Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
After dinner and many goodbyes, they’re hurried back into the SUV.
Nico watches Petra in his peripheral vision as the drivers speed back toward the hotel. Streetlights dance across her beautiful face, making her look otherworldly.
They slip through the service entrance, avoiding the media circus at the main doors, and he takes her hand in the service lift, needing to touch her. “That dress has been killing me slowly.”
“It was this or camos and my pink Docs.”
He laughs and pulls her closer. "You look good in anything, Petra."
Anticipation crackles between them and the journey to his room feels endless. The moment the door clicks shut, Nico presses her back against it.
"About time." He slides his fingers under silk to find skin.
"For what?" The breathiness in her voice alone is enough to get him hard.
He replies with a kiss, deep and thorough, tracing her lower lip with his tongue before he claims her mouth completely. Petra grips him hard enough to leave marks. Good. He wants her marks on him.
The silk dress whispers against wood as he pins her there, one hand on her jaw, the other mapping the curve of her waist. Her pulse hammers against his thumb where it rests at her throat. Her lips taste like mole and cerveza and something uniquely her.
"You've been driving me insane all night." He moves his mouth to her ear. "This dress. That smile for the cameras. Like you didn’t even feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“Anything.”
She laughs. “Is that supposed to be dirty talk?"
"Give me a minute." He nips her earlobe and presses into her harder, trapping her between his body and the door. "I'm working up to it." Nico’s need to be inside Petra is a primitive, possessive thing that’s dwelled inside his brain and under his skin for as long as he can remember.
Her laugh becomes a sigh when he slides his hand higher, fingers finding the edge of lace beneath silk and around to cup her ass. She’s wearing a thong. Christ. The discovery shorts out his brain for a solid three seconds.
They move into the room, shedding pretense and clothes with each step.
His fingers tangle in her hair—finally, fuck, he's been wanting to touch it all night—and the texture surprises him.
Softer than it looks, thick and vibrant between his fingers.
She makes quick work of his shirt, buttons scattering. He should care about that. He doesn't.
Those white stilettos are abandoned near the door with a satisfied kick that makes her laugh.
“Petra.” Nico breathes her name against her neck, overwhelmed by the reality of her here, like this. A boy's dream come to fruition now that he's a man. "So fucking beautiful."
“Nico.” Her voice shakes, and when he looks at her, her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide.
He kisses her again, slower this time. Learning the shape of her mouth, the way she gasps when he bites her lower lip, the pleased sound she makes when he soothes the sting with his tongue. She explores his chest and shoulders, fingers charting muscle and bone.
Talk becomes secondary to touch and taste and friction.
Petra’s dress drops in a whisper of silk that pools at her feet. Nico steps back. He needs to see her, and the sight steals his breath. Black lace. Tan lines. The lean, powerful muscles of her thighs and the softer curve of her small, perfect breasts. She's equally delicate and ferocious.
"Stop staring." But she doesn't move to cover herself, doesn't look away from his gaze.
"Can't." His voice comes out rough. "Joder, Petra. You're—"
She kisses him before he can finish, pushing him toward the bed until the backs of his knees hit it. They fall together, and the weight of her above him, all that strength and softness, makes his dick throb against his zipper.
Petra’s skin tastes faintly of salt and whatever expensive lotion she uses.
When he finds the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder, she arches into him with a gasp that goes straight to his cock.
He files that information away, adding it to the growing catalog of things Petra Hayter likes.
Her thong and bra come off slowly as he savors every detail. The way her breath quickens when he traces the underside of her breast with his thumb. The flush that spreads across her chest, creeping up her throat. The frustrated sound she makes when he takes his time.
"Nico." His name becomes a demand as he teases her inner thigh with his lips, deliberately avoiding where she wants him most. "Stop playing."
“Oh, no, I am not playing." His mouth ghosts over her clit, barely there, and she jerks against him. “I’m doing it right." He glances at her over the swell of her breasts. “This isn’t a race, Petra.”
“No, but you're—" Her words dissolve into a gasp when he licks a slow line through her folds.
She's wet, ready, and the taste of her makes him groan against her. His dick strains painfully against his trousers, but he ignores it. Learning her body and discovering what makes her fall apart matters more. For now.
