Chapter Two
Samantha
The moment we cross the threshold into my apartment, Nick’s hands are on me again, one tangled in my hair, the other gripping my waist like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go. His mouth never leaves mine as he kicks the door shut behind us, the sound of the lock clicking into place sending a shiver down my spine.
I don’t know how we make it to the bedroom. One second, we’re stumbling against the back of the couch, his teeth nipping at my lower lip. The next, my knees hit the edge of my mattress, and I’m falling backward with Nick looming over me, his broad frame blocking out the moonlight filtering through my curtains.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, really look at me, and something in his expression makes my breath catch. There’s hunger there, sure, but also reverence, like he’s been waiting for this moment far longer than the few weeks we’ve known each other.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, his voice rough, his fingers tracing the hem of my sweater. “I’ve been imagining this. Imagining you.”
A flush spreads across my skin, heat pooling between my thighs. I should feel vulnerable. I should be second-guessingthis, overthinking every touch, every breath. But the way he’s looking at me, like I’m something precious, something his, chases away every doubt.
His hands move slowly, deliberately, as he peels my sweater up and over my head. The cool air hits my skin, but I barely notice because Nick’s gaze is a brand, searing everywhere it lands. My bra follows, and when my breasts spill free, his breath hitches.
“Perfect,” he growls, palming one, his thumb brushing over my nipple until it’s hard and aching. “So fucking perfect.”
I whimper, arching into his touch, clinging to his shoulders. He's still fully dressed in his Henley and jeans, and I'm nearly ready to rip the fabric from him. But the way he's worshipping me with his hands, mouth, and words makes it hard to concentrate on anything but what he's doing to me.
“Nick.” His name spills from my lips like a prayer.
“I've got you, darlin'.” His mouth follows the path his hands just took, kissing a trail toward the dip of my waist. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and panties, dragging them down my legs in one smooth motion. “Let me look at you.”
I do. I let him see me. He takes in every scar, every curve, every part of me I’ve hidden away for so long. And when his gaze lands between my thighs, his pupils blow wide, his chest rumbling with approval.
“Fuck, Samantha.” His voice is strained, his fingers tracing the inside of my thigh, inching closer, closer. “Look at this pretty pussy. So wet for me already.”
A shudder wracks my body as his index finger glides up my slit, parting me just enough to tease. My hips jerk toward his touch, desperate for more, but he pulls back with a dark chuckle.
“Eager, aren’t you?” He presses a kiss to my inner thigh, then the other, his breath hot against my skin. “I love that. Love how much you want this.”
I do. God, I do. My fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer, but he takes his time, kissing, nipping, licking his way up my thighs until I’m trembling, until I’m begging.
“Nick, please…”
His laugh vibrates against my skin. “Since you asked so nicely.”
And then his mouth is on me.
I cry out, my back bowing off the bed as his tongue drags through my folds, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of me. He licks and sucks, his fingers digging into my hips to hold me still as I writhe beneath him. When he finally latches onto my clit, sucking it between his lips, my vision goes white.
“Oh, my God!” My fingers tighten in his hair, my thighs clamping around his head as I ride his face, chasing the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside me. “Nick, I’m…”
“That’s it, darlin’,” he growls against me, his voice rough with need. “Come for me.”
And I do. I shatter, my orgasm crashing over me in waves so intense I swear I see stars. Wait. No. It’s snowflakes, sparkling behind my eyelids.
My cry echoes through the room, my body trembling as Nick laps at me, drawing out every last shudder.
When I finally collapse back against the mattress, boneless and breathless, Nick pulls away just enough to press another kiss to my inner thigh before sitting up. His lips glisten, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he watches me.
“Good girl,” he praises, his voice a low rumble.
I’m still catching my breath when he stands, his hands going to the hem of his Henley. He pulls it off in one fluid motion, and my mouth goes dry.
I knew he was muscular. I’d felt the hard planes of his chest when he kissed me, the strength in his arms when he held me.But seeing him bare now, his skin mapped with old scars and his muscles carved by hard, physical labor, it’s overwhelming.
“You’re…” I swallow, my gaze raking over him. “You’re built.”
