41. Nik #2
I hesitate for only a moment before sliding my fingers into the front of the black lace, not taking my eyes from his. My breath hitches as my fingers graze my clit.
He hums, and I circle it, desperate for the friction.
“Keep going, Nikki. I wanna see everything I missed.”
I rock my hips as he watches me touch myself. His stare almost burns my skin, and I’d do anything to keep it on me. I soak up his attention, barreling toward my release faster than I ever have without him.
He runs his hands up my sides before covering both breasts with his palms. Then his mouth is on my nipple. His tongue flicking before sucking it into his mouth. It’s enough to have me throwing back my head and careening toward my release.
He leans back, pulling my hand away with me right on the edge and holds it up between us, his eyes locked onto my fingers with a carnal intensity. He flicks them up to mine just as he pulls my hand toward him and slides my fingers into his mouth and sucks.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Every nerve in my body is on fire.
Then he fucking groans.
I open my mouth to say something, but I don’t remember a single word in the English language.
His lips quirk up in a teasing grin. “You taste so good on your own fingers, but I think I still need more.”
In a flurry of limbs, he flips me to my back, kicks off his briefs, then tears the black lace from my body.
He settles between my legs, pushing them apart.
His mouth skirts over the inside of my thigh in light, delicate kisses, once, twice, three times before sinking his teeth into my skin.
I arch off the bed, but he’s already soothing it with tongue.
I’m so close that when he gently swipes my clit, I almost explode.
“Please,” I whimper, and he looks up at me with a smirk before closing his mouth over it and sucking.
My vision almost blurs as my orgasm slams into me, and I writhe against him, griping his hair and tugging.
He works me through it, claiming every last second of my release before sitting up on his knees. Taking both of my wrists in one hand, he pins them above my head and grips my thigh with the other. His fingers dig into my flesh as he slowly sinks into me. I gasp at the slight sting.
The corners of his mouth lift. “Fuck, Nikki. You have no idea how bad I’ve craved this.”
I roll my hips, trying to get more, but he keeps the same slow pace.
“Shane—” I whimper, arching under him.
He bites his bottom lip, thrusting into me as I start to build all over again. “For someone who likes to accuse everyone else of being needy, you seem pretty fucking needy spread under me like this.”
“Fuuuck you,” I say, but it’s more of a moan than an insult, and I’m well aware it’s just proving his point, and I don’t give two shits.
He grins. “There’s my girl.”
Slamming into me harder, I buck my hips as tension coils at the base of my spine.
He lets go of my wrists and straightens, hooking both hands under my thighs. “Take what you need.”
I rock and roll my hips, grinding against him.
Every bit of nerves I had about him coming home have evaporated and all that’s left is contentment—peace.
He’s home, and everything feels like it might be okay again because even when he was at his worst, my life was better with him here. Everything is better with him here.
His thumb finds my clit, and my movements turn frantic, chasing my high. It doesn’t take long for me to fall over the edge, soaring in a way I only do with him.
He pumps into me quicker, finding his own release soon after, before collapsing on top of me. I hook my arms under his, gripping his shoulders for dear life because I’m just so happy he’s back.
“I love you,” I mutter into his shoulder.
“I love you, Nikki. Thank you for waiting for me.”
“I’ll always wait.”
The days pass, then weeks, and part of me feels like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for him to backslide.
But he doesn’t.
He seems really good, actually. He’s happy, and he comes home every night after work.
I know he still struggles—his knee bounces to an inaudible beat in the still moments, but he’s not wavered.
He’s finally the Shane I knew he was. It’s like the man who was buried beneath for only me to see has finally emerged for the rest of the world.
I have the night off, and we’re celebrating him being clean four months.
I made a quick trip to the store earlier to get everything to make Gran’s vegetable soup and brownies.
I have no clue if it’ll turn out, but it was his favorite thing she made, and I just want to do something really special for him.
He deserves it.
After checking on the soup for the hundredth time, I glance at my phone screen again. He’s only twenty minutes late. It’s not a big deal. He could have just gotten stopped by one of the guys at the club on his way out.
I can’t help it, though. With every minute that ticks by, my palms sweat a little more. I run them down my jeans and put the lid back on the soup.
He’s gonna walk in the door any second.
I pull bowls from the cabinet and spoons from the drawer and head back to the couch, unpausing the true crime documentary I was watching.
The show plays, but I’m not paying attention, staring blankly while my mind runs marathons around the possibilities of where he might be and checking my phone every few minutes.
When the credits finally roll, I’m damn near panicking, my heart like a wet blanket in my stomach.
I call JT.
“Hello?”
“Hey, J. Sorry to bother you. Are you still at the shop?”
“No. I left an hour ago. Why what’s up?”
“Was Shane still there when you left?”
“No…? We walked out together.”
Nausea rolls through me.