Chapter 5
Nadya
THREE OTHER PEOPLE lingered in the hotel lobby when we came in. They glanced at us, then immediately looked away like they could smell the pheromones. I punched the up button on the elevator while Nick hovered behind me, close enough that I could feel his heat through my jacket.
The elevator doors glided open, and we stepped inside. Fortunately for us, or for anyone who might’ve shared this ride with us, we were alone because the moment the doors closed behind us, I grabbed Nick by his jacket and pulled him down for a kiss.
He growled and pinned me to the wall. The entire length of him pressed flush against me.
It wasn’t the careful dance from earlier today; this was two people who had already fucked once and agreed that restraint was for the weak.
He leaned in and bit my ear, hands sliding up under my shirt to find bare skin.
The elevator climbed. Nick’s left hand pressed on my ribs, thumb brushing the curve under my breast, and his right was already unzipping my jeans.
Ding.
Ugh.
He broke the kiss, both of us panting, then he grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hallway.
We barely made it to his room when his mouth found mine again.
My hand snaked into his back pocket to squeeze his ass—because why the hell not?
He fumbled the keycard, cursed under his breath, and then we were in the hotel room, door clicking shut behind us.
“Take it off,” I ordered, tugging at his jacket and shirt.
He complied, but there was nothing submissive about him. He grabbed my jaw and kissed me again, deep, then pulled the sweater over my head.
I was usually the one in control. If I wanted to sleep with a guy, I decided when, where, and how.
If it got weird, I bailed. I never thought I’d like this—being handled, stripped, pressed against a wall like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
But Nick’s hands were reverent, and when he shoved my pants down, he knelt to help me step out of them.
He kissed my knee, then the inside of my thigh, and my stomach did a backflip.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the dresser: hair wild, lips bruised, eyes glazed and hungry. No ghosts lingering behind my lids. It was a good look on me.
He tugged down my lacy underwear, slow enough to drive me insane, then cupped my ass in both hands. I expected him to fuck me against the wall. Part of me wanted him to.
Instead, Nick picked me up and deposited me on the dresser, its polished wood surface cold against the backs of my thighs.
He looked me in the eye as he spread my knees, nothing but steaming hot intention on his face.
He bent forward and pressed his lips to yet another circular scar, the one on my thigh.
Then his mouth made a slow, appreciative journey upward, and I lost the ability to think.
His hands pushed my knees wider. The first brush of his tongue—a careful, exploratory sweep—lit me up from the tailbone to scalp.
He inhaled me like he’d been starved for days, and this was his first real meal.
I gripped the edge of the dresser, not because I was some delicate flower in danger of falling, but because the contact steadied the part of me that wanted to float right out of the room.
He worked slow, sucking, licking, until I was grinding against his face, and only then did he draw his tongue up, the pressure perfect and deliberate.
He read me better than I wanted to admit, pulling away just to see if I’d chase him—yeah, I did.
I was practically whimpering now, and he rewarded me by flattening his tongue and working harder.
The noise I made didn’t sound like it belonged to me.
“Oh fuck,” I said, louder than I meant to. I grabbed his hair—not to guide him but because it was the only thing anchoring me to the earth.
Nick looked up, eyes hooded, lips shiny. “God, you’re so fucking hot like this. You want to come on my face?”
“Is that even a question?” I asked.
He chuckled, then redoubled his efforts. I dug my nails into his scalp, ground against him, and let the sensations pile up until there was nothing left but need.
The climax was less like fireworks and more like a blackout—one second I was in this room, sitting on the dresser with the mini-fridge humming in the background and the next, everything synapsed to blinding white pleasure that erased the hotel room and even time itself.
I might have screamed. If I did, I’d blame Nick, whose mouth stayed locked on me through the aftershocks until I shoved at his forehead, laughing.
He kissed my ribs, scattered little pecks up my naked torso, then groaned dramatically as he stood.
I tried to sit up, but my abs rebelled. Instead, I let him pick me up and set me gently on the bed.
My legs were jelly. When I caught his expression—soft, hungry, amazed—I had to look away before it got too personal.
“You’re unreal,” he said, voice hoarse.
I covered my red face with a pillow. Immediately regretted it. Too much vulnerability in the dark. I peeked out. “Do you say that to all the women you bring back from a bar?”
