Page 21
I HAVE A whole speech planned for when we run into Loretta and must explain that I’m spending the night with Niko, but her car is absent from the driveway when we pull up in front of the house. Niko opens the car door for me and ushers me toward the side gate, and I follow him along the stone path through the backyard, his arms full of my stuff.
He unlocks the door, ushering me inside before hustling ahead of me, disappearing into what I assume is the bedroom. I linger in the foyer, suddenly buoyant with nerves. We’re alone, together, and even though I was here just last week, it suddenly feels more intimate. I channel all my nervous energy into admiring a glass bowl filled with scented pine cones, and when he returns I’m still studying it like it’s a newly discovered specimen from another planet.
“Hey.” He glances down at his watch. It’s dark outside now, so it must be close to nine, I’d guess. “Are you tired?” he asks, but I shake my head no.
“Could I shower?” I ask. I hadn’t been able to take one this morning, and right now, water seems soothing, comforting, something that could wash this antsy feeling right off me.
“Of course.” He jumps up and steers me toward the small bathroom I spotted when we walked in the front door.
He flips on the lights to reveal a hot-pink-tiled sink and bathtub.
“Holy crap, I am obsessed with this,” I gush, running my hand over the perfectly maintained vintage countertops. “This all must be original from when the house was built.”
“I had a feeling you’d love it,” he says with a soft smile. “Let me grab you a towel.”
When he returns, he’s got a bathrobe draped over his arm. “Loretta bought this for me when I got here, but I’ve never used it.”
He passes it to me, and the turquoise terrycloth is buttery soft in my hand.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll be quick.”
“No rush.” He waves me off and shuts the door behind him, and I can’t help but notice how polite he’s being. It’s almost like he’s nervous about having me here, and it’s a thought that tickles me.
I carry these feelings with me into the shower, picking apart the way he cared for me earlier today as I scrub soap on every part of my body and shampoo my hair twice, just to give myself an excuse to stay in the warm, steamy bathroom a bit longer. Finally, when there isn’t an inch left of skin that hasn’t been polished and cleaned, I begrudgingly shut off the water and slide into the warm embrace of the bathrobe.
It hangs off me. I look like a small child playing dress-up in a wizard’s cloak. The towel I wrap my hair in is enormous too, and I feel utterly cozy, if not a little ridiculous.
I shuffle back out into the living room and discover Niko bent over the couch—still in his clothes from earlier today—tucking a sheet into the cracks of the sofa.
“Is this my spot?” I ask, watching him.
He quickly spins to look at me, his forehead creased with worry. “You okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
He’s quiet as he paces for a moment in front of the TV before plopping down in the cushy armchair in the corner of the room. “That was just a long shower. I was worried maybe you fainted again, that’s all.”
He sounds exhausted with concern, and it reminds me of the Niko I first met in Loretta’s hospital room, scowling and stressed.
“I am still in one piece, thank you very much.” I stick out my hand, giving him a pointed thumbs-up. “All good, Doc! Ready to party.”
“Bex, you should take it easy.” He rises to stand and walks down the hall. “You’re taking my bed.”
“Niko, I am fine on the couch,” I say as I follow him.
“Will you please just trust me on this? I’ve had the same thing happen before from being exhausted and dehydrated. You should get some good rest.” He switches on the lamp on the bedside table and gestures at the queen-size bed, which is covered in a poppy-orange comforter.
“You don’t need to take care of me,” I say forcefully, standing in the doorway.
But I’m not sure why I’m protesting because, deep down, I’d liked it when he’d cared for me today. The soft, feather-light touch of his palm against my forehead. The gentle but firm tone of his voice as he instructed me not to move.
Now I know that there is a tenderness that lurks just behind every frown on this man’s face. I am beginning to see it not as anger or scorn but deep, careful concern.
He shakes his head, chuckling like he’s sharing an inside joke with himself. “I know I don’t, Bex. You of all people don’t need anyone to help you do anything.”
“Thank you, I think,” I say, though I’m oddly disappointed by this assessment.
“I want to take care of you,” he continues, and our eyes lock. “I want you to let me take care of you.”
There’s a funny edge to his voice, and the massive towel on top of my head seems like it weighs a hundred pounds. I suddenly feel ten feet tall and also the size of an ant under his gaze.
“Will you let me take care of you?” he asks quietly, his voice a hoarse whisper, and I think I know what he’s asking. I want to scream yes, but I stop myself out of habit, and then immediately feel frustrated by that choice.
“I’m not sure I know how,” I admit finally, the words spilling out of me. It’s a small confession of something more, something bigger, a larger piece of who I am, something I am finally seeing clearly for the first time. I have programmed myself to help others, to care for my mom, to tend to clients, to save the club. I make lists, and then lists of my lists, to keep myself on track, self-sufficient, on top of things.
