Chapter 24 #2
A pleasant contentment unfurls in my chest. I feel a bone-deep gratitude that this man, so complicated and controlling and capable of breathtaking tenderness, chose me.
That he keeps choosing me. That he’s building a future with me, with our child.
This life we're shaping together feels like an impossible, incredible dream, but it’s real.
I close my eyes and let the breeze move over my skin, salt-laced and gentle.
"Now that's a sight I could get used to."
Nick's voice pulls me from my thoughts. I open my eyes to find him standing in the terrace doorway, barefoot, wearing only linen pants that hang low on his hips. No shirt. Just miles of tanned skin and lean muscle, the sun catching the edges of his collarbone and the slope of his shoulders.
Heat licks through me, immediate and visceral, stirring my desire. My pulse picks up, responding to him the way it always does, the way it has since the first time I saw him in our building elevator and felt the ground shift beneath me.
His gaze travels over me slowly. Appreciatively. I see him taking in the robe that's come loose at the neck, the way my legs are tucked beneath me, my damp hair falling over one shoulder. When his eyes meet mine again, there's heat there. Hunger barely leashed.
I reach out toward him, wanting him close. Just… wanting him. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough." He moves toward me with predatory grace, all controlled power and absolute focus. "You looked peaceful. I didn't want to disturb you."
"I'm not disturbed."
"No?" He stops in front of my chair, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to hold his gaze. His hand lifts, fingers trailing along my jaw, down the side of my neck, following the line of my collarbone where my robe has fallen open. "What are you, then?"
His touch sends sparks skittering under my skin. All my senses respond to him, to his proximity, his heat, the way his pupils have gone dark with want as he looks at me.
"I’m relaxed," I admit. "Finally."
"Good." His thumb brushes the hollow of my throat, right where my pulse is hammering. "That's what I was hoping for."
His other hand settles on the arm of my chair, caging me in without actually touching. The air between us feels charged, heavy with everything we're not saying out loud. With all that we need from each other, now and always.
I reach up, letting my fingers trace the ridges of his abdomen. His muscles contract under my touch, his sharp inhale making it clear that I'm affecting him as much as he's affecting me. "Did you finish your calls?"
"Mmm." It's not really an answer, but more of a low growl. His attention is fixed on where my hand rests against his stomach, right above the loose waistband of his pants. "All handled."
I smile at him. "So you're free for… other things."
"Completely free." His hand slides into my hair, fingers curling against my scalp with just enough pressure to make me shiver. "What did you have in mind, beautiful?"
I let my hand drift lower, palm flattening against him. He's already hard, the evidence of his arousal unmistakable through the thin linen. His jaw tightens, that muscle in his cheek jumping the way it does when he's holding himself in check.
"I have a few ideas." I look up at him suggestively, emboldened by the privacy, the freedom of knowing no one's going to interrupt us. "Unless you have other plans?"
"Plans." His voice has gone rough. "I have very specific plans that involve getting you out of that robe and making you come from now until sunrise tomorrow."
Heat floods through me. "That's ambitious."
"Angel." He leans down, his mouth finding the sensitive spot below my ear. "Are you saying you doubt me?"
“Never.” The word comes out on a shivery breath as his lips trail down my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point, and my head falls back against the chair.
My robe slides off my shoulders, completely undone now, the belt loosening as his hands find skin. But I'm not ready to surrender control to him just yet. I have plans of my own where my sexy fiancé is concerned.
I press my palm more firmly against him, feeling him twitch in response. "What if I want to taste you first?"
He goes very still, leaning over me. Then his hand tightens in my hair, pulling just enough to send pleasure-pain racing down my spine. When he speaks, his voice is pure gravel. "You know I’ll never deny you anything you want."
"Good." My hands are already going to his waistband. I smile up at him as I work the drawstring loose. "Because right now I want my mouth on you."
"Fuck." It's barely a whisper. His hand gentles in my hair, thumb stroking along my nape with devastating tenderness. "You're going to wreck me."
"That's the idea."
The linen falls away easily. His cock emerges hard and heavy and gorgeous, and I don't waste time on pretense or teasing. I want this. I want to give him the kind of pleasure that strips away every layer of control he keeps wrapped around himself like armor.
