41. Nina
41
NINA
I freeze, troubled at the sight.
Is Wesley’s bare torso sculpted like an ancient god? Yes. But it’s also covered with scars. Almost a dozen are scattered over his ribcage, chest, and shoulders. My fingers brush the ridges of healed wounds, heartache threatening to overtake me at what he went through to get these.
He notices my hesitation. When he reaches to tilt up my chin, I stop him. I lower and press my lips to the long scar beginning at his sternum, planting kisses until it ends above his navel. He shivers.
“Come here,” Wesley says, flipping us over and pinning my wrists above my head. He slams his lips onto mine and I arch into him, my final thread of resistance snapping. I wrap my legs around his waist and kiss him hard enough to make up for each lingering moment and longing glance. My belly churns with lust when his teeth clamp around my bottom lip.
“You have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted this—to have you underneath me.”
It’s my turn to shiver as he traces my waistband lightly, dipping under to grab my bare hip. “No panties?” He groans. “You really know how to bring a man to his knees.”
I hold back a smile. “It doesn’t look like you’re on your knees to me.”
He chuckles. “Have some patience.”
I squeal when he suddenly yanks me closer to the bottom of the bed by my hips. I watch him peel my clothes off piece by piece, my skin sizzling every time he touches me. There’s no agony quite like longing for Wesley. He’s the personified version of my passion and lust.
He drinks in the sight of me bare in front of him, and I feel myself getting wetter at the hunger in his eyes. Starting at my ankle, he slowly kisses up my body, speaking between each one.
“I have thought?—”
He kisses my calf.
“Dreamed—”
My knee.
“Craved—”
He softly bites my inner thigh.
“Your skin?—”
He kisses my lower stomach, sending sparks up my center.
“Your taste?—”
I tremble when he drags the tip of his tongue from my navel to between my breasts.
“What you sound like when you take me.”
Wesley takes one of my nipples into his mouth, his fingers twirling and pinching the other. I moan as the ache between my legs intensifies, and I bite my lip to keep from whimpering. I need him now . If it didn’t feel so damn good, I’d push him onto the bed to speed this up.
“Wesley,” I whisper in the same desperate way I had that night in the kitchen. “Please.”
He looks at me, his expression as salacious as mine. “Please what?”
I nearly flick him in the forehead. Were the past two months of foreplay not enough? I grumble impatiently. “Eat me, fuck me, do something .”
He laughs, kneeling at the end of the bed and spreading my legs farther apart. I inhale sharply and grip the comforter when his tongue presses against my sensitive core. I let out another moan, my lungs tightening as his finger slides into me.
“So fucking wet,” Wesley mutters. His tongue flicks in a perfect rhythm that won’t take long to send me over the edge.
“Oh my god,” I whimper, my back arching off the mattress when he adds another finger. His free hand shoves me flat and clamps around my breast. He holds my eyes and hand through every twitch and sound I make, watching me fall back as he picks up the pace, wild and greedy. I buck my hips whenever his tongue hits the right spot and his fingers reach the innermost part of me.
I would do anything to bottle up this feeling, to never forget the sight of him between my legs as he works me through an orgasm. I’m not the most experienced person, but I have enough to recognize how fucking phenomenal he is. The fact that it’s Wesley , the man who holds my heart as if it was designed for him, makes it so much better.
As I catch my breath, he plants soft kisses up to my neck, whispering, “Until watching you come, I didn’t think you could be even more beautiful.”
Fabric brushes against my leg, and I realize he hasn’t even taken his pants off yet.
“Please tell me you have a condom,” I whine, wrapping my legs around him. He untangles from me and darts to the linen closet eagerly enough for me to laugh. I scoot to the headboard, noticing the wet spot I left behind. I bite the inside of my cheek. Whoops.
I watch the corded muscles of his back as he rifles through the closet. His phoenix tattoo spreads halfway down, flames encompassing the born-again creature.
Wesley returns with the condom, audibly cursing at the sight of me lounging among the pillows. I usually cower away from this type of scrutiny, but he looks at me like I’m artwork. His gaze falls when I spread my legs. He drops onto the bed, making to crawl toward me until I press my toes into his shoulder.
“Nuh-uh.” I gently push him back. “Strip.”
He blinks. “What?”
“I said”—I lean closer, my answer defiant— “strip.”
Given the fact that I’m entirely naked, it’s only fair. When he gets up, I settle into the pillows in preparation for my show. I scan from his bulge up to his eyes staring back at me as he unbuckles his belt. He unzips, and I reach between my legs to rub myself in circles.
Wesley stifles a groan. “You’re killing me, angel.”
The nickname, his coarse tone—lust stabs at my core again. Arousal coats my fingers as he slides off his pants before following it with his boxers. I bite my lip at the sight of him, large and ready.
I crawl down the bed toward him, rising onto my knees. He pulls me close, and I think back to the day he sat behind me on the moped—how I could feel him against me. My body aches with anticipation as I gently rake my nails across his hairy chest. I want him more now than I did then. He covers my hand with his own, kissing me before pulling my legs out from under me. I fall onto my back with a squeal, already reaching out for him again.
He slides the condom on, lining himself at my entrance as he takes one of my breasts in his mouth and grabs the other. He rocks into me slowly at first, then all at once. The pressure, pleasure, pain—I can’t help releasing a strangled moan. I clamp my mouth shut, slightly embarrassed.
