Chapter 49 #2
Frosty air slams into my exposed stomach. I cry out at the frigid temperature. My sports bra is all that’s covering me now, and it feels like nothing in the cold and under the weight of the Game Master’s stare.
There’s no way the Game Master will buy this. Nico and I were kissing right before the sick asshole interrupted us.
But then I remember what DJ said that day we were listening to Morrow’s interview tapes:
He may be technically smart, but he’s not actually that emotionally smart.
Nico said himself that the Game Master believes what he wants to believe. Morrow already wants to believe that Nico snapped because he wants to be right about human nature. As long as we don’t make it too obvious we’re pretending, we could get away with this.
I kick my legs out even though they’re still tangled in the jumpsuit, trying to get any leverage I can.
My head whips to the side, hair falling across my face as I scream against the tape.
Nico pins both of my forearms above my head with one hand, his fingers circling them completely, and the casual display of strength sends a bolt of heat straight between my legs that I absolutely should not be feeling right now.
Oh my God, what is wrong with me?
I glance at the Game Master again. He’s still watching us with those dead eyes, and my stomach turns over so violently I taste bile. I can’t feel this with him watching.
I turn my face away from him because I can’t look at the Game Master anymore, can’t bear to see him watching this.
I remember every lesson Nico ever gave me about building mental shields.
I erect them in my mind, building walls around Nico and me, shoving the Game Master into the hallway, sealing the door, reinforcing the sides of this bathroom until it’s impenetrable, and my world narrows until there’s no one else here but Nico and me.
Until there’s just his weight pressing me into the floor, his hand circling my wrists, the heat of his body against mine.
It’s just him and me.
And he’s mine.
Nico wrenches my jumpsuit further down with one hand until it’s halfway down my thighs. He drags one finger along my slit through the cotton, so slow and careful it barely registers as pressure. My breath snags.
He does it again, harder this time, and drops onto his elbow on one side of me. I get the muddy realization he’s using his body to shield what he’s doing from the Game Master. His mouth finds my neck, all desperate and claiming, his teeth dragging against the tender skin below my ear. I gasp.
He traces the same path with his finger again and again until the repetition stops being soothing and starts making me squirm. My breathing starts to slow and deepen. A tiny thrill rushes down the length of my spine, all the way down until it thumps between my legs.
I’m so surprised by the sensation that I can barely process it. I’d been so focused on getting through this, and getting Nico through this, that feeling anything good didn’t cross my mind as a possibility, but there it is, that undeniable slickness gathering under his touch.
Nico tugs my underwear aside, the elastic biting into my thigh, and then his hand slides through me with nothing between us.
He goes still.
Because he must feel how wet I am. He jerks back to stare at me, and the look on his face is the same one people on TV get when they take a bullet. Shock. Pain. Confusion. He gives a tiny disbelieving shake of his head.
I throw my hips up into him, and he pins me down until I can no longer move.
Something shifts in his eyes, like he’s trying to shove his emotions back down, rebuild those walls he just let crumble, but they won’t go back up.
Or maybe they can’t. Maybe it’s not as easy for him to turn off as he says it is.
He dips a finger into me. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it everywhere. Every beat sends another thump between my legs until I’m throbbing under his touch. I rock against his hand, and an involuntary whimper tears from my throat.
Nico’s eyes flare.
He plunges his finger inside me to the knuckle.
The sensation is so sharp and immediate that my spine bows off the floor.
A moan rises from somewhere deep in my chest, but I trap it behind my teeth, biting down on the tape.
The sound comes out muffled and strangled, and I pray the Game Master can’t tell it’s not from fear.
Nico immediately springs back into motion.
His belt buckle clinks at the same time as he swirls that finger inside me, pressing into my walls, and my eyes roll into the back of my head.
Shit. Shit. I snap my eyes back to him as he shoves his pants down just far enough with his free hand, then grips himself, stroking hard.
I crane my neck so I can see him fully, but he bends over me before I can. He tugs the shell of my ear between his teeth for a second before whispering, “It’s just you and me. Understand?”
