I swallowed. “Always for you, Nick.”
He moved over me, broad and breathing hard, and settled his weight onto his forearms on either side of my head. His hips pressed against the inside of my thighs, not entering, justthere, the heat of him promising everything.
“Last chance,” he said, his voice quiet now, almost tender. “Tell me no.”
I reached up and pulled him down by the back of the neck. “I’ve waited thirty days, worn impractical underwear, and survived dinner without climbing you in public. The only thing I’m saying no to is more waiting.”
He entered me with a single, unbroken thrust. My back arched off the bed. My nails raked his shoulders. He buried his face in my throat and groaned, a low, wrecked sound that I felt in my teeth, my spine, somewhere beneath my ribs where no one else had ever reached.
Then he began to move, and the world went white behind my eyes.
He set a pace that felt like him: controlled until it wasn’t, deep and dragging, every movement deliberate enough to ruin me on purpose. My hands slid from his shoulders to the sheets, fisting cotton because there was nowhere else to put all that wanting.
Nick lifted his head, and there he was, the controlled man undone without becoming reckless. Sweat darkened his hair at the temple, his jaw was tight, and his blue eyes stayed on mine with a focus that made my chest ache.
“Look at me,” he said.
I tried. Truly, I deserved credit for the effort.
My eyes kept rolling back, my body dragging me under with every stroke. He slowed, not stopping, never stopping, until I felt every inch of him with unbearable clarity.
“Juliette.” He said my name like he was bringing me back to him. “Look at me.”
I did.
He held my gaze and drove forward, harder and deeper, until the headboard struck the wall and the house gave one startled, useless protest. His hand settled at my throat, not squeezing, only holding the wild beat of my pulse beneath his palm.
“There you are,” he said, softer this time, like he had been waiting for the part of me I never handed over easily.
I came with my eyes open, staring into his, and if there was a name inside the sound I made, it was his. My body clenched around him once, twice, a third time, and his rhythm fractured.
He dropped his forehead to mine, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. Three more thrusts, rough and unguarded, and then he buried himself deep, trembling as the last of his control gave way.
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
Then he shifted his weight off me before I needed to ask, pulled me into the curve of his body, and pressed his lips to the crown of my head. My heart was still hammering. So was his. I could feel it through his chest, against my cheek, slowing in tandem with mine.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice wrecked.
“Ask me again when I have bones.”
His laugh was almost silent against my hair. “Juliette.”
Outside, the wind moved through the palms. Inside, his thumb traced slow circles on my hip, and for once morning could come without turning into goodbye. I objected by tightening my leg around him.
He went still. “Careful,” he said.
“No.”
His mouth touched my shoulder. “You argue a lot for a woman who got what she wanted.”
“I’m still me.”
That earned me the quiet laugh I wanted.
Nick stayed beside me with one hand warm at my lower back, his thumb moving over the ink there as if he had memorized its shape in the dark. His hair was wrecked, and there was a red mark low on his throat that might become a problem if he owned a mirror.
“You’re very easy to fall in love with, Wilder,” he said.
