Chapter 15 Bree #2
The sight of it, his face contorting with pleasure while his mouth is still on me, pushes me over the edge I’ve been denied. I cum so fucking hard my vision whites out, my thighs clamping around his head, his name ripping from my throat.
“NICO!”
He doesn’t stop.
Keeps licking me through it, keeps drawing out every aftershock until I’m oversensitive and squirming.
Finally he stands. His eyes never leave mine as he reaches into his back pocket, retrieving a worn leather wallet. He flips it open, and I watch, breath catching, as he plucks out a single foil square.
He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, peeling off his jacket first, letting it fall to the floor with a whisper of expensive fabric.
His tie follows, slithering down like a black serpent.
Then his shirt. The buttons undone one by one, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen flexing with each movement, every muscle honed for purpose, not show.
He drops the shirt, revealing shoulders like carved marble.
His belt buckle clinks, loud in the quiet room. He unfastens it, then the button of his trousers, the zipper a slow, torturous descent. He pushes them down his hips, along with his boxer briefs, and steps out of them.
Oh god.
His erection stands thick and proud, the veins mapping the length like braided silk.
It’s... magnificent. Exactly like I remember it.
Heavy, with the head flushed a deep burgundy and glistening in thick, white cum from his earlier release.
My mouth floods with saliva imagining how it would feel, how it would stretch—
He’s still holding the foil square, and he tears it open with his teeth, never breaking eye contact. Those broad-palmed hands are steady as he rolls the condom down his length. The latex catches slightly at the crown, hugging those thick veins before smoothing down the shaft.
I bite my lip, transfixed by the ritual. The way his abdominal muscles tense as he works. The flex in his biceps. The sheer maleness of him.
Then it’s done, and he’s moving, closing the distance between us in two predatory strides. His scent, that explosive cologne undercut with pure male sweat, washes over me.
He undoes my bra with one smooth motion of his right hand, and it falls away.
A powerful forearm braces beside my head on the bed, caging me in. His other hand captures both my wrists in an unbreakable grip, pinning them above me.
I feel the cool sheets beneath me, the heat of him in front, and between my thighs, a pulsing ache where my damp pussy waits for him.
“Don’t move.”
I should argue or assert some control.
Instead, I nod.
“Good girl.” He pushes into me slowly. Watching my face for every reaction.
And despite the possessive fury of everything that came before, there’s something almost tender in his attention. The way his thumb strokes my wrist. The way his eyes check in with mine, waiting for a nod before he continues.
Then he starts to move, and all tenderness evaporates.
He fucks me like he’s making a point. Like he’s erasing every trace of anyone who came before. Every stroke is deep and claiming, and when I try to arch into him, he presses my wrists harder into the mattress.
“I said don’t move,” he hisses.
“I can’t just—”
“You can.” He shifts his angle, and suddenly every thrust hits exactly right. “Be good for me.”
Oh god—
Oh god—
Oh god—
“Spread wider,” he commands.
I obey. My thighs fall open, and he groans, picking up the pace. Jackhammering me now.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Show me how much you want it.”
The dirty talk winds the tension inside of me tighter, hotter, building toward—
“Nico—”
“Not yet.” His voice is strained. “With me.”
He releases my wrists just long enough to reach between us, his thumb finding my clit. The dual sensation of him inside me and the pressure on my clit is too much.
I’m going to shatter.
“Now,” he commands. “Cum now.”
I do. Screaming into his shoulder, my whole body clenching around him.
He follows seconds later, his groan muffled against my hair, his hips stuttering through his own release.
“Bree Bree Bree,” he intones my name in time to each shudder.
My pussy clenches against his huge cock, milking him for all he’s worth.
And then it’s done. He collapses on top of me.
Over all too soon.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
He’s heavy on top of me. His heart pounds against my chest, and I can feel mine answering.
What the hell did we just do?
Eventually, he rolls off. Deals with the condom. Then lies beside me, staring at my ceiling.
I wait for him to say something. An apology for stalking. An explanation. A declaration.
Something.
The silence stretches.
“You followed me,” I finally say. My voice comes out hoarse. “Across the city. For ninety minutes.”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
“Yes.”
“You almost hit him. A man who did nothing wrong.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Nothing wrong? I beg to differ.”
I should kick him out. I should be furious. I am furious.
But I’m also lying here next to him in my rumpled sheets, marked by his mouth, wrecked by his cock, and still trembling from the aftermath.
What does that make me?
“This changes everything,” I whisper.
He turns his head to look at me. In the darkness, I can barely make out his features. The scar. The sharp lines of his face. The vulnerability he tries so hard to hide.
He doesn’t answer.
Maybe it doesn’t change a thing.
More silence. Neither of us reaches for the other. Neither of us makes promises.
We both know better.
Somewhere outside, the city hums with late-night traffic.
I just slept with my boss.
Again.
Complete and total idiot.
But when Nico’s hand finds mine in the dark, his fingers threading through mine with surprising gentleness, I don’t pull away.
I hold on.