I can't think. I can only feel. And what I feel is his hand in my hair, tilting my head back, his mouth on my throat, and the dress tearing.
He tears my dress.
Not the zipper. Not the buttons. The fabric. One hand grips the neckline and pulls, and the sound of expensive silk ripping is the most obscene thing I've ever heard. The dress falls off me in pieces. I'm in heels and nothing else because he pocketed my underwear in the elevator and now, I'm naked in the foyer of our penthouse and he's still fully clothed and bloodstained and the power imbalance makes me dizzy.
He pushes me to my knees.
Not roughly. His hand on my shoulder, guiding me down, and I go because the look in his eyes is not a request, and I don't want it to be a request. I want to be on my knees in front of this man who killed for me tonight.
I unbuckle his belt. Unzip. Push everything down and wrap my hand around his cock. Hard. Hot. The vein along the underside pulsing under my fingers. I stroke him once, twice, watching his jaw tighten, watching the predator flicker behind his eyes.
I take him in my mouth.
His hand fists in my hair. Not pushing. Holding. I take him deep, hollowing my cheeks, my tongue dragging along the underside, and the sound he makes is raw and broken and MINE. I set the pace. Slow, then faster. My hand working what my mouth can't reach. His hips twitch forward, and I let him. I want to feel him lose control the way he made me lose control in the elevator.
He pulls me off. Breathes hard. His cock gleams wet in the dim light.
"If you keep doing that, this ends too fast."
He pulls me to my feet and takes me down to the floor.
The living room floor. Hardwood. Cold against my back, his body burning hot above me. He settles between my thighs and his mouth starts at my neck and moves down. My collarbone. The curve of my breast. He takes my nipple in his mouth and sucks and my back arches off the floor. His hand palms my other breast, kneading, his thumb circling the nipple until both peaks are hard and aching and I'm writhing beneath him.
Lower. His mouth traces down my stomach, over my hip, along my inner thigh. Bites gently. I gasp. He spreads me open with both hands and looks at me and the hunger in his face makes me clench.
"I could eat you for hours."
"Prove it."
His mouth finds me. And this is different from our first night. This is not exploration. This is a man who has spent ten days studying my body with the focus he brings to war, and he knowsexactlywhat he's doing. His tongue drags through me, slow, gathering the wetness that hasn't stopped since the back room, and the groan he makes vibrating against me says he'll never get enough of how I taste.
He circles my clit. Slow. Deliberate. The pressure builds in a spiral he controls completely. I try to grind against his mouth and his hand pins my hip to the floor. Holds me still while he works.
"Nico, please?—"
"You'll come when I make you come."
His tongue flattens against my clit. Presses. Then two fingers push inside me, curling upward, finding the spot that makes my vision fracture, and he works both simultaneously. His mouth relentless on my clit, his fingers stroking inside me, and the dual assault is precision-engineered to take me apart. He knows the pace. He knows the pressure. He knows the exact moment to speed up because my thighs start shaking and he GIVES it to me,harder, faster, his fingers curling, and his tongue circling and I come so hard my back lifts off the hardwood.
I scream. His name. Or a sound that was supposed to be his name before language abandoned me. He doesn't stop. Keeps his mouth on me through every pulse, every aftershock, licking me gently as I come down until I'm twitching and gasping and my hand pushes weakly at his head.
He rises over me. Wipes his mouth. The blood on his jaw has smeared with my wetness. Violence and desire mixed on his skin. The sight makes me reach for him.
I'm done being underneath.
I grab his shoulders. Pull him down. He comes willingly. I hook my leg around his hip and roll us and he lets me, lets me take the top, and I reach between us and take his cock in my hand and guide him inside me.
I sink down and the sound I make is guttural and real and I don't care what it sounds like because the fullness of him after the orgasm is overwhelming. Swollen, sensitive, every nerve ending lit, and he fills me completely and the stretch is exquisite.
I ride him. Not the slow tenderness of the night he wept. Hard. My hands on his chest, my hips driving down, taking him as deep as my body allows. He grips my hips and thrusts up to meet me and the collision of our bodies echoes off the walls.
"You feel so good," he grinds out. "God… You're so tight after you come."
I brace my hands on his chest and shift the angle. Find the spot. Grind against him with every downstroke and the friction is exactly right. His thumb finds my clit and circles and I'm building again, the third time, and it's building fast because my body is primed and sensitive and his cock inside me and his thumb on me is too much and not enough simultaneously.
"Together," I say. "This time together."
His hips drive up. I press down. His thumb circles faster and I clench around him and the wave breaks. I come and feel him follow in the same breath. His back arches off the floor and his hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise and the sound he makes is wrecked and his warmth floods inside me and I collapse against his chest and we're both shaking.