His tongue circles my clit. Flicks. Sucks. Returns to those slow, torturous licks that make my vision blur. I'm babbling now my fingers fisting in his hair.
He growls against me.
"That's it." His voice is rough, wrecked. "Pull harder."
I do.
His tongue plunges inside me.
The world whites out.
I come so hard my entire body seizes. Wave after wave crashing through me, endless and overwhelming, and Nico doesn't stop. He works me through it, lapping at me, drawing out every last tremor until I'm shaking and gasping and half-convinced I've died.
When did I last feel this? When did anyone make me feel anything like this?
Never. The answer is never.
Jack treated sex like a chore. Something I owed him. Something to endure while he took what he wanted and left me empty.
This is worship.
"More," I whisper. The word surprises me. "I want more."
Nico lifts his head. His chin glistens. His eyes are nearly black with want.
"Good."
He rises to his knees.
Those sweatpants hang low on his hips, revealing the V of muscle that disappears beneath the waistband. His chest is a landscape of hard planes and old scars.
His hands go to his waistband.
I stop breathing.
The sweatpants drop.
Holy shit.
Nico Sartori is big. Thick and hard and straining toward me. A vein runs along the underside, and the head is already leaking at the tip.
My thighs clench involuntarily.
"Like what you see?"
I tear my gaze away from his cock to find him watching me with that infuriating smirk.
"It's... adequate."
He laughs.
"Condom," I manage. "Please tell me you have?—"
"Nightstand."
He reaches over, yanks open the drawer, and produces a foil packet. I watch as he tears it open with his teeth and rolls the latex down his length.
Then he's back. Hovering over me. The head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
