Chapter 15
NIKKI
I’d almost think Marek is jealous. It’s kind of cute. But unnecessary.
“Blake is my manager. He handles the business side of things for me. Well, he manages pretty much everything for me.”
He’s also been calling and leaving voice messages every day since he left, but I don’t want to talk to him.
“What the fuck does your weight have to do with that?”
I feel a softness in my chest. “Unfortunately, it has a lot. I’ve been told my whole life that if I want to be famous and successful, I can’t put on weight.”
“Shut the fuck up.” He stares at me with his mouth open. “That’s disgusting.”
I blink at him, my own jaw loosening.
“Your whole life?” he adds, eyes narrowing. “Who told you that?”
I shouldn’t have said that. Shit. I press my lips together, then reluctantly say, “My parents.”
He slowly moves his head side to side. “That’s fucked up. Sorry, I know they’re your parents, but Jesus.”
“Says someone who’s obviously never had to worry about his weight.”
“Yeah, I have. I was a scrawny kid. I had to fight to put on weight.”
“That’s different.”
“Not so much. A hockey player who weighs a hundred fifty pounds isn’t going to get far. But my parents didn’t push me to do it. I did it because I wanted to and I did it in a healthy way.”
I want this conversation done. “My parents didn’t push me.” I drop my gaze to my latte.
“I guess I don’t know what they did. But obviously they drilled it into you that you can’t put on weight, since you still believe that.”
“Well, so does my manager,” I say with an edge of annoyance. “I need to look good on stage, and in photographs.”
He studies me for a long moment. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he finally says.
I suck my bottom lip, meet his eyes, then quickly look away. It’s nice to hear that, but he doesn’t understand the pressure that society puts on people to look a certain way.
We finish our coffees and return home, our conversation not as easy as it was before.
I want to blame him for that, for being intrusive into my career, but as I replay the conversation over and over in my head, I know it’s because he cares about me.
And once again, I didn’t react well. Why do I keep doing that?
I’ve never had a hot temper. Lately, it seems like I get irritated so easily.
And he was right. My parents didn’t push hard, but they definitely commented on what I ate, or how I looked in a certain outfit or costume.
And sometimes it hurt. Now, I know I’m pretty.
I have experts who make me look good, and people tell me that all the time.
But when Marek tells me that, it… means something.
When we get home, I take another shower. After being outside in the cold, a hot shower feels good. Then I return to my bed and my TV to pass the rest of a long day doing nothing.
I’m distracted, though. I keep thinking about this morning, waking up in bed with Marek. The awareness that sizzled between us. The temptation.
And I think about that moment on our walk where he looked at me like he wanted to kiss the breath out of me. And I wanted him to.
Whatever that was in Vegas is still there. Attraction. Fascination. Connection. I still really like him and I still really want to ride him like it’s the last leg of the Kentucky derby and we’re coming in second.
My lips twitch up into a smile at my own thoughts.
Still. This is bad. I shouldn’t stay here with him when I still have feelings like that and I was so insistent that there could be nothing romantic between us. There can’t.
I need to shut that shit down. Or else go back to my own place and deal with being alone.
Wait. I wanted to be alone. Now the idea gives me anxiety. I am such a mess.
* * *
Marek makes dinner for us and asks if I want to watch a movie together. I know I should stay in my room and stay far away from him, but I’m tired of lying in my bed, so I agree and we watch Deadpool 2.
As the movie begins, he hands me a bag of Sour Blasters.
I look up at him in surprise.
“I’m not sure if I should give you those,” he says with a diffident shrug. “Since you don’t want to put on weight.”
My heart experiences a little glitch in its rhythm. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” I murmur. “And I’ll share them with you.”
He smiles.
I haven’t seen Deadpool 2, but I loved the first movie, and it makes me laugh which seems to make Marek happy. Unfortunately, it also makes me cry at the end when Wade meets Vanessa for a few minutes. I won’t spoil it, but it’s fucking heartbreaking and I can’t stop tears from running down my face.
This greatly disturbs Marek. As I wipe tears with a tissue, he hovers anxiously. “I cry at a lot of movies,” I tell him. “I cry at dog food commercials. I’m fine.”