The words pierce through the cold, the fear, the awareness of the Game Master watching. They anchor me. Make everything else fall away until there’s nothing but Nico and the feeling of his hand between my legs and the heat building in my core.
I throw my head back like I’m keeping my face as far from his as possible, baring my throat.
Nico withdraws his hand and pounces on me. His mouth descends on my neck and he’s all teeth and tongue and open-mouthed kisses that burn a path up to my jaw. He bites down on my pulse point. I yelp, and the sting sends a jolt right to my core.
Nico’s hand slides up my ribcage, nails biting into my skin.
I kick my legs out under him, trying to look like I’m desperate to escape even though it’s hard to form a coherent thought past the fog filling my head.
The jumpsuit tangles around my knees, and the bunched fabric digs into my injury from the bottleneck.
The pain feels like someone took a hammer to my kneecap.
I cry out behind the tape, and Nico quickly realizes what’s happening and eases the jumpsuit off my knee, stripping it the rest of the way to my ankles.
The throbbing eases. It’s not lost on me that he could so easily tell the difference between my fake pain scream and my real one.
Nico yanks my bra up onto my neck and palms my breast, gripping so hard I can’t stop the moan in time.
The tape muffles the sound, but barely. I cover it up with a sob. His thumb drags across my nipple again so fast it could be a throwaway touch, but I know it’s deliberate.
I shove him away with my bad arm, real pain exploding through my mangled hand. The agony grounds me for half a second, reminds me we’re performing, but then Nico’s thumb grazes my nipple again, and the pleasure rises back in me so quickly that I writhe inside his iron grip.
Through my half-closed eyes, I glimpse Nico’s hand wrapped around himself, thick and flushed and straining.
He shifts one knee up roughly, forcing my legs wider, and notches himself at my entrance.
The blunt pressure makes me instinctively tense.
My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it over everything else.
He drags the head of his cock through my slick heat in deliberate strokes, up and down, passing over my clit with just enough pressure to make my thighs quiver.
Even when he’s being rough, I can feel the intention behind every one of his movements.
He’s choosing them like he chooses his words.
He pushes in that first inch.
Oh god oh god oh god.
The stretch is immediate and overwhelming, and so intense that I need to close my eyes.
My body resists instinctively, then yields, my walls fluttering and tightening around him as he pushes in deeper.
I’m wet enough that it doesn’t burn or rub, which is insane given the circumstances but not something I’m complaining about.
I can feel every single inch as he pushes his way in, splitting me open, and my body can’t decide if this is pleasure or pain or both, but the combination is more intense than any sensation I’ve ever felt.
He’s only halfway in. I’m already so full, stretched so completely there’s no room for anything else, no room to think or breathe or—
He drives home with one brutal thrust that punches the air from my lungs.
I clamp down around him, and he throws his head back with a groan that rumbles through my entire body.
Oh, fuck.
He pulls back and slams into me again and again, setting a punishing pace. I try to move under him, but he’s holding me down so hard I can’t, which is fine by me. My breathing is heavy and loud against the tape, and the sound of it turns me on even more.
His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back at a sharp angle that should hurt, but instead sends electricity racing down my spine.
“Fight me,” he growls into my ear, and even those words make me squeeze my eyes shut from the gooey feeling they give me. “I got you. I promise.”
I buck under him, but all I want is to be putty in his hands, mold around every thrust, take everything he’s giving me and beg for more.
He shifts his weight, and suddenly he’s everywhere—inside me, around me, pressed so deep I can feel him in places I didn’t know existed.
His fingers dig into my hip, holding me in place as he pounds into me with relentless force.
The wet sound of our bodies meeting echoes off the tile walls, and that should gross me out, but instead it makes the coil inside me wind tighter.
His free hand finds my breast again, rolling my peaked nipple then pinching, blurring the line between pleasure and pain completely. He doesn’t slow down. Just keeps thrusting harder, each stroke pushing me closer to something I’ve never felt before.