“Are you okay?” Wesley asks, a concerned furrow in his brow. “Do you want me to stop?”
I dread even the idea. I shake my head and bring him closer. “Don’t you dare.”
He chuckles, hooking his elbows under my knees to grasp the back of my neck and keep me in place. “That’s my girl.”
His rough voice invigorates those three words, only adding pleasure to each thrust. My body tenses with pleasure as the new angle brings him closer inside me than before.
“Fuck, Wesley, oh my god.”
I claw at his arms and fight to memorize the feeling of every inch. Even with his chest flush against mine, it’s not close enough. I know he thinks the same; his touch wanders my body without breaking the kiss or rhythm. My breasts, my waist, my hips. His hands are never empty, always filled with some part of me. It makes me feel more vulnerable than ever before. I feel seen, caressed, worshiped .
We move in sync, our pent-up lust melting together to make every stroke as euphoric as the last. I tremble at the wet sounds and cling tighter to him.
“Listen to how fucking good we sound together,” he whispers.
We shift back into the middle of the bed and Wesley tosses my legs over his shoulders. He moves with intention, precision. Being the subject of that precision sends a warm, silky feeling through my stomach, intensifying at the sound of his grunts and moans. Goosebumps shoot down my legs as I clench around him. The tighter I cross my ankles behind his head, the harder he fucks and the more numb my body gets.
“Oh, shit, I—” The words die on my lips as I climax again.
Wesley slows, bracing an elbow beside my head. I run my hands down his body, feeling the sheen of sweat over his skin. I’ve craved his body, his smell, his taste for months—and I’m devouring the whole fucking meal. There’s no one I want more than him.
“How many is that now? Two?” he asks, slightly breathless.
“You’re counting ?”
He looks at me as if I should know this. “Of course. Anything less than three is unacceptable.”
I laugh. “Then you’re in luck because that was the third.”
“Good.” He kisses me, and even though my legs feel like jelly, I push him onto his back and straddle him.
Butterflies ripple through my body at the ravenous look in his eyes, and I quickly fix my hair and hope it doesn’t look like a rat’s nest. Both of us moan as I lower onto him, twitching and rocking my hips to adjust to this full feeling.
Wesley reaches behind me and grips my ass. “Watching you ride me is the best goddamn view in the world.”
A smile pulls at my lips. I brace my hands on his chest to ride him faster. His head falls back as he mutters a bunch of curse words in Maldanian. He snatches my hips to take control, his muscles tensing. He groans and thrusts harder into me as he comes, and it’s hot enough to make me come, too.
I collapse against his sweaty chest. For moments, we lie together and slowly catch our breaths. His arms close around me and I shut my eyes as the feeling creeps back into my limbs and the world spins a little less.
“We should’ve done that weeks ago,” I mutter.
He chuckles, planting a kiss on my head before discarding the condom to settle in bed with me.
I want this—forever. I want him in bed beside me, smiling, laughing, holding. The world stops when I’m with him, and there’s no one I’d rather be frozen in time with.
Once I read Maia’s text about coming home late, I silence my phone and set it on the nightstand. Warmth spreads through my belly at the sight of Wesley waiting for me. With his shirt on, I slide into his arms and tangle our legs. He draws circles on my thigh across his waist as his other hand wraps around one of my curls.
His heart beating under my palm, I trace one of the scars on his chest and feel the ridges of puckered skin. I tilt to look up at him.
“You said I’m your first ethical job… what was it before?” I ask, my voice soft.
He pauses, trouble tugging at his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but all he can manage to whisper is, “Another time.”
It couldn’t have been that bad if the head of security assigned him as my bodyguard. I don’t press the subject, kissing the spot I’m resting on before closing my eyes.
The evening slips by, accompanied by the unspoken fact that I’m spending the night. Wesley cooks me dinner—if marinara sauce dumped on pasta counts as cooking—and I perch on the countertop to watch him work, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. I only make it three minutes before wrapping my arms around him from behind. Pressing my lips to his bare skin isn’t enough affection. So I clamp one of his meaty muscles with my teeth.
He hisses. “Did you just bite me?”
“Can’t help it.” I nip him again, a little harder this time. He winces and tosses an arm above to bring me to his chest while the other stirs the sauce.
“You’re a...” Wesley trails off in thought. He makes the talking gesture with his fingers. “What is the English word—for the fish that bites? E Maldasso no kaiséitré piranso.”
I giggle. “Sì, e piranso stara e piranha. I’m a piranha.” I nip his shoulder right by my mouth. I take a better look at the scar —or burn mark, it seems—that I’d bitten. It’s in the shape of a diamond, almost deliberate. “What’s this one from?”
He glances at it, then tries to shrug off the question. “Something stupid I did with my military buddies. Your Maldanian is getting better,” he says with a proud smile, and my stomach tingles from the praise despite knowing he’s lying about how he got the mark. He nudges my cheek with his nose, dragging his lips across my skin. “Mi verinìta Maldasso.”
My Maldanian queen.
I arch into him on instinct. My body reacts to him as if it’s half of a single entity. While we end up eating the entire pot of spaghetti, my appetite for Wesley is insatiable.