“I don’t go to bars often.”
“Liar.” But I believed him.
He stripped off his own pants, tossed them on a chair, then kneeled on the mattress next to me, naked and hard and so hot it was comical. “You want me to—?”
“Don’t you dare ask,” I told him, digging in my purse for another condom. “Just get over here.”
Nick flipped me onto my stomach and pulled me up by the hips. I yelped—part protest, part thrill—but he just laughed and mouthed “Trust me” into the hollow of my spine.
He lined himself up, slow and careful, then filled me in one long, relentless stroke. I arched, my nails digging into the pillowcase. He waited for me to adjust, then rocked his hips, grinding into me.
The only sounds were the wet slap of skin, my half-choked whimpers, and the small, helpless gasps Nick tried to smother against my shoulder.
I had never let anyone possess me like this before, never surrendered myself so completely without fear of it spiraling into something dark and ugly.
But with Nick, it was different. He was relentless but not in a punishing way.
It was as if every touch, every movement was an act of worship, his hunger palpable.
His hands roamed my body with a reverence that made my skin tingle, exploring every curve, every inch, as if committing me to memory.
His lips followed, tracing patterns of desire that left me breathless, gasping for air.
Each kiss was a promise, each caress a testament to the intensity of his need.
Time seemed to stretch and contract, the world outside fading away until nothing existed but the two of us, intertwined in a dance of passion and surrender. The room was filled with the symphony of our connection, the mingling of breath and heartbeat, the rhythm of bodies moving in perfect harmony.
And when I thought I could take no more, when I was sure I had given him everything, he held me closer, whispering words of adoration that made my heart soar, fueling the fire that burned between us. In that moment, I was his, wholly and completely.
He fucked me until my mind turned into a blur, losing track of how many times I came, each climax building upon the last like waves crashing relentlessly against the shore.
My legs turned to jelly, trembling uncontrollably as if they were no longer mine, and my vision began to blur, the edges fading into a dazzling white haze.
When he finally shuddered and spilled into the condom, he wrapped his arms around me and didn’t let go.
I was the first to break the silence.
“You okay?” I asked, half joking, half terrified.
He rolled us onto our sides, so I was cradled against his chest. “Yeah. I just... that was incredible.”
His hand traced lazy circles over my belly, fingers splayed wide, like he wanted to cover as much of me as possible.
There was a strange comfort in it. I should have hated this—being touched for longer than necessary, sharing a bed, letting my guard down—but I felt like a fucking cat basking in the sun.
It was so foreign I didn’t trust it, but I wanted to.
“Wish I was here longer.” Nick’s voice was muffled.
I snorted. “Is that your way of saying you’re leaving tomorrow?”
He tensed, then shrugged. “Two days. Then I go back to Pittsburgh.”
Something cold stabbed me in the ribs. It shouldn’t feel like this. I should want this to be over. One and done — that’s what I always did.
His lips pressed to my temple. “I want to see you again. I mean, if you want—shit, sorry, that’s probably too much.”
It was. And it wasn’t. I wanted... something. Something more than what I’ve been getting my whole life. More than I was allowing myself to take.
Well, it wasn’t in the cards for me, especially not with Nick. What did I think he’d do? Move here, take me home for the holidays to meet his weird Midwestern family and let me steal his sweatshirts? I wasn’t an idiot.
Instead of answering, I closed my eyes, focusing on the weight of his arm draped over my stomach and the heavy thump of his heart.
Eventually his breathing evened out, and tiny snores told me he was asleep. I lay there for a long time, fighting myself. Half of me wanted to burrow deeper into his warmth. The other half wanted to run as fast and far as I could before the walls came crashing down.
Guess which half won.
I slipped out from under Nick’s arm, careful not to wake him, and silently dressed in the bathroom. When I came out, he was still dead to the world, tangled in the sheets.
I hesitated in the doorway. For a second, I considered leaving a note—something clever or self-deprecating or at least not desperate. But I knew if I did, I’d find a reason to stay. Or worse, he might take it as a sign that he should look for me. So, I walked out.
I told myself this was all I’d wanted — a good fuck that could make me forget. It had worked. The nasty ghosts hadn’t surfaced tonight, and I wasn’t even drunk.
But somewhere deep inside, I wanted more.