“Do that again,” I said.
Nico did.
My thighs tightened around his shoulders. His stubble scraped the tender skin near my crease. His tongue slid lower, then back up, circling my clit while two fingers pressed inside me.
“Nico.”
He lifted his eyes without stopping.
Nobody should be able to look that smug while on his knees with his mouth on my pussy.
I tugged his hair. “Don’t get proud.”
He curled his fingers.
My warning fell apart.
Pleasure climbed hard and fast, burning through my thighs, my stomach, my chest. I tried to hold his stare because I hated losing, even in bed, especially to a man with fins. Nico watched every breath. His fingers worked me steadily, and his shoulders tensed when my hips lifted into his mouth.
He deserved to suffer a little.
I came with my hand in his hair and his name in my mouth, hips lifting into the heat of his tongue while the room flashed white around the edges.
Nico stayed with me through it, softer now, drawing out every last pulse until I pushed at his shoulder.
“Enough,” I said, breathless. “You’re going to make me useless.”
He lifted his mouth from me. “You’re never useless.”
I sat up before that landed too deep and grabbed his chain again. “Pants off.”
He stood.
I got to my knees on the mattress and hooked my fingers in his waistband.
His swim trunks were dry enough to fight me and wet enough to be obnoxious.
“These are stupid,” I said.
“They looked good yesterday.”
“I’m sure the mirror was very impressed.”
Nico’s hands curled at his sides while I dragged the waistband down.
That was when I saw the tattoo low on his hip.
Black ink. A shark-tooth compass tucked close to the hard line of his body, mostly hidden unless his clothes came off. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t a family crest. It looked like direction and danger in one small mark.
I touched the edge beside it. “This isn’t Torretti branding, is it?”
“No.”
“Good. I don’t want your uncle in this room in any form, including ink.”
His voice went flat. “Neither do I.”
“What does it mean?”
