“Everyhill…” One elegant finger skims from the underside of my breast to the tip and doesn’t linger there nearly long enough before it ghosts toward the other tip as he adds, “Andeveryvalley.”
This whole time, his penetrating gaze hasn’t left mine. When I lean close, desperate for more dedicated contact with my nipples, trying to graze them against his chest, he smirks. That expression has never irritated me as much as it does right now, even that first moment he barged into my rental.
“Need more, princess?”
Perhaps it shows my lack of experience that I’ve been standing here like a mannequin, letting him take control. Where has the powerful, decisive Ana from the last few days disappeared to?
“Yes. I need more.” But instead of settling back against the door and waiting for him to touch me, I grip his shoulders and turn us around so he’s the one backed against the door. Instead of pouncing on him, which my fingers itch to do, I step back and inspect him.
I try valiantly not to gasp as I appreciate the perfection of his form, but I don’t succeed. He’s beautiful. His normally wild hair is still damp, so the little ringlets have only begun to spring to life. The moonlight is murky under the covered porch, so his blue streak is so faint it’s hard to see.
In the dim light, his face is all contrast and shadow—strong nose, generous mouth, and those eyes… imperfect, yet somehow perfect because of it.
As my gaze trails lower, I allow my fingers to do what they’ve been desperate to do for days; I touch him. One fingertip barely grazes his warm flesh as it bisects his chin, coasts down his throat, and trails lower through rippling abs.
“Like what you see, princess?”
“You’re fucking perfect, rock star, and you damn well know it,” I scold.
His shocked smile gives me permission to say whatever is on my mind, so I don’t stop with that.
My eager finger finds his happy trail, and I can’t help but narrate.
“Look at this. Did I just call you perfection? That word is faint praise for this.” I slide the pad of my thumb over his plump head, snagging the bead of pre-cum that was hiding in the shadows.
I feel like an explorer who stumbled onto the find of their career as I keep our gazes locked, bring my thumb to my mouth, and slowly lap at my treasure. It tastes divine—salty, masculine, musky.
Nyxx’s chest is heaving, though he doesn’t say a word, just stands for my inspection, letting me have my way with him. His cock is beautiful in the half-light, standing tall and proud and pumping out more pearls of liquid for me. Who am I to turn down his gift?
As I take another swipe of his essence, my core clenches with need. We’re not touching. He barely grazed my nipples, and that was long moments ago, but I wonder if I could come just from the way his heated gaze is penetrating me, the way his body is ready and willing and eager for me.
As I contemplate whether to drop to my knees and worship his cock—should I lick the vein running up its length?—he moves with the swiftness of a cat, lifts me into the bridal carry, and almost kicks in the door in his haste.
Chapter Seventeen
Nyxx
I’ve imagined this a thousand times since we met—but not her on her knees, taking the lead, blowing my mind before I could even think to breathe.
Now she’s sprawled across the bed, lips kiss-swollen, eyes daring me to catch up.
My grin feels feral.
“Didn’t see that coming, princess,” I rasp, still half wrecked. “Are we about to fight for dominance? Because that might be fun. My turn.”
This woman—Christ. Beautiful, talented, and the biggest damn surprise of my life. I never pictured her stealing the spotlight likethat, but I’m not complaining. If this is a battle for control, it’s one I plan to lose spectacularly.
In one motion I catch her ankles, spread her wide, and sink between her thighs, mouth finding heat.
Fuck.The taste of her—sweet, salted sin—punches the air from my lungs.
I’m a grown man acting like a teenager who’s once again about to blow his load before the main event.
There’s a sweetness to her, with a scent to match. It’s all I can do not to bury my nose in her for a moment, to wallow between her drenched folds.
She smells of honey and danger. I drag my nose along her slick folds, greedier than I mean to be.
Did I really think she’d be shy? Tell me to stop? That was the old Anastasia.
