by Tracy Wolff
I look between her face and her pussy, making sure she’s okay with this. Making sure she’s okay with me. And though she’s blushing, she doesn’t look away. Doesn’t push me away. Instead, she holds steady and waits for whatever I’m going to do next.
The level of trust she’s giving me—it nearly breaks me. Nearly has me coming, untouched, on the fucking carpet like some fifteen-year-old kid with his first girl. I take a few deep breaths, get myself back under control before I lean forward and slowly, slowly, slowly, lick my way along her pussy to her clit.
Chapter 19
Jordan
Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t—
“Oh God!” I gasp as Nic circles my clit with his tongue.
He lifts his head immediately, his green eyes electric in the dim light of the bedroom. “Okay?” he asks.
I nod, even though I’m not sure I am. But then, I’m not sure of anything right now except that I want his mouth on me again. I need his mouth on me again.
I don’t say that, but my desperation must be showing because he grins a little before lowering his mouth and licking his way along my sex again.
I gasp at the sensations washing over me, dig my foot into his shoulder as I arch my hips off the bed in an effort to get closer. To get more. More pleasure. More Nic. More everything.
And he gives it to me. God, does he ever, as he thrusts two fingers inside me at the same time he gently sucks my clit between his teeth.
It’s all I need and I come with a scream, my body spiraling completely out of my control as I break into a million pieces. I can’t talk, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel as pleasure careens through me, going on and on and on.
I buck against Nic’s mouth, against his hands, not sure I can handle all the sensations flooding me at once. But after a quick glance up at my eyes, he holds me still and works me through it, so that even as the pleasure ebbs it starts to build again.
“Nic!” I gasp, my hands tangling in his hair. “I don’t think I can—”
“You can,” he tells me, his voice lower and harsher than I’ve ever heard it. This time, I’m the one looking into his eyes, and I’m trapped by the heat I see there…and the tenderness. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
And then he’s ducking his head again, and his tongue—his wicked, wonderful tongue—goes from long, luxurious licks to deep thrusts that have ecstasy accelerating through me all over again. He delves deep, licking his way deep inside of me until I can feel my fear crumbling under the pleasure, falling in pieces around us. Until all I can think about, until all I know, is the heat and the pleasure and the joy that comes from being in Nic Medina’s bed.
He closes his mouth around my clit, sucks deeply as he slides first one finger and then another inside of me. He’s stroking me, thrusting, taking, giving, driving me closer and closer to the edge of another orgasm as I arch and shudder against him. He finds my G-spot, runs his finger over it again and again. The pleasure is overwhelming now, swamping me, dragging me down, and I cry out even as I hold him more and more tightly.
He pulls back a little, starts flicking his tongue against my clit even as he runs his thumb over my anus. I gasp, arch my hips as I look down at him, wide- and wild-eyed.
He just arches a brow at me, his eyes hot and wicked as that thumb circles me again and again, setting fire to nerve endings I never knew existed before this very second. Pleasure crashes into me, slamming through me at a hundred miles an hour and I call out his name just as he slides his thumb inside of me.
I go into sensory overload, another orgasm ripping through me—fast and hard and never-ending—and this time I can’t stop myself from screaming.
I can feel him grinning, his lips curving against my sex as he once again pulls my clit into his mouth and starts to suck. I’m nearly boneless with pleasure at this point, boneless and overwhelmed and exhausted. I start to sink back onto the bed, wanting to lay down for just a minute—or forever—to recover—but once again, Nic stops me, his free hand sliding around to my lower back and holding me upright.
“Stay like this,” he growls and I do because right now I can’t deny him anything. Don’t want to deny him anything even though I’ve never felt so exposed. The intimacy of this moment—of staring down at him between my knees while he looks up at me even as he continues to go down on me—is soul-stirring and overwhelming and terrifying and amazing all at the same time.
He’s sucking me, licking me, spearing his tongue deep inside me again and again and again, until one orgasm blends into another and all I can feel is pleasure. All I can feel is him.
The more sensitive I become, the more he gives—and takes—until I’m bucking wildly against him, twisting and pushing in an effort to get away from the ecstasy that is burning through my every defense and turning me to ash. But he still doesn’t stop, still doesn’t let me go. Still makes me come. Again and again and again.
Finally—finally—when I’m on the brink of insanity and my entire world is reduced to Nic and the this bed and the pleasure that speeds along my nerve endings like NOS, he pulls away. Then he’s fumbling in his nightstand and pulling out a condom before climbing onto the bed beside me.
“Come here,” he says, his voice low and guttural as he rolls the condom down his length and pulls me on top of him.
He’s almost completely gone, chest heaving, hands shaking, body trembling with the need tearing through him. And still he hands me control, still he waits for me to take him instead of thrusting inside of me and taking what he wants. As he does, he breaches my last barrier and I feel myself falling as I give over to him yet another piece of my heart.
I don’t know where this is going to go, don’t know how the wild ride I’m on is going to end, and right now, I don’t give a shit. All I care about, all that matters is Nic and making him feel as good as he’s made me feel.
