He pulls all the way out and pushes back in, lurching me forward. My hands give out under me, and I fall on the mattress. He continues the torturous pace, his thrusts getting harder. His hands around my torso are the only thing keeping my ass up.
I bury my face into my pillow and shout against it, repeating his name like a prayer. He’s loud too. I hear only expletives and praises. “So beautiful, you're taking me so fucking well,” he groans. “Why haven't I been doing this all along.FuckElliot, I’m gonna keep you on this bed for weeks.Months. Fill you up all day until you can’t leave.”
“Yes, fill me,” I encourage.
His thrusts get faster and faster, and my body threatens to contract into a ball of tension. One hand moves down to my dick. He jerks once, twice, and I am coming hard on the mattress. My body shivering with pleasure, current flowing through from my ass to my head and my feet.
My knees give out under me, my body giving up any pretense of control. He continues his pace, only rubbing my overstimulated prostate once every few thrusts. Just when I think I can't take any more, he stills.
I feel his cock getting bigger, then deflating. He falls over me, his heavy body pinning me down, his breath blowing hair on the nape of my neck.
“That was so good,” he breathes against my ear. The sensation sends a fresh wave of heat down my neck. He kisses my neck slowly, then takes my ear into his mouth. “So good,” he says again.
Slowly, the endorphins wear off, and all I feel is heaviness, shame, and this overwhelming fear threatening to break the walls I’ve carefully built to protect me.
I lightly elbow him on his side. “Move,” I say. I don't want to be surrounded by him, by his calm, masculine smell. I can't take it anymore.
He thankfully listens and slides away from me to dispose of the condom. He even brings a wet washcloth back from the bathroom. When I see his hands moving down to help me, I snatch it off his hands. I clean myself up, wiping off the come from my chest and abdomen.
The mattress is a lost cause.
Then I trudge up to the bathroom on shaking legs, picking up my clothes on the way. I completely ignore Nicholas sitting on the bed. I need some space. Some distance between what just happened to compose myself. To go back to what we were before, not what my mind is forcing me to believe right now.
When I come back, he has pulled on his jeans. But wearing his T-shirt was apparently too much work. His muscles bulge, pulling my attention to them. I pick up his T-shirt and throw it on him.
“Dinner?” he asks when he’s finally dressed.
“Thai?” I ask.
He nods. “Love Thai.”
I walk back to the living room to find my phone on the couch. We decided on the order quickly.
Nicholas puts on a random sitcom on the television while we wait. It’s surprisingly simple.Comfortable.
When we’re done eating, he looks ready to fall asleep on the couch. I graciously allow him to stay over because I don’t really want him to die on the road. I didn’t need that much distance. Plus, Oliver would bitch about it for years if Nicholas crashed his car on the way from my house.
And if I ignore the heat that sets somewhere low in my abdomen when I find freshly brewed coffee and bagels, with a note saying “Gotta go. We’ll need to have a serious conversation about the lack of food at your place. Clear your lunch tomorrow,” I can at least be assured there was no one to witness my cheeks turning red.
Chapter Twenty
Short Tempers, Secret Crushes, and Serious Case Updates
Nick
Serena scowls at the car in front of us as she drives me to Sloan’s place. “We’ve looked at this fromeveryfucking angle. I can’t have a cold case on my record, Nick.”
I nod sympathetically, letting her get it out of her system.
“How can we have too much evidence and none of it leads anywhere? The crime scenes literally looked like the evidence version of Scrooge’s Money Bin. But instead of being valuable, it’s just a rotting pile of shit,” she yells.
I scrunch my nose. “That’s not a picture I wanted in my head.”
“I don’t care. That’s what it feels like, and that’s what youneedin your head,” she huffs.
“I’m just saying, if you hoped that picture would trigger something in our minds, I doubt…”
“Shut up, Nick. How are you so calm about it? This is bad for you, too. Why aren’t you angrier? I just see you moping around the precinct every day. Where’s the anger? Be angry, Nicholas.”