I take him in my hand first, feeling the weight and heat of him, the way his thick, veined shaft pulses against my palm. His breath hitches, his chest rising and falling faster while he looks down at me. The hand in my hair tightens just slightly, not directing, just... holding on.
Then I lean in and take him into my mouth.
"Christ." The word tears out of him, jagged and sharp. His hips jerk forward instinctively before he locks himself down, muscles rigid with the effort of staying still. "Avery—"
I hum in response, which makes him curse again, and then I lose myself in the rhythm.
The taste of him is addicting—salt and musk and something purely Nick.
The sounds he makes when I take him into my throat only makes me want to give him more, to drive him wild.
I’m spurred on by the way his control starts to fracture, his breathing going ragged, his fingers flexing against my scalp.
"That's—" He sucks in a hiss of air between his teeth. His head falls back, throat working as he swallows hard. "Your mouth, angel. Fuck, your mouth is amazing."
I take him deeper, hands braced on his thighs, and the groan he makes goes straight to my core.
I'm aching, wet, desperate for him, but right now this is everything.
Watching him come undone. Feeling the tremors run through his body as I work him.
Knowing I'm the one reducing him to incoherent need.
His control shatters on a strangle curse. One hand still fisted in my hair, the other gripping the back of the chair hard enough that his knuckles have gone white. His hips start moving in shallow thrusts, and I open for him, relaxing my throat, letting him take what he needs.
"I’m gonna come," he grits out, giving me the option to pull back.
I don't. I want it. I want to feel him break apart. I want to taste him as he explodes, want to take everything he's giving me.
He comes with a shout, head thrown back, body rigid. I swallow him down, riding out the aftershocks as he shudders through his release, my name a ragged whisper on his lips.
When he finally comes back to himself, he steps back a pace and pulls his pants up. He reaches for me, bringing me to my feet with hands that shake slightly. His heart pounds against me as he gathers me close. His breathing is still uneven, chest rising and falling in ragged pulls.
"You," he says into my hair, his voice wrecked, "are dangerous."
I smile against his skin. "You love it."
"I love you." His arms tighten around me. "Every beautiful, devastating, perfect inch of you."
He bends slightly, then scoops me up into his arms. Carrying me inside our cottage, he then sets me down on the bed and removes my robe. His pants drop to the floor, then we’re both naked. I'm on my back and he's above me, looking like a sinful god.
"My turn." The words vibrate against my throat as he kisses his way down my body.
His mouth finds my breast, drawing my nipple between his lips. He sucks, gentle at first, then harder, until I arch off the mattress with a moan. His tongue traces lower, along the dip of my waist, the curve of my hip. And then he pauses.
His lips brush my belly. Soft. Reverent.
"Hey, little one." His voice is so low and quiet I almost don't hear it. His palm spreads warm over the place where our child is growing, and he presses a kiss there, the gesture full of all the tender things he doesn't say out loud.
My eyes sting at the intimacy of it. The sweetness layered into the heat.
Then his mouth moves lower, his dark head between my spread thighs, and I stop thinking about anything except the feel of him.
The first stroke of his tongue drags a moan from somewhere deep inside me.
He knows my body, has mapped every inch of it, learned every response.
And he uses that knowledge ruthlessly. His mouth finds my clit and works it with devastating skill while his fingers slide inside me, curling to stroke the spot that makes my vision blur.
"Nick—" His name breaks in my throat.
"I've got you." His breath is hot against my wet flesh, his voice rough with his own need. “I can’t get enough of your pussy."
The tension coils tighter with every stroke of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers. The sea breeze washes over my heated skin and the sound of the water blends with my own ragged breathing, and the pleasure builds and builds until my whole body is trembling with the effort of containing it.
"I love the way you taste. The way you’re always so wet for me."
I moan, writhing under the skilled devastation of his lips and mouth and tongue. His fingers thrusting inside me only heightens the pleasure, and soon I’m climbing toward a climax I can’t control. My hips buck against his face, my body needing more.
“That’s it, angel. Come for me.” A command wrapped in velvet.
There’s no holding it back, not that I even try. He feels too good, and he knows all the ways to make me shatter.