I straddle his hips, reaching between us to guide him inside of me. His hands are on my hips, lowering me onto his cock and despite the need I can see on his face, he takes it slow, keeps me from taking all of him in one downward plunge of my hips. Instead, he watches my face closely for any sign of pain or discomfort, those green eyes of his burning into mine as he lets me take him inch by excruciatingly slow inch.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, pressing against his hands in an effort to take more of him. To take all of him. “I want you.”
He growls deep in his throat, pressing his lips together so that damn dimple of his stands out in stark relief. I lean forward then and lick it like I’ve been wanting to for what feels like forever. And then I press my mouth to his at the same time I twist my hips out of his grasp and sink down on him until he’s balls deep inside of me.
Nic groans then, and I gasp, because he feels so good, so right. “Fuck me,” I tell him, pressing hot kisses to his lips, his jaw, his throat. “Please fuck me.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” he asks, thrusting his hips against me so that I come down hard against him. Pleasure skates along my nerve endings, drowns the last of the memories, and with them, the last of my fear.
“This is the first time,” I tell him, grabbing onto his shoulders and trying to roll us so that he’s on top of me. He doesn’t budge though, just looks up at me and waits for I don’t know what. “Please,” I tell him, rocking against him a little so that we’re both seeing stars. “I want you to be on top this time.” I want it to be good for him, as good for him as him going down on me was for me and if that means he’s on top, then I’ll find a way to be okay with it. This is Nic, I remind myself as I tug at his shoulders. Nic, who would never hurt me.
His hand comes up to my chin, his thumb rubbing across my lips in a move that sends shivers down my spine and heat through my sex. “Are you sure?” he growls, his voice so deep now that I can barely understand his words.
“Yes,” I tell him, tugging at his shoulders in a desperate attempt to get him to top me.
“Please. Please, Nic. I want you. I want—”
His mouth slams down on mine and then we’re rolling to the center of the bed. But he’s still not on top of me. Instead, we’re side by side, my leg draped over his hip and his arm wrapped around my waist, holding me to him.
“It’s okay,” I tell him again, trying to roll him.
He kisses me to shut me up, then says, “You want me to top, so let me top. I want you any way I can have you, Jordan.”
“But I want you to get what you want—”
“You’re what I want,” he says with a wicked grin that curls my toes and has my nipples beading against his chest. He leans forward, kisses me. Then lifts his head and asks, “This okay?”
“Yes!” I wrap my leg tighter around his hip, arch against him as heat thrums through me. “Please, please, yes.”
It must be the confirmation he’s waiting for because he thrusts deep, his hand holding my leg up so that he can open me wider, hold me closer, take me higher. Over and over he thrusts into me as pleasure sizzles along my nerve endings, burning through every part of me. I’ve already come so many times that it never occurred to me that I could come again, but as Nic slips a hand between us and strokes his thumb across my clit, I know that I’m closer than I could ever have imagined.
“Please,” I whimper, kissing his chest, his arm, his shoulder—whatever part of him I can reach. He’s hot and sweaty and hard, so hard, and that only takes me higher as he thrusts into me as deep as he can go. “Please, please, please.”
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he tells me for the third time tonight. “You can let go. I promise, I’ve got you.”
The words—coupled with one last look in his eyes—is all it takes to send me careening over the edge. My orgasm rips through me, a wild, out-of-control ride that has pleasure sweeping through every part of me as my body convulses around him.
“Fuck,” Nic growls and then he’s coming too, heat flowing from him to me and back again as he empties himself inside of me in a series of long, deep pulses that claim me so completely, so thoroughly, that I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.
Chapter 20
Nic
Sunlight streams in through the blinds I forgot to close last night, chasing away the last of the sex-slaked fogginess from my brain and thrusting me right back into the clusterfuck I’ve managed to get my friends and family embroiled in. The clusterfuck—I glance down at where Jordan is stretched naked across my bed—I’ve managed to get my lover embroiled in.
My lover.
The words feel strange as they roll around my brain, and yet they feel oddly right as well. I’ve been with a lot of women in the three years I’ve been out of prison, was with a lot more before I went in, and I’ve referred to them a lot of different ways. But never before have I wanted to call any of them something as permanent, as important sounding, as my lover.
But that’s what Jordan is, what she’ll be for a long time to come if I have my way. I know it’s crazy to think like that when I’ve only known her two days, but the truth is, I’ve never clicked like this with someone before. Never been so fully in sync—sexually or emotionally—with another human being ever. It’s a daunting thought. Or it would be, if that person wasn’t Jordan. And if she wasn’t currently wrapped around one of my pillows, her small, beautiful body splayed, ass up, across my bed like she’s my own personal plaything.
I think of everything I have to do today—catching up with Jace for an update, talking to Joe about what the fuck is really going on with him, figuring out how not to get dead when I show up to boost that car tonight—and know I should get started. The longer I put all of it off, the harder it’s going to be to make it all happen.
But I’m not ready to get out of bed yet, not ready to leave Jordan alone after the night we had. There’s a part of me that wants to wake her up and demand that she tell me what happened to her, a part of me that needs to know who hurt her and how they did it so I can try to make it right.