“Okay.” His expression remains doubtful.
That night, I have another nightmare. I wake up drenched in sweat, my heart pounding. Once again, Marek is with me in the dark. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pulling me close. “You’re okay. You were dreaming.”
His arms around me feel so good. So safe. Against my better judgment, seeking comfort, I press in closer, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek. I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t stop myself.
When I’m settled, he draws back. “Okay?”
I swallow through a dry throat and nod quickly, but the truth is I’m afraid to go back to sleep.
“Come to my room,” he says calmly.
I shoot him a startled glance.
“I’m not coming on to you,” he adds patiently. “I want to stay with you, but my bed is bigger.”
I weigh this in my mind—having him with me when I have another bad dream… or being alone. My heart is still beating fast with fear. And the lure of having his warm strength next to me is hard to resist. So I capitulate. “Okay.”
He leads the way. I feel gross. My hair is damp. I’d like to have another shower but it’s two in the morning. He already said he’s not coming on to me, though, so it doesn’t matter if I’m sweaty and gross.
I climb onto the high bed and slip under the covers.
The duvet is like a cloud, and the sheets and pillows smell like Marek—I remember it from Vegas, a dark, rich scent, not powerful, but subtle and warm.
I close my eyes and breathe it in, and it brings back memories of that night in his hotel room, in his bed.
All the things he did to me. How he made me come until I was wrecked.
Boneless. Spent. How I loved exploring the shape of his sculpted muscles and his beautiful cock and feeling his response when I got to suck him off.
Oh, boy. I’m getting aroused all over again.
And he hasn’t even touched me. The ache between my legs intensifies and it’s hard not to shove my hand down there.
Maybe I should have stayed in my own room; I could be hittin’ the kitten right now.
I roll onto my side, facing away from Marek, and bend my knees up to my chest, squeezing my eyes closed and fighting the urge.
I haven’t felt this way since I’ve been back.
Which has only been a few days but feels like a very long time.
Over the last year, I masturbated a lot thinking about Marek, although less more recently.
And I haven’t had sex at all, other than with my hand or my vibrator.
Any time I had the chance, there was nobody who interested me… like Marek.
“You’re tense,” Marek murmurs behind me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I mumble into my hand.
“C’mere.” His big hands reach for me and his body shifts closer. “Relax. I’m just hugging you. Go to sleep.”
Relax? Relax? With his heat and muscles against me and his hand on my stomach, just below my breasts? Is he crazy? Now I’m even more turned on. A soft noise almost like a moan escapes me.
I know he heard it. I sense it from his stillness. I clench my teeth together, my breath coming in short gusts. I wait, anticipation tingling over my skin, knotting in my stomach. I want him to touch me. I want it so much.
He doesn’t move.
This is what I get for rejecting him. This is what I get for rejecting a good man—someone who has integrity and honor. Who won’t make a move on a woman who’s said no. Even when that woman is in his bed, wearing skimpy pajamas, and dying for him to take her to the bone zone.
At this point, my eyes sting with tears. Because Marek is that kind of man. And I pull in a shaky little breath that again I know he hears.
“What’s wrong?” His fingers move on my stomach. “Are you still scared?”
“No.” I need to be honest. I roll over to face him. In the shadows I study the shape of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. “I’m…” Oh, God.
He waits, eyebrows lowering.
“I want you.” The words rush out of me.
His eyes flicker but other than that he doesn’t react. “What do you mean, Nikki?”
“You know what I mean!”
“I’m not sure I do. And I want it to be crystal clear.”
“I’m horny,” I say. “I’m in bed with a hot guy and I want to have sex. And…” I pull in a breath. “I think it will help me. It’ll take my mind off… the stuff I keep thinking about.”
His eyes move over my face. “Nikki.” My name comes out in a croak. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Yeah. I already know that. I don’t care. Thank you, hormones. “Why not? We did it before. And it was good.”
His mouth flattens and his eyes narrow. He looks like he’s being tortured on a slowly tightening rack. Like he wants to fuck me despite thinking it’s a bad idea.
