Chapter 9 #2
Something about his voice, rough and low and wrapped in velvet sin, melts every coherent thought. I stretch back across the pillows, arms overhead, heart pounding so hard it rattles the bed.
His eyes trace every curve of my body, searching for the answer to a question he’s been silently asking for months.
Then he moves.
Fast.
He’s on the bed in one smooth motion, pulling something from his pocket. A tie. Navy silk. He meets my eyes with a look that makes my thighs clench.
“Say stop and I will,” he murmurs, voice brushing over my skin. “But if you let me… I’m going to ruin you tonight.”
I nod. Breathless.
“Yes.”
His fingers are gentle but sure as he binds my wrists to the headboard with the tie, tightening it just enough that I can feel the hold, but not enough to truly restrict.
It’s not about control. It’s about surrender.
And I’ve never wanted to surrender so badly in my life.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” he growls, kissing a line from my collarbone to the valley between my breasts. “Laid out for me. Trusting me.”
He sucks a nipple into his mouth and I moan, back arching, thighs tightening. But he doesn’t linger. He kisses lower. And lower. Until he’s settled between my legs, hands spreading my thighs apart as if he owns every inch of me.
“Nick, please…”
He exhales hot against my center and grins, wicked and devastating.
“Beg prettier.”
I let out a helpless, needy sound, humiliation and arousal tangling in my stomach.
“Please,” I whisper, squirming beneath him. “I need you.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “you have me.”
And then his mouth is on me.
He licks with a fierce hunger, his tongue flicking over my clit, then sliding down to tease my entrance before thrusting in. His nose presses just right and I cry out, arching into the tie binding my wrists, hips grinding into his face, chasing a craving I’ve been denied for far too long.
I am.
His hands grip my thighs hard, holding me still as he devours me. Tongue, lips, teeth, he uses all of it, sending heat crackling down my spine with every movement. And when I start to tremble, teetering on the edge, he doesn’t stop.
He slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right, and moans against my skin, his breath heavy with need. My body unravels under his touch, and I can feel how much he’s been craving this—me.
“Nick, oh my god…”
“Come for me,” he growls, voice rough and tight. “Let me taste how good I make you feel.”
And I do.
I come so hard I forget my own name, crying out as pleasure explodes behind my eyes, pulsing through my limbs and making my whole body shudder against the restraints. He doesn’t stop until I’m gasping, limp, twitching from overstimulation and completely wrung out.
He crawls back up, fingers tracing the curve of my jaw, eyes locked on mine.
He kisses me, filthy and deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue. And I moan into his mouth, because I’ve never felt more wanted. More taken. More his.
Then he unknots the tie.
“Now,” he says, tugging his shirt over his head and reaching for the waistband of his pants. “My turn.”
His shirt hits the floor.
Then his belt.
Then his pants.
And oh damn.
He’s big. Hard. Thick and flushed, and already dripping at the tip. My mouth actually waters.
“You’re staring,” he says, voice as dark as honey and smoke.
“You’re perfect,” I whisper, dazed.
He strokes himself once, slow and rough, eyes never leaving mine. “So are you.”
Then he reaches into the pocket of his coat on the floor, pulling out a small foil packet. His gaze flicks to mine as he tears it open with his teeth… deliberate, filthy, and utterly in control.
Then he’s crawling over me again, braced on his forearms, the heat of his body pressing into mine, his mouth tilts over mine in a kiss that burns with sin and sweetness, edged with something dangerously close to devotion.
He’s already hard and hot against my inner thigh, and I shift, trying to get him where I need him.
But he doesn’t give in.
Not yet.
He bites my bottom lip and pulls back just far enough to look at me. His voice drops.
“Do you want me to go slow,” he rasps, “or do you want it the way I’ve been imagining since the second I saw you again?”
I’m panting. My wrists are free but I don’t move them. I don’t want to move them.
“I want you,” I whisper. “The way you want me.”
His jaw flexes, barely leashed restraint.
“Be sure, Sara.”
“Nick,” I whisper, wrapping my legs around his hips. “Ruin me.”
His breath hisses between his teeth as if that broke him.
Then he’s pushing into me in one deep, hard thrust.
I cry out, back arching, hands fisting in the sheets, vision blacking out for a second from how full I feel. He doesn’t move. Just stays there, buried inside me to the hilt, breathing like he just ran a goddamn marathon.
“Fuck,” he growls against my neck. “You’re so tight. You feel like heaven. Like you were made for me.”
My nails dig into his back as I writhe beneath him. “Then move, Ashford. Take what’s yours.”
That does it.
He starts to thrust. Hard, deep, relentless. Each stroke knocks the breath from my lungs, presses filthy little sounds out of me I didn’t know I could make. He shifts my legs higher on his waist and grinds, hitting that spot that makes me gasp. I might as well be drowning.
The headboard starts to thud against the wall. The sheets twist around us. I’m soaked and shaking and everything is too much and not enough and…
“Touch yourself,” he pants. “I want to watch you come again.”
I reach between us with trembling fingers, rubbing tight circles over my clit as he pounds into me, watching his favorite fucking movie.
“Good girl,” he groans. “Just like that. Let me see you fall apart for me.”
It’s not long. I spiral fast, hips jerking, toes curling, mouth open in a silent scream as another orgasm crashes through me hard as a freight train. I shatter, legs clamping around him, back arching off the mattress, and he loses it.
“Fuck, Sara…”
He drives into me harder, deeper, hands gripping my thighs tight as his rhythm stutters, breaks. He buries himself one last time and growls into my neck as he comes, hot and deep and endless.
We’re both shaking when it’s over. Sweaty, tangled, breathless.
He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t let me go.
He stays there, forehead against mine, both of us gasping for air as if we’ve survived something fierce. His hand cups the side of my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with a hesitation that holds onto me, unwilling to let go.
Then he kisses me. Softly this time.
Like I might disappear if he moves too fast.
Maybe he’s trying not to mean it…
Bang.
Followed by barking, surprising the both of us.
Meatball launches himself onto the bed with all the grace of a furry cannonball.
Nick flinches. I yelp. The mattress bounces violently as Meatball bulldozes his way between us as if he’s decided now is the time to enforce the “no boys allowed” policy.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, trying to wrestle forty pounds of stubborn Frenchie off Nick’s very naked chest. “Meatball! No! Get down!”
He lets out a gleeful snort and promptly licks Nick’s face.
Nick blinks. Then laughs.
Actually laughs.
It’s startled and deep and boyish in a way I’ve never heard before—something just cracked open inside him and sunlight poured in. His eyes crinkle. His teeth flash. And I can’t help it.
I start laughing too.
And just like that, the room shifts.
The tension melts, the chaos settles, and I realize I’m curled up naked next to my very grumpy, very powerful boss while my dog uses his abdomen as a throne.
And weirdly?
It feels… okay.