Gianna
“Nicholas! Gianna!”
I jolted awake at the booming voice, my heart hammering against my ribs. Blinking against the harsh sunlight that poured through the gap in the curtains, I groaned. My head was still groggy, my limbs heavy with exhaustion.
“Nico! Gianna!”
A man’s voice. Familiar. Why did it sound so—
Beside me, Nico lay sprawled on his stomach, one arm thrown over his head, his breathing deep and steady. My gaze drifted over the intricate ink that stretched across his back, the bold, dark tattoos covering the sculpted muscles. And then I saw them.
My nail prints.
Oh, f**k.
My face burned as last night came rushing back, the memories slamming into me all at once. My breath hitched. Every fantasy, every imagined scenario—nothing had prepared me for what actually happened.