I slide close and press my breasts against his chest and run my hand over his shoulder. He’s wearing a T-shirt and boxers. I press my lips to his throat in a long, open-mouthed kiss.
“Jesus,” he groans. “Don’t do this to me.”
“Would it be that bad?” I kiss him again. “We have amazing chemistry.”
He makes a rough noise. I think he agrees.
I lick his throat. “We can do this. Please. Make me feel good.” I shift up and kiss his mouth.
I’m flipped onto my back in a heartbeat with him moving over me. Excitement flutters in my belly. He throws a leg across me and straddles me, stares intensely down at me as his fingers work open the buttons of my pajama top. My nipples tighten and liquid heat surges between my legs.
He slowly opens the shirt, his eyes hot, his lips parted, revealing me to him. “Christ.”
He sets his palm on my abdomen then leisurely glides it up between my breasts and back down.
Both hands caress my waist and slide up my sides and around my boobs, not touching me where I need to be touched, amping up my need.
And then he does, cupping me, gently squeezing, catching my nipples between thumbs and forefingers.
I watch his face as he does this, the way his eyes are dark, his mouth soft.
He bends down to kiss my chest, feathering kisses across my collarbone, gliding his tongue down to the nipple plumped up by his hand.
When he closes his lips around the tender tip, I shudder hard and reach for his hair, twisting my fingers into it.
He sucks and nibbles on each nipple then lifts his head and gazes down into my eyes. It’s like we’re moving in slow motion as he lowers his head, his eyelids falling, and he kisses me.
Oh, God. It’s been so long since I felt his mouth on mine. Since I tasted him like this. So many times I’ve thought about it and relived it and longed for it again. I open to him eagerly, hungrily, our tongues sliding together in long, deep, consuming kisses.
“Nikki.” He whispers my name then straightens and shifts back on his heels.
His cock is pushing at the front of his boxers, enormous with need, his massive thighs expanded in that position.
He hooks his fingers into the elastic waistband of my shorts and gently pulls them down.
I bend my knees up and back to help him get them over my ankles and feet and then his big hands are on my inner thighs, pressing me open, and he stares again at me, there, a blatant, weighty stare.
I’m so exposed, literally naked and laid out in front of him… and yet I feel safe.
“Nikki.” His voice is a rasp. “What do you want?”
I gaze back at him. I just told him what I want. “I want you.”
He closes his eyes briefly, then stretches out on the bed with his mouth near my center and studies me more.
“You’re so beautiful.” Then he kisses me, tender, suckling kisses over my labia and the junctions of my thighs and my sensitive mound.
I’m aching, throbbing. He licks me, rubs his tongue over my clit and every nerve ending in my body jumps.
He moves away briefly to get a condom, quickly rolls it on, then moves back between my legs, his knees spread wide, his beautiful cock in his hand. He glides it through the slickness, finds the soft spot of my opening, and presses in as he looks up and meets my eyes.
I arch up to him, wanting to take all of him inside me, my blood running scalding hot through my veins. “Do it.”
He plants one hand into the mattress next to my shoulder and I palm his chest, brush over his nipples, glide over his tight abs. He fucks into me with fast thrusts of his hips, the scent of us and the sound of our bodies meeting filling the room.
The eye contact is heart-melting, our bodies connected as close as they can be, but with our eyes joined too it’s even more intense. Even more visceral.
“Christ, Nikki. Jesus Christ.”
I feel like I’m floating, spinning up into the stars, pleasure twisting inside me then exploding with light and joy.
He shouts as I clamp around him, his head going back, his jaw clenching and he comes, too.
I feel him inside me, pulsing, and his body shudders against me.
He stamps his mouth over mine and groans in his throat and I love it so much that he’s doing this to me, with me, that he’s so deep inside me and we’re connected so closely, so tightly.
Marek rolls off me, keeping himself inside me and bringing me with him.
I’m panting and my heart beats in a wild tempo and the beauty and depth of what I just felt, of what just happened swells up huge inside me, a cyclone of feelings and suddenly, to my embarrassment, I’m crying…
big, gulping sobs and a torrent of tears.