Chapter 33
Izzy
By the time the elevator door dings, Nik has me in a bridal carry.
The silken dress slides over my legs like water. It’s ridiculous, because all he did was press me against the elevator wall
and kiss me on the short ride up, but I’m on edge already. He unlocks the door to the suite without putting me down, then
kicks the door shut. He strides right through the tastefully appointed living room to the bedroom, setting me on the bed—and
slipping to his knees.
“No nightcap?” I tease.
He runs his hand down my calf. I let out a small sigh as he takes off my heel; my feet have been aching since the walk back
to the hotel. He slips off the other heel, sets both aside, and starts to rub my feet.
“I’m finding myself hungry again.” His serious, sensual eyes settle on me. “I’ll need something more than a drink.”
A moan escapes my lips as he presses his thumbs against the arch of my foot. I kick my leg reflexively. “You promised to undress
me.”
“I did, didn’t I?” He moves to the other foot. I knew his fingers were talented in other regards, but this is new. “Gorgeous
girl.”
My belly tightens with want as slick gathers between my legs, but despite my pleas, he just keeps massaging my feet. By the time he rises, turning me around so he can set the stole aside and undo the row of buttons marching down my spine, I’m forced to bite my tongue to keep moans from spilling out with each touch. He tosses his jacket and tie aside haphazardly, but at my look, carefully drapes the dress over the chair in the corner.
He doesn’t bother undressing me further.
Instead, he takes his time rolling up his sleeves. We didn’t turn on the lights, and the shadows sharpen the angles of his
face.
“Arrange yourself however you like,” he practically purrs.
My nipples go taut, rubbing against the textured fabric of my bra. The sky-blue straps crisscross over my rib cage, leading
down to matching panties. By the way his gaze darkens, I know he can see the wet spot on the front, the undeniable evidence
of my arousal.
As if I could be anything else when he’s like this. Dominant, yet graceful. Noting the part of me that craves it, and offering
to pull me in. I haven’t seen this side of him in full force since the summer.
I take a step back, then another, until my legs hit the bed.
I let myself fall.
“You still want me on my knees?” he says with amusement.
I nod breathlessly, sitting up on my elbows. Even better than his deep tone of voice is the way he looks as he sinks to his
knees again. No hesitation, just raw lust etched into every inch of his beautiful face. He settles between my legs, pressing
them open with his wide shoulders, and lets his breath ghost over the front of my panties.
I whimper, my hand drifting to my breasts. I pull my bra far enough down that I can twist my nipples between my fingertips.
At his curse, I smile at the ceiling—but it doesn’t last long when he nuzzles over the damp silk. His hands dig into my hips as he licks the fabric; he scrapes his teeth over it with enough pressure I gasp. Fingers slide over the top of the panties, then lower, pulling the ruined fabric aside so he can give me a proper lick. I think he says something, but I can’t hear it over the buzzing in my ears, the urge to lift my hips even though he has me so thoroughly pinned.
And when his teeth catch on my clit, a finger pushing into me, my hips do come off the bed.
“So fucking delicious,” he says, kissing my thigh wetly. “You taste like you were made just for me.”
I can’t reach his hair from this angle, but I wish I could; I want to pull and pull until he’s breathless, too. I wish I could
speak, but I seem to have lost that capacity. When I try, I just whine. He dives back in, fingering me as he licks and nibbles
and sucks. My core tightens, seeking more friction. I’m warm from the tips of my ears to the soles of my feet. He adds another
finger, stretching roughly. I whimper, twisting in his grasp until he holds me down and seals his mouth around my clit, turning
my desire molten.
His name finally bursts from my lips as I climax, swept away in an unyielding surf of pleasure. I struggle to angle my elbows
so I can get a glimpse of him, even as he continues to use that talented mouth and curl his teasing fingers.
He noses through the trimmed hair around my clit as his gaze meets mine.
Mouth slick. Eyes dancing.
I can’t see his grin, but I can feel it.
I muster up enough attitude to feel worthy of the necklace that’s still around my throat.
“Are you going to just stare, or get back to work?”
The words hit the mark; his body goes rigid. Pressing a quick kiss to my hip, he rips off my lingerie, then the rest of his
clothes. He settles against the headboard, as comfortable as a panther in a tree.
I wet my lips, staring at his smooth, muscled chest, his strong legs, and especially his hardened length, framed by neat, dark hair. He’s the picture of carefully contained power, and even though he wrung me out with his mouth, I want more.
He strokes himself lazily, and I nearly whimper aloud, clenching around nothing.
By the way he raises his eyebrow, he knows it.
“Crawl to me, Isabelle.”
The order—because it is an order—hangs in the air for the slightest of moments. He doesn’t push, and I know if I shook my
head, he’d pull me into his arms and ask where things went wrong, if my knee still hurts from earlier, but that’s not what
I want. I’ve always found safety in the ways he pushes me, and this is no exception.
