“Nyxx!” I doubt he could understand what I’m trying to say. That word couldn’t possibly tell him that I’ve never found this part of myself before, never reached these heights with another person before, that I’m excited and terrified and couldn’t stop even if we were interrupted by the police right now.
His hands grip my ass cheeks and he helps me, pressing me harder against him as he whispers filth in my ear.
“You feel that rhythm? That’s us, baby—your body keeping time with mine. Don’t stop. Play me, Ana. Play me until I break.”
I arch against him, finding a new layer of ecstasy with this new angle.
“Oh, princess, if you could see yourself right now, skin almost silver in the moonlight.Fuck!”
I’m not the only one getting close to coming. He’s panting hard and fast, his breaths matching mine. He’s riding me from below as I ride him from above.
My need rises and swirls and then catches, hitting me like a thunderbolt as I come. I’ve never given myself permission to make noise before, even alone in my room, but I let loose with a cry of passion, and then rolling moans that reflect every up and down and brilliant spasm of my muscles.
My lids are jammed closed, so tight I see spots. It’s disorienting and delightful as I simply ride this orgasm like the wildest rollercoaster ride until Nyxx barks his pleasure, his hips stuttering against me as he comes. True to his nature, he’s loud and unrestrained as he grunts with each desperate pulse.
I open my eyes in time to see him take his release. The intimacy of catching him at the height of his bliss makes me feel even more tender toward him.
Both spent, our foreheads touch and we gasp together in the moonlight, sharing each other’s breath.
He laughs. It’s deep and genuine.
“I haven’t come in my jeans since I was in the back seat of a car with my high school sweetheart. What the fuck have you done to me, princess?”
He kisses me, dozens of them, letting them land wherever it’s convenient: lips, cheeks, eyelids, forehead, down the column of my neck.
I nudge my lips toward his ear, not wanting any furry woodland creatures to hear, and not wanting Nyxx to see my face.
“I never came with a man before,” I admit, feeling shame for the first time tonight.
He’s probably shocked. It’s not something I’m proud of. But he doesn’t make fun of me. Instead, he maneuvers me so he can see my face. No, I think he did that soIcan seehisface when he says, “Oh, princess, if you can come likethatwith our clothes on, just imagine how it will be when nothing’s between us.”
Chapter Thirteen
Nyxx
It’s hell climbing out of that bed. The sheets still smell like her—warm skin, night air, and the ghost of what we did in the gazebo. For a second I hover there, every muscle screaming to crawl back in, to taste the quiet morning version of her. But I don’t. Not yet. She deserves a breather before I make her remember how loud she got last night.
Even as I step away from her, my mind replays everything. Her soft sighs, loud moans, the way she moved against me, the vulnerability in her tone when she confessed she’d never climaxed with a man before—it’s all seared into my brain.
The revelation about her inexperience caught me off guard. It explained so much about her initial hesitation, her carefully constructed walls. After that, pushing for more intimacy feltwrong. Ana deserves to set the pace, to explore this newfound sensuality on her own terms.
The bedroom door creaks open, and there she is—hair slightly mussed, wearing one of my band t-shirts. My heart does a little flip.
“Morning, princess.” I turn the coffee machine on. “Sleep well?”
Ana’s cheeks flush as she nods, a shy smile playing at her lips. “Very well, thank you.”
Those words—sheer prim and proper Anastasia Ashcroft. I wonder if all the progress she’s made in letting her true self shine through has evaporated after the passion we shared last night. Then I see it, the rosy flush from the apples of her cheeks to the neckline of her tee.
She’s thinking about last night. I need to say something to evict the elephant from the room. I’m seconds from blurting out something stupid just to cut the tension, and—naturally—my mouth obliges.
“Is there a washing machine in this place, princess? I’ve got crust in my jeans.” Crude? Yes. Embarrassing? Yes. Hopefully enough to make her feel like her uninhibited release was less embarrassing than mine.
“Crust, huh?” She laughs, and I see her shoulders relax as her eyes sparkle with mischief. “I read some of your reviews, by the way. Right after I read the one about your music sounding ‘rawand gritty, like a rat gnawing on an electric wire’ was the one that called you a wild man. I guess that fits.”
“I think of the two of us, you win the wild award.” My voice is low, rough, and the blazing desire I let her see in my eyes should reassure her she has nothing to be embarrassed about.
Her cheeks pinken as her mouth pops open, but she doesn’t argue, doesn’t deny it, and eases closer under the pretense of grabbing the cup of coffee I poured for her.