But it’s more than not knowing how to ask for help. Even when it’s right in front of me, I’m not sure I know how to allow myself to accept it.
Niko walks toward me until his face is just a few inches away from mine, and up close, I can see that his eyes burn with desire even though he looks weary. I inhale the musk of him, sweat and sun and darkness and the absolute force that comes along with someone who spends their life always trying to win. It’s the scent of exertion, of drive, of a person who gives one hundred and ten percent to every small thing in their world. It’s heady and delectable, and my tongue drives out against my bottom lip, desperate to taste it.
I want him to ravage me. I remember the way he kissed me, like a thirsting man lost in the desert, stumbling upon water for the first time in days. But this version of Niko isn’t ravenous or desperately crawling out of his skin. Instead he reaches a hand to my face, brushing the back of his palm delicately against my cheek like I’m made of glass. He traces a finger along the bridge of my nose, following along the bow of my upper lip, and then across my jaw until his hand reaches the nape of my neck. His fingertips softly cradle the back of my head as he runs the pads of his thumbs along the arch of my eyebrows. It’s reminiscent of his touch earlier, the way he so gingerly held me, and I exhale, shoulders relaxing, trusting that I can actually let go, just a little.
He brings his hands to the twisted part of the towel and tugs, unfolding the creased cloth until my damp hair unravels, falling down my back. Then he tosses the towel onto the chair behind him and leisurely brushes my hair out with his fingers. It’s such a simple act, so kind and loving, and this, of all things, causes my lip to part on instinct, a faint sigh escaping my lips.
Niko smiles as he watches me slowly come undone, one achingly tender caress at a time.
“You know,” I say, heart thumping beneath that terrycloth robe, “it dawned on me recently that I’ve never asked you about any of your other doubles partners. Anyone I’d have heard of? Did you win a lot?”
I feel every inch of my five-foot-two frame as he towers above me, hands still stroking my hair.
“I never really liked playing doubles,” he says, dipping his head next to my ear, his breath spiking a shiver that starts at my neck and runs down the entire length of my spine. “I’ve always been happier being out on the court by myself.”
“So then why rope me into being your partner?” I press. It’s a question I’ve already asked him just a few weeks ago, but now I’m beginning to doubt his original answer. “They do have singles pickleball too, you know.”
“Why do you think, Bex?” He shifts even closer, so his body is flush with mine as he pulls back to look directly into my eyes. He’s holding my face in his hands, demanding an answer.
“Because you finally realized that pickleball is arguably cooler than tennis?” I’m trying to avoid what I really think with humor, and he lets out a low grunt of a laugh, which flips on every switch in my body.
“Guess again.” There’s a demanding, bossy edge to his voice that I find incredibly sexy.
“Because it’s good exposure for you.” I whisper the words slowly because I can barely form them when he’s this near. “Or maybe you’re lonely. Or you’ve realized you need someone else to save your ass on the court.”
“Close.” He says this with a growl, eyeing me like he has the power to tear my clothes off with his eyes and just needs me to give the final go-ahead before he does it.
“You’re missing the biggest reason,” he says. And I know what this is, what he’s giving me—it’s an opening. And just like the other night when I pulled him in for a kiss, I feel emboldened, reckless, ready to jump into the raging water without a life jacket on.
“Because you want me,” I say, sliding my palms up the expanse of his arms. It’s like grabbing on to two live wires that zing and spark under my touch. “You can’t stop thinking about our kiss, and being around me all the time and not being able to touch me is making you crawl out of your skin.”
I’m not just speaking for him. It’s what I’ve been feeling too, and each day it has ramped up and up, and now it feels dangerously close to tipping over. His head drops, resting against mine, and I don’t know if it’s a sign of defeat or relief, but it fills me with pure, heavy desire.
“Because you don’t know why you want me,” I continue, almost breathless, and now I’m the bossy one. My need for him fuels unbridled confidence, and I urge him closer with my touch, rasping my words against his chest. “But you do.”
Niko pulls away from me, and his eyes have never looked more intense than they do right this very second. “You’re wrong. I know exactly why I want you, Bex.”
He glides his hands down my back to my waist, with a squeeze, like he wants me to know that I belong to him. It’s possessive, and if it was anyone but Niko, it would bug the crap out of me. But I’m drunk on carnal need, and I love it. There is something in me that completely releases under his touch, as if my subconscious knows it can truly relax as long as he’s holding me. I’m not sure how it’s possible when I also feel like I am on high alert every time I’m in his airspace. But this is the heady mess he makes of me. “Tell me,” I urge him on.
