Page 152 of Babies for the Big Shot

She whimpers, looking back at me with wide, wrecked eyes. “Please…”

“You want me to mark you, baby? Want to feel me all over your skin again?”

“Yes,” she breathes. “Use me, Nick. Come all over me.”

That’s all it takes.

I grip her ass with one hand and stroke faster, watching her, watchingmymess dripping from her thighs, her back arching in surrender.

When I finally let go, I groan low and rough, coming in hot, thick ropes across her lower back, her ass, the curve of her hips. It splashes across her skin, warm and dirty and mine.

“Fuck,” I growl, watching it drip. “You look so goddamn good like this. Ruined. Marked.”

She’s breathing hard, arms trembling, completely spent. I lean down and drag my tongue up her spine, tasting sweat and skin and sex, then kiss the nape of her neck.

“You okay?” I ask, brushing her hair from her face.

She nods, smiling sleepily. “Never better.”

I grab a towel to clean her up, but not all the way. I want her to feel it later. To remember.

“You’re mine now,” I whisper as I pull her into my chest. “Every inch of you.”

And she doesn’t argue.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Sara

I know…I know it’s bad. But curiosity has well and truly gotten the better of me.

So I’ve been doing some light internet sleuthing.

Nothing major, just a little investigative work to try to unravel the mystery ofthe photo. I want to know who that woman is, and why Nick was so cagey about her.

That’s all. Really.

I told myself I’d let it go. That I wouldn’t get sucked into the rabbit hole. But, of course, I did. And now, here I am, lurking around gossip forums like I’m part of a secret society that’s too nosy for its own good.

Eventually, I come across a reference to a bookstore in Brooklyn, completely out of the blue, one of those throwaway comments that seems to have no connection to anything. But it catches my attention.

Apparently, it’s tied to Nick’s family in some cryptic, way-too-vague-for-my-comfort way. No specifics, but that’s all I need to start wondering if there’s more to this little thread than it seems.

So I go. Why not? What do I have to lose?

I take the subway, dodging commuters and the usual mess of city life, until I finally step off into Brooklyn. The bookstore’s tucked in a quiet corner, far from the main street, and as I walk up to the door, I feel it.

The shift. The soft, quiet pull of something hidden.

I push the door open, the small bell above it tinkling softly, and immediately feel as if I’ve stepped into a different time.

The air smells of old paper and a faint, comforting scent of lavender, like someone’s grandma’s house, warm and safe.

The space is small, but the bookshelves stretch up to the ceiling. Everywhere I look, there’s something I want to pull off the shelf.

I move slowly between the aisles, browsing like I’m any other customer, hoping to find something that could give me a clue, something that might explain the way Nick’s eyes darken whenever his past is mentioned.

But it’s hard to focus when the place is so damn peaceful. It’s a relief. A calm in the chaos of my mind.