Nico hovers above me, forearms braced on either side of my head. His jaw is tight, a muscle ticking beneath the stubble he didn't bother shaving this morning. Sweat gleams on his chest. He's still wearing his dress shirt, but it's unbuttoned, hanging open to reveal the hard planes of his stomach.
I'm wearing nothing at all.
"There she is." His hips roll slowly, and I gasp. "Stay with me."
"I'm right here." My voice doesn't sound like mine. Too breathless. Too needy.
"Good." He pulls almost all the way out, pauses, then slams back in.
Oh God.
My nails dig into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. He doesn't flinch. Just watches my face like he's memorizing every reaction, cataloging every sound I make.
It's terrifying. It's intoxicating.
It's Nico.
"You're thinking too much," he murmurs against my throat. His teeth scrape my pulse point, and I shiver. "I can feel it."
"Sorry I have a functioning brain," I manage.
He laughs. Actually laughs. The sound vibrates through his chest into mine, and something warm blooms behind my ribs.
"Smart mouth." He bites my earlobe. "I know how to fix that."
Before I can respond, he shifts his angle. His hand slides between us, thumb finding exactly where I need it.
My smart mouth produces nothing but a moan.
"Better." Smug bastard.
But I can't even be annoyed because he's building me toward something, each thrust pushing me higher. His thumb circles, presses, teases. My thighs tremble around his hips.
"Nico, I—" I can't finish the sentence. Can't think.
"I know." His forehead drops to mine. "Let go. I've got you."
Three words. Simple words. But I love them.
I've got you.
I shatter.
The orgasm hits like a wave, pulling me under. I hear myself cry out and Nico swallows it with a kiss. His hips stutter, rhythm breaking as he follows me over the edge.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
His weight presses me into the desk. I should feel trapped. Suffocated. Instead, I feel... safe. Held. Like the desk and his body have formed a cocoon where nothing from the outside world can reach me.
"You okay?" His voice is muffled against my neck.
"Mm." It's the most eloquent response I can manage.
He lifts his head to look at me. His hair is wrecked and there's a softness in his eyes I'm still getting used to seeing.
"That wasn't the plan," he says.
"You had a plan?"