“Because, Bex,” he says with a pained laugh, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the moment I laid eyes on you in the hospital. Every day, I show up at the club, and I can’t wait to see what amazing outfit you’ve concocted. Also because I roped you into doing this tournament with me and you said yes, even though you’ve got plenty of shit on your plate already. Because you kissed me first, when I’d wanted to do that for two weeks but was too chickenshit to try. Because you constantly flip your hair over your shoulder in this way that drives me utterly, fucking insane.”
I reach up and twist my damp hair, letting it fall over my shoulder.
“Like that,” he purrs and leans closer. “I’ve never seen anything so sexy as you, pissed off at me, flipping your hair around.”
“So you only wanted to play with me because you like how I flip my hair,” I say, trying to make a joke as I repeat his words back to him, but my voice comes out raspy and pleading.
“At first, yes,” he admits, picking up a wavy lock and rolling it between his fingers. “But I’m beginning to think now it’s because I’ve always thought I was happier on the court alone, and you’re the first person who’s ever made me question if that’s really true.”
I swallow hard, processing the words coming out of his mouth.
“Will you let me take care of you, Bex?” Niko asks again, and this time, I give in to the temptation to say yes.
“I’ll try.”
My entire body aches with anticipation. He strokes a tendril off my forehead, runs his thumb across my bottom lip, tugging it down ever so slightly. “So you’ll let me take the couch? And sleep in the bed?”
“As long as you’re not about to tell me to go sleep,” I say. “Because I feel fine, and I need you to trust me to make decisions for myself.”
He nods slowly.
“Lie down,” he says, and I blink a couple of times as I process the demand. Did he not hear what I just said?
“I told you, Niko I’m not going to—”
“Sleep, I know.” His voice is direct and hard. “That’s not why I want you to lie down.”
“Oh,” I manage to squeak out.
“What I want is to make you come.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me, and for a second, I’m frozen. Not out of fear or apprehension, but anticipation. This is exactly what I want, to be cared for, to be selfish and just take for a little bit. I just need to give myself permission that it’s okay to do exactly this.
I nod yes as my senses click on again, and I stumble backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed. He prowls closer, running his hand from the top of the robe’s collar all the way to the belt tied loosely at my waist. I follow his gaze down to where it rests at my stomach as he gives it a tug, twisting his fingers through the knot and loosening it. We’re both watching him undress me, and I’m hypnotized by the unhurried, steady movement of his fingers as they pull on the belt and spread the robe open. I shiver, and my heart is racing, blood pumping through every vein at a mile a minute. He tugs the robe down over my shoulders, and it drops to the floor so that I’m standing there in front of him, absolutely naked.
He lets out a pleased groan at the sight of me. “Are you fucking serious, Princess?” he says, lips parting. “If at any time you want me to stop, just tell me.”
“Like a safe word?” I let out a nervous giggle. “Can it be something pickleball related. What about ‘dink’?”
“That works.” He laughs low and breathily against my ear and runs a hand over the round curve of my stomach, teasing his index finger along my belly button. “You are so fucking gorgeous, Bex. Now will you please, for the love of god, lie down on the bed?”
This time, I don’t protest. Instead I fall back onto the mattress, and he slowly climbs over me, fully clothed, his lips meeting mine with the softest, slowest kiss. His calloused palms on my skin are just the slightest bit rough, and the sensation is ecstasy. Niko takes his time, gently stroking the curves of my hips, down over my ass, and then up the slope of my spine, until he’s back at my neck. I like this patient side of him, and he braces his palms on the side of my face and leans in, kissing me reverently, like the entire existence of the universe hinges on this very moment. His lips travel down my body slowly; they press against my collarbone and taste every inch of my breasts. Then his tongue swirls along my belly button, and I reach down and catch his chin in the palm of my hand. He nips at my fingers, kissing the tip of my thumb.
I open my eyes briefly and watch as he lifts my hips slightly, sliding a pillow underneath me. He looks wild and untamed but different from the beast I see on the court. It’s almost like he’s drugged, and his eyes roll back in his head as his shoulders nudge my legs apart, his tongue circling a freckle on the inside of my thigh. I love that this turns him on. Sometimes it’s so hard to get a reaction out of Niko that to see him completely unravel like this is maybe the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
There are words I want to say trapped somewhere, things like, “I like you more than I should,” and “I haven’t felt this alive in so long,” but they don’t make it to my mouth. Instead I stroke the soft curls on his head as he plants kisses closer and closer to the tuft of hair between my legs. A shiver ripples through me, and my body jerks, and Niko clearly loves this, letting out a laugh as he drags his tongue down and grazes my clit with the lightest touch. He blows softly, giving me another barely there kiss, and I tangle my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, urging him closer. He senses my desperation, and his cocky chuckle is hot pleasure on my damp skin.