At the same time, though, I know I don’t have that right. Not now, and maybe not ever. I may think of Jordan as my lover—as my woman—but that doesn’t mean she feels the same way about me. And even if she does…there are parts of my past I know I’ll never share with her. So is it fair of me to expect her to share everything about hers with me?
It isn’t. I know it isn’t, and still it grates on me, like an itch just below my skin that grows a little more with each minute, each second, that passes. Some bastard hurt her. Some bastard did things to her that terrified her and closed her off and made her not trust anyone, and for that I want to make him suffer. For that, I need to make him pay. The idea that that may never happen, that I may never get to make things right for her—or at least as right as I possibly can—is eating me up inside.
And I’ve only known her two days. What is it going to be like in two weeks? Two months? Two years?
I know it’s crazy to think in those terms, especially when she may never want to see me again when this thing is over. But it feels right to want her like that, feels right to think of my life with her in it for as long as she’ll have me.
From the nightstand next to the bed, my phone buzzes with a series of text messages I know I should look at. It’s still early judging from the light filtering in through the window and there are only a few people who would be texting me at this time—Jace being at the top of the list. I start to reach for the phone, start to dive into what promises to be the day from hell. But another glimpse of Jordan stretched out next to me has me hesitating.
More, it has me rolling over and cuddling into her side.
Has me pressing soft kisses to her shoulder, her neck, her spine.
She moans a little, wiggles that glorious ass of hers against me and just like that my morning erection rockets from abstractly interested to absolutely desperate to have her.
Fuck. Why does she have to be the way she is—so brave and smart and kind and beautiful? And why does being inside her have to feel so goddamn good? Why does it have to feel like I’m finally coming home after a decade of being locked out?
Every primal instinct I have tells me to roll over on top of her, to slide inside her and wake her up with a series of earth-shattering orgasms that melt her from the inside out. But that would be for me, not for Jordan. That would be my fantasy, not hers. I may not know exactly what happened to her, but I know what I saw last night. I know how she acted and I know what she’s okay with. And me surrounding her, me bringing her off when she’s barely awake, is definitely not one of those things. Not now, and maybe not ever.
Her power is important to her, her ability to control what happens to her body, when it happens, even where it happens. I’ve always been pretty dominant in bed, always liked to be the one in charge so I can give my partner as much pleasure as she can handle. With Jordan, that’s not going to happen. There will be no tying her up, for her pleasure and mine. No spanking her beautiful ass to make the sensations more intense. No power exchange that doesn’t involve me yielding to her. And while that would bug the shit out of me with any other woman, I’m strangely okay with it when it comes to Jordan. More, I’m fucking turned on by it. My dick doesn’t give a shit how it gets inside Jordan just as long as it does.
Determined to be as careful with her as she needs me to be, I wake her slowly, with soft touches and softer words.
I stroke my fingers through the long, silky strands of her hair.
Press my lips to her shoulders, her back, her spine.
Trace my tongue along the intricate hip tattoo that was such a surprise to me last night.
That’s what finally wakes her up, my tongue skating along the hollow of her hip, the slight curve of her stomach, the line between her torso and the top of her thigh.
“Nic?” she murmurs before she even blinks those beautiful eyes of hers open.
“I’m right here, baby.”
“I know.” Her fingers glide over my shoulders and up my neck to tug lightly at
my dreads. “Hmmm,” she hums softly. “I like these.”
“I’m glad.” And I am—I’m pretty fond of my dreads myself, but I’m also pretty sure that if she asked me to get rid of them I’d do it in a heartbeat. That’s how far gone I am over her.
I turn my head a little, nuzzle my way across her abdomen. And because she seems amenable, I dart my tongue out deliver a long, lingering lick to her clit.
She gasps a little, but nothing about her body language tells me to stop. Still, I tilt my head up a little so I can see her face. Her eyes are still closed, her features still relaxed, and she’s smiling just enough to set my mind at ease. Just enough to have me sliding a hand up her thigh so I can slip a finger inside her as I suck her clit into my mouth.
She moans then, her fingers tugging a little harder at my hair as her hips move restlessly against my mouth. It’s all the encouragement I need to bury my face in her beautiful pussy and lick her to orgasm.
She calls my name as she falls apart, her body clenching rhythmically around my fingers even as she tugs at my shoulders, pulling me up and over her.
“Are you sure?” I ask, even as I fumble in the nightstand drawer for a condom. We made love a bunch of times and a bunch of ways last night, but never was she under me. Never was I on top of her.
“It’s okay,” she says, pressing hot kisses along my collarbone as she waits impatiently for me to protect her.
Once I’m sheathed, she arches her hips, tangles her legs with mine. And moans as slowly, slowly, slowly, I slide inside her.
I groan as I feel her clench around me, and there’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to give myself over to her and to the pleasure of being inside her. But I spent hours last night learning her body, learning her breathing patterns and her pleasure responses and all the expressions that flit across her gorgeous face. And because of that, I know—even as she pulls me closer—that something isn’t quite right.
It’s in the way her breathing is just a little off, in the way she’s holding me just a little too tightly, in the way it feels, all of a sudden, like she’s putting on a show just for me.