He walked me back toward the bed, slow enough that I could stop him, direct enough that I didn’t want to. My knees hit the mattress. I sat, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him down with me. He caught himself over me with one hand braced beside my shoulder, his chain swinging cold against my chest.
I hooked one finger under it and tugged. “This thing is ridiculous.”
“You keep touching it.”
“I touch plenty of ridiculous things.”
His lips brushed my jaw. “Is that your professional position?”
“That’s what the sign out front says.”
He laughed low against my skin, and heat opened under every place his breath touched.
Nico moved to my neck.
I went still.
He stopped immediately.
“Not yet,” he said.
“I didn’t say no.”
“I know. But I want that spot too much.”
The honesty slid through me, hot and sharp.
“You’re telling me your teeth require supervision?”
“With you? Yes.”
“Then supervise them.”
“I will.”
My fingers shook once when I pushed his shirt off his shoulders. “Then use your mouth somewhere less legally complicated.”
His eyes darkened.
“Bossy.”
“I own a bar called Bite Me. The branding has consequences.”
This time Nico smiled.
Then he lowered himself down my body.
He kissed the edge of my tank where it had ridden up, then the soft skin beside my navel, then the top of my cutoffs. His hands worked the button open slowly enough to make me want to yell at him and carefully enough to make me forget the words.
I lifted my hips. “If you rip those, you’re replacing them.”
“I can afford cutoffs.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What’s the point?”
“I like these.”