So I crawl.
He keeps stroking himself, and I crawl, inch by inch, up the bed. Deliberately slow. A show for him, clad in nothing but the
diamond necklace, my hair long and loose around my shoulders. My breasts sway with each movement. I just came, but I honestly
think I could climax again from the position, the exposure, the look on his face as he drinks in the sight of me.
When I’m close enough, he doesn’t tease; he drags me straight into his lap.
“My good girl.” He squeezes my ass with both hands, massaging lightly. “You’re going to sit on my cock and take every fucking
inch.”
I scratch my nails down his perfect torso. He’s ridiculously built, each part of his body honed for the sport he loves so
much. I take his cock in hand, giving it a firm pump. He’s rock-hard, skin flushed and wet with precome.
I tilt my head to the side. “You promise?”
Part of him wants to roll me over; I see it in the way his eyes catch, but he grabs the condom he pulled from his wallet as he undressed and hands it to me. I roll it down, a little inelegantly, and with enough pressure to make him hiss. He checks between my legs, just to make sure I’m still plenty slick, and I don’t miss the hitch in his breath when he realizes just how soaked I am. He kisses me, hand tangled in my hair, as he lifts me up.
I slide down his cock inch by agonizing inch. He’s the biggest I’ve ever taken, and I love it regardless of the position,
but this is a special kind of torture. The slow drag of him against my core, the way his fingers dig into my skin as he fights
not to buck into me. When I bottom out, I’m practically panting, and he looks exactly as wrecked as I feel. He rubs my clit,
easing any discomfort.
“Slowly,” he murmurs. He helps me move on his cock, kissing my throat when I let my head fall back.
Each movement loosens moans from my throat. I try my best to move myself up and down, but before long, I’m trembling with
effort as well as arousal.
“This is”—I gasp as he gives my clit another firm rub—“a core exercise.”
His startled laughter makes me soar. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” He guides one of my hands to the headboard and the
other to his chest, for leverage. “Give me a little bit more.”
“I want to come with you inside me.”
“I know.” He takes pity on me, planting his hands on my hips as he snaps his own upwards. I cry out sharply. “I fucking want
that too, want to hear those sweet noises from you while I fill you up.”
Another thrust, and another. I bear down, meeting each of his movements with one of my own. I press my nails into his chest
so hard it must hurt, but he doesn’t even flinch. His intense eyes never leave mine, the hunger stark in his expression even
as he’s getting his fill. It’s as though he could devour me entirely and still want more.
I squeeze around him as we move together, pleased when it makes him moan. The pleasure grows and grows, bringing me to the peak. On one of the downward thrusts, he catches me against his chest. He holds us still, and with aching slowness, takes one of my nipples into his mouth and sucks.
I come with a scream, the tension seeping out of me in a rush. I wind my fingers through his hair, lifting his head. He crushes
his mouth to mine. I bite his lip because I can, and I smile when I feel him spend inside me, holding on to me so tightly
I know I’ll feel it tomorrow. He whispers my name, over and over, as we float down from the high.
I don’t protest when he untangles us, but I reach for him when he comes back to bed after getting rid of the condom.
We’re close enough that I can see the gold in his eyes. He tucks my hair behind my ear, a tender smile on his face.
I wonder if I’m the only one who has ever seen that smile. The only one to touch that scar.
I open my mouth, to say—I don’t know what. Despite what we just did, the night feels paper-thin. Anyone, even Nik, can say
the right things and touch me in the right ways, and still not want to stick around.
“I started the bath,” he says. He traces a pattern onto my hip. “It’s big enough for us both.”
A bath sounds nice. Much safer than the conversation I don’t even know how to begin.
“That is a spectacular bathtub,” I mumble against his shoulder.
He scoops me up, holding me with a fraction of his strength. “Need you clean before I can get you dirty again, sweet solnishko.”
When I wake, the bedroom, with all the evidence of last night strewn around, is bathed in morning light.
Nik’s spooning me, breathing softly, a hand splayed over my middle. Our feet are tangled together. I rub my face against the pillowcase as I smile, covering his hand with mine.
Every kiss, every touch, every word we shared, comes rushing back. The whole perfect birthday night, from start to finish,
in color film.
If you decide it’s going somewhere, don’t hide it.
I rub my thumb over the back of his hand. He has a bruise on his finger. He’ll need to tape it before his next game.
I’ll tell him over breakfast. I’ll tell him that I want to put a label on this, and stop sneaking around, and if last night
wasn’t a fluke, if it wasn’t a hollow moment without a heartbeat—
Reality slams in a second later.
The team. The bus back to campus.
I dive across the bed for my phone.
“Isabelle?” I hear Nik ask, his voice rough with sleep.
I fumble to unlock my phone. A dozen missed texts and calls greet me. Victoria, our other teammates, Coach Alexis.
I should have been on that bus three hours ago.