eyeballed him. “What kind of benefits?”

“All benefits. A full, from A to Z, benefits arrangement. In sickness and in health. Nothing held back.” As though to emphasize his point he kissed my chest.

“So . . . you’ll let me borrow your T-shirts?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And you’ll make me more mixtapes about us?”

He lifted a single brow; eye-twinkle-twinkle-little-star alert. “You finally caught on to that, did you? You wicked creature . . .”

I couldn’t suppress my grin, but continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “And I’ll knit you scarves.”

“Okay. I like scarves. Can you make me one with Space Invaders?”

“Of course. I’m a really good knitter.”

“I know.”

“And you’ll learn how to crochet?”

He nodded once. “I’m already learning.”

“And how to knit?”

“Don’t push it.”

“Apple fritters?”

He wagged his eyebrows; his eyes dancing beneath. “Definitely.”

“And we’ll take trips together, and visit your family—”

“We’ll visit your family.”

I rolled my lips between my teeth, paused. Before I could respond I had to gather a deep breath. “Yeah . . .”

“We’ll visit your dad and go to his wedding.”

I nodded, cleared my throat. “Yes. We’ll go to his wedding and we’ll be happy for him, for them.” And I meant it.

“And we’ll be happy.”

I tightened my arms around his neck. “Always.”

“Well . . .” He lifted his chin, his mouth curved into a devastating, charismatic, sex on an Italian stick smile. “Almost always.”

Epilogue

Part 1: Meet seventeen year-old Nico

Soft skin. Shaking hands. Hot breath.

She swallowed. I felt the movement of her throat under my mouth. She was nervous. So was I. My hands were also shaking. Shit. This was crazy.

But, just because it was crazy didn’t mean I was going to stop. Stopping hadn’t even crossed my mind. What did cross my mind? More.

My insanity was fueled by fifteen years of wanting to touch her and six years of watching someone else do it. I was seventeen, but jealousy and envy burned long and cut deep.

I knew I wanted to be with her since before I knew how to eat with a fork. The wanting to touch her part started when I was four and she was three. Obviously it wasn’t sexual, that came later accompanied by the resentment of rejection. It was about being close to her, kissing her big cheeks, petting her soft skin, sharing her warmth. My earliest memory was thinking that I wanted her to stay with me always. My mother liked to remind me that I used to ask if we could keep her.

My present reality—her naked, yielding breast beneath my hand, her h*ps straddling mine, her underwear and my jeans separating us—was its own kind of torture. She didn’t respond like the other girls. She wasn’t waiting for me to undress her.

She was tearing at my clothes, pressing her breast into my palm, and rocking against me. I wasn’t waiting for her. She was waiting for me.

This was crazy.

I should have questioned it. I should have stopped her. But when the girl of your dreams climbs in your bedroom window and starts taking off her clothes, thinking has very little to do with what happens next.

I only knew I wanted her. I wanted her loyalty, I wanted her acceptance, I wanted her admiration; I wanted all the things she gave to others without thought, but had withheld from me for years.

She reached between us and beneath my pants, lifting on her knees and slipping her hand inside my boxers. The sheets rustled. She stroked. I shuddered. I was already painfully hard and I wondered if she knew the difference. Probably not. Her blue eyes, naïve and unsure, were assessing. She stroked again.

“Stop—don’t.” I grabbed her wrist to still her exploration, gritted my teeth. “What are you doing?”

“Am I doing it wrong?” She whispered; her eyes were narrowed, as though she were calculating a solution to a problem.

“No.” I breathed out. Definitely not.

“Good.” She licked her lips and I was mute.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t have a chance. Her mouth crashed to mine—all slippery lips, teeth, and tongue. It was untutored, sloppy, insistent. I withdrew her fingers from my pants and placed them on my shoulder. My hands lifted to the hot, tortuously silken skin of her back and brought her completely against me, her na**d chest meeting mine. I groaned.

I was aching.

I was in pain.

She rocked her h*ps against me again—a jerky, instinctual, unpracticed movement—and I couldn’t breathe. She broke the kiss, roughly tugged off my pants and shorts, discarded the last of her clothes, then pulled me on top of her. The bed squeaked.

I came to her willingly. Her legs were open. I wanted to feel her everywhere. My hands were greedy as they stroked, touched, grabbed every inch I’d been denied. Her eyes were fixed on mine.

“Let’s do this.” She nodded, her nails dug into my back as though anchoring me to her.

“What are we doing?” I didn’t know who I was asking—me or her.

When I hesitated she lifted her h*ps to mine. “Nico. . .” Elizabeth placed a tiny kiss on the corner of my mouth. “Please. Please do this for me.” She was looking at me with trust, like she needed me; that look annihilated any remaining capacity for thought.

If I’d been thinking I would have done something to prepare her. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking about anything except her softness, the wet warmth between her legs, and the painful stiffness between mine.

She gasped as I entered her. Her gaze moved to a place over my shoulder and tears gathered in her eyes. She gritted her teeth. She was tense everywhere.

She was holding her breath and the only sound in the room was my labored breathing. I told myself to go slow. Her leg brushed against mine, the inside of her thigh against my hip. I wanted to touch her so I did. I skimmed my fingertips up the back of her leg, from her bottom to her knee, as I moved inside her.

She closed her eyes, released a breath, but was still frozen beneath me.

I’d been with virgins before. But—virgin or not—this was the first time that I’d cared so much about whether the girl enjoyed it. I made myself stop while still buried inside her and bit her neck. I tasted the skin beneath her jaw then dipped my tongue in her earlobe. I slid my hand from her leg, along her side, and pinched the puckered skin of her breast.