At the club, it’s a call across chaos. A warning. A rank. A brother needing a route, a prospect waiting on an order, Diablo wanting movement before sunrise.
From her, it sounds like a secret.
I pin her to the wet wall and kiss down her throat.
She tips her head back, giving me access like she knows I’ve got no prayer left in me and wants to watch me damn myself anyway. Her body rolls against mine, slick and warm, and the little sound she makes when I bite her shoulder hits me straight in the spine.
“Tell me to go,” I say.
“No.”
Her answer comes fast. Sharp. Certain.
Good girl.
I don’t say it out loud. Not yet. Not this morning. Not when the words feel like they might mean more than sex if I letthem loose. Lady hears praise like a challenge anyway. Give her a soft word, and she’ll turn it into a weapon just to see if you bleed pretty.
So I show her instead.
I catch her jaw in my hand and kiss her until that smart mouth opens for me. Until the steam wraps around us and the shower beats hot over her shoulders and she’s pressed between wet tile and my body with nowhere to perform for but me. No club. No crowd. No damn camera. Just Lady Nyx naked, slick, and mean in my hands.
“You always this bossy before coffee?” she breathes.
“Baby, you said no when I told you to send me away. That means I’m still here, and I’m gonna make that your problem.”
Her eyes flash. “You think you’re a problem?”
“I think I’m the worst fucking idea you’ve had all week.”
“Cocky.”
“Accurate.”
Then I get my mouth on her again before she can throw another word at me. I kiss down her throat, taste water and skin and the little catch in her breath when my teeth graze the spot under her jaw. She tries to keep that attitude on her face. Tries to look bored, like she doesn’t have one hand fisted in my hair and the other scraping down my shoulder.
I love that fight in her.
I love breaking it more.
Not hurting her. Not taking. Breaking the act. Getting under the glitter and the sharp tongue and the too-pretty armor until she forgets she’s supposed to be untouchable.
I take my time because rushing Lady would be a crime and I’m already guilty of enough. My hands drag over her wet skin, down her ribs, over her hips. She arches when my fingers slide between her thighs, and I feel that first honest tremble before she can hide it.
“There,” I murmur against her mouth. “That’s the truth.”
“Don’t get poetic, gringo.”
“Nothing poetic about how wet you are for me.”
Her breath catches.
There she is.
I smile against her throat. “Yeah. You heard me.”
“Pendejo.”
“My favorite thing you call me.”
