He lies down next to me, pulling me into his arms.
I go willingly, molding myself against him, my head resting on his chest.
I can hear the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart, a soothing, grounding sound in the aftermath of the storm.
I feel spent.
Used.
Satisfied.
And more alive than I've ever felt.
But I am also, still, unbearably turned on.
I squirm against him, my hips moving in a slow, desperate rhythm, seeking a friction that isn't there.
I can feel him smile against my hair. The smug bastard.
He knows exactly what he's doing.
He's leaving me like this on purpose.
"Please," I whisper, the word a ragged, desperate plea. "Sir."
He says nothing, just continues to stroke my back, a slow, soothing rhythm that's both a comfort and a torture.
I rub my thighs together, trying to ease the pressure, but it's no use. It only makes it worse.
"Sir," I whimper, my voice a choked sob of frustration. "Please."
I feel him shift, and then he's rolling me over onto my back, caging me in with his body.
He's still soft from his release, but he settles between my legs, his weight a delicious pressure that makes me feel cherished, possessed.
"Please what?" he asks, his voice a low, teasing murmur.
I glare up at him, my eyes wet with unshed tears. "You know what."
"I want to hear you say it," he says, his thumb stroking my cheek. "Tell me what you need."
The fight is gone.
There's nothing left but the raw, desperate need.
"I need to come," I whisper, the words a humiliating, liberating confession.
He adopts a considering look on his face. "Well, technically, you don'tneedto come."
I whimper in frustration.
He leans in, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to my lips.
"But you want to," he says, a statement of fact. "And I want to watch. Taste. Eat."
Chapter Twenty Six
Nico