He focuses on her clit, circling it with his tongue, taking his time.
Nico’s always been a quick study, but these are lessons he wants to savor.
He's learning what makes her clutch the sheets—quick flicks of his tongue.
What draws those perfect sighs and moans from her throat—when he combines his mouth with his fingers, sliding two inside her while he works her clit.
"Fuck." She lifts her hips, riding his face, and pride swells hot in his chest. "Right there. Don't stop. Definitely do not stop, Nico-ooh.”
He doesn't. He curls his fingers inside her, finding that spot that makes her curse in Italian, and sucks her clit. Her thighs tremble against his shoulders. One hand fists in his hair, holding him in place, while her heels dig into his back.
When she comes the first time against his tongue, it's with a filthy groan that makes him happier than winning in Monaco.
Her whole body goes taut, then shudders through the waves of it.
He works her through it, gentling his touch as she comes down, pressing soft kisses to her inner thigh while her breathing slows.
“Come here.” Petra beckons him up from between her legs.
He thinks it's for a kiss, until she shoves him onto his back with surprising force. Her strength shouldn't surprise him, but it does. He's still a chauvinist, even though he's seen how much weight she benches.
She grins. “Mi turno para jugar.” Her turn to play.
The sight of her above Nico, all wild colorful hair and flushed skin, nearly undoes him. "You speaking Spanish should be illegal, mi corazón.”
"Oh?" Her smile turns wicked as she straddles him and leans over, her mouth hovering over his, just beyond reach. Her wet heat presses against his still-clothed erection and he nearly comes right there like a teenager. "Le francais, c'est un choix plus s?r?"
She follows the question with a kiss the French invented and would salute. Deep and thorough and filthy, her tongue slides against his, and Nico's dick definitely pays its respects.
Petra grinds against him, deliberate and slow, even as she works at his belt and trousers. The friction is torture and bliss combined. When she finally frees his cock, her hand wraps around it, warm and firm, and he hisses through his teeth.
"Joder." The word comes out strangled.
"Eventually." She strokes him, base to tip, and her grip is perfect—firm enough to make his vision blur, gentle enough to make him want more. "But first..."
The mix of languages and actions that tumble off her tongue tests his self-control thoroughly. French compliments about his body. Spanish praise for his cock. English commands that make him throb in her hand. She's playing him as masterfully as she plays the media, and he's never been happier.
Though Petra tries to hold the lead, Nico's not conceding this battle easily. He grabs her hips, fingers digging into the muscle there, and turns both of them to put her beneath him. They wrestle, seeking dominance, laughing between kisses until he manages to flip her onto her belly.
"Giving up so easily, Hayter?"
"In your dreams, Bunny Boy, I'm—"
Her words cut off in a gasp as Nico slides his hand between her legs from behind and checks her engine oil. She's drenched, and the discovery makes him groan. He presses his mouth to her ear, his chest to her back; he’s both covering and coveting her. "You were saying?"
Petra's reply isn't family friendly in any language. But when he presses her onto her chest and raises her hips, she goes willingly, muscles tight, anticipation evident in every line of her body. She looks back at him over her shoulder, eyes dark and demanding, and mouths, “Now.”
He dons a johnny and lines himself up, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock.
Focus. Make this good for her.
She's fantastically wet and they both forget how to speak entirely as he slowly presses his dick inside her.
The effort draws a sound from her throat that he'll remember forever—surprised and pleased and desperate all at once.
She clutches the sheets and curses in three languages, shoving back against him, demanding more, deeper, faster.
He gives her slow instead. Inch by inch, feeling her stretch around him as her body adjusts to accommodate his cock. It's exquisite torture. She's tight and hot and perfect, and when he's finally seated fully inside her, they both pause. Breathing hard. Adjusting. Savoring.
"Move." It's barely a whisper, but the need in it undoes him.
He pulls back slowly, then drives forward harder, setting a rhythm that has her gasping his name. The angle lets him go deep, hitting spots that make her moan into the pillow. Her back arches beautifully, all lean muscle and smooth skin, and he can't resist running his hand up her spine.
When he reaches around to finger her clit, she whimpers and Nico almost shoots his wad, the sound is so fucking sexy. “Louder. I want to hear you."