But I forgot. Nik is also Nikolai Ivanov—master of control, of restraint, of denying himself what he craves.
And this changes the dynamics between us.
He’s right, he could use me as leverage. I should be afraid. Maybe Iambeing naïve.
Maybe it’s reckless not to grab my bag, march downstairs, and demand a new room.
But I don’t. Because maybe the most dangerous part of me wants to see how this plays out.
My whole body thrums with need as I watch Nik slowly towel off. Every line of muscle on display. Broad shoulders, sculpted chest, tight ass, powerful legs.
Holy hell.
Again, He said, ‘Game on,’ sogame on.
I twist the showerhead to massage mode. The spray pounds in a relentless stream, meant to ease sore muscles, but I’ve got something else to unclench.
I slide my fingers between my thighs, spreading myself open, baring my clit to the hard spray. The water slams against that tender spot, and a sharp gasp escapes before I can stop it. My hips buck forward, chasing the pulse, my core tightening.
Eyes closed, I brace against the slick tile, knuckles white on the edge of the shower. Every flex of my hips, every grind of my ass, pushes me harder into the stream. Each jolt of sensation makes me shiver, and all I can think about is him watching.
I picture his gaze, dark and possessive, burning on my skin. Ihopeit’s driving him insane. Ihopeit’s driving him insane. Ihopehe’s sitting through that Commission meeting hard and aching with nothing but this image in his head.
The memory of him stroking that long, thick cock just minutes ago flashes through me, and my fingers move faster, merciless, chasing the rhythm I know would wreck his control. My body hums, alive with it, every breath a shaky, desperate plea for more.
The pressure builds a tight coil of nerves in my core, ready to snap.
My fingers slide faster, slick and insistent, until soft, broken gasps start spilling from my lips. A whimper catches in my throat, and a shiver tears through me, sharp and consuming.
Embarrassed? Not a chance.
I’m burning for him.
I’m turned on by the memory of him, by the way his hands felt on my body, the way his gaze alone made me ache. I’m turned on by the want itself, by the impossibility of it, the forbidden thrill of craving what I can’t have.
And most of all, I’m turned on because Iknowhe’s watching. I feel his eyes on me, dark and unrelenting, and it makes me tremble harder.
The thought of him holding back, denying himself, only spurs me on. My pace quickens, my hips tilting into the water, chasing that relentless pulse. Every flick, every squeeze, every grind of pressure pushes me closer, the ache inside tightening to a sharp edge. My breaths come ragged, chest rising and falling in time with the surges of pleasure.
I want all of him, every inch, but right now it’s just me, the water, the heat, and the exquisite torment of knowing he’s so close… yet completely out of reach.
And maybe that’s all we’ll ever be.
Off-limits.
A Barkov and a Campisi. My father would never allow it. His family would never accept it.
It’s fine. I’m leaving anyway.
My bag is packed, waiting back at my apartment. I’ll sit through these meetings, play the part. I’ll walk across the graduation stage. And then I’ll walk away from all of it.
From his teeth on my nipples. His fingers buried deep. His wicked tongue. His darkness. That feral hunger that sometimes swallowed us whole.
The memories of Nik will have to last me a lifetime.
The water pounds hot and relentlessly against me, and I press harder into it. My fingers circle, tease, dig deeper. My back arches, chest pressed to the spray, eyes shut tight as the tension winds sharp and tight in my core.
Every thrust of my hips into the stream, every slick, desperate slide of my fingers, makes me gasp, moan, shiver. My body screams for release, but I prolong it, savoring every second of the delicious burn of need.