“Niko, please,” I beg, scooting up to look at him.
“Lie down and let me take care of you,” he says more firmly.
I drop my head onto the soft pile of down pillows, one hand wrapping around the metal bed frame. Niko glances up as I tug on it, holding it tight like a lifesaver.
“Oh god, that’s so hot, Princess,” he groans, and I roll my hips at the nickname, which has now definitely become a thing between us. “I want you to stay just like that. Don’t take your eyes off of me.”
Little does he know it’s impossible not to stare at him because he’s the most frustratingly beautiful man I’ve ever seen. His words send a wave of warmth rippling through me, and he meets the moment with a firm push of his tongue like he could sense I was already letting go.
Wrapping both of his hands around my ass, he lifts me closer to him as he pushes inside me with strong, tender strokes of his tongue. Then he slides his tongue back up to my clit, circling it slowly as I writhe under him.
“Look at you, so desperate to come on my mouth,” he laughs, nibbling me gently with his teeth. “Don’t you know how patient I am, Bex? I could keep you here all night like this, right on the edge, and I’d love every minute of it.”
“Of course you would, you sadist,” I choke out. “You love to torment me.”
“It’s the only way you’ll let me hang out with you,” he says, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s serious. Does Niko go back and forth with me because it’s the only way I let him in? Before the thought can haunt me, he shifts and slides one hand out from underneath me, tracing my entrance with his finger.
“Do you want to come, Bex?” he teases, slowly pushing one finger inside me.
“Yes,” I squeak out, bucking my hips and grabbing frantically at his hair.
“Not yet,” he says, and grabs a hold of my hand, pushing it back toward the bed frame. “Hold on with this one, too.”
I begrudgingly oblige and wrap both of my hands behind me just above my head. It’s erotic and submissive, and I feel both wildly free and completely safe like this.
Niko places a soft kiss on the inside of my thigh as he slowly glides his finger in and out of me. He adds a second, and my body clenches at this extra bit of friction. “I know how badly you want to come,” he says quietly. “But you have no idea how badly I don’t want this to end.”
I don’t know if he’s talking about me, spread out in front of him, or this night, or whatever this whole thing is crashing down between us.
But I can’t ask him because my brain is too scrambled. My breath is rapid, faster and faster. I’m too raw and undone by his lips sucking softly on my clit, his hand moving at a snail’s pace inside me. He pulls all the way out, and I gasp; without him inside me everything aches. But then he’s pushing back again slowly, stretching me as his lips gently tug and suck, tug and suck. In that moment, the world ends, or maybe it begins again. My eyes clench shut, and the blackness gives way to stars, sparkling in every direction. He senses my every move, pushing faster and harder inside me. It’s only then that I realize he’s matching the pace of my moaning, which is coming out of me like a chant. “Yes, yes, yes,” I’m saying, as he thrusts in time with me, as I come undone on his mouth, on his hand, on this magical thing blooming between us.
I don’t know how long we stay with Niko’s head on my stomach, his palm flat on my hip bone, with my hand mindlessly stroking his hair away from his forehead. When my pulse finally settles and the adrenaline surge resides, the room comes back into focus.
I literally cannot move. Not because of my fainting spell earlier or because Niko is lying half on top of me, but because he’s drained me of every working muscle, bone, fiber.
If I had any energy left, I’d drag his face to mine, flip him onto his back, and see if I could make him moan my name. But all I can do is tap the side of his head with my index finger and mumble.
“Niko,” I whisper.
“Mm-hmm?” He lifts his eyes, planting a kiss on my hipbone as he watches me.
“Thank you,” I say. “For taking care of me today.”
His lips curl into a mischievous smile. “If I had known that playing pickleball would mean I’d get to end up with you in my bed, I’d have started a lot earlier.”
“Only when I beat you,” I tease.
“Fine with me,” he says with a shrug, snuggling back down against my stomach. “You can beat me every day then.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, and I run my fingers through his hair, scratching my nails gently against his scalp. “Seriously though,” I finally say, “I appreciate it. I’m normally the one looking out for everyone.”
“Well…” He flips over onto his back, scooting up next to me until he’s flush at my side, his arm gliding over my waist as he pulls me snug against him. “I’m normally only ever looking out for myself. It’s nice to get to do things for you. Thank you for letting me.”
There’s a raw vulnerability to his voice, like he’s just figured this out about himself and he’s still contemplating it.
“So what you’re saying is,” I say, running a hand down his forearm until our fingers meet and intertwine, “that we make a good team.”
“No,” he says, and my heart drops just a little. Maybe I’ve misread the energy between us, assuming intimacy when this is simply just a fun time for him.
But then Niko gives my hand a squeeze. “I think we make an amazing team.”