Page 112 of Rejected By My Shifter Billionaire

The endearment sent liquid heat pooling between my legs. I’d never been anyone’s sweetheart before. Never been anyone’s anything before, period, and it was why hearing it from Nicolo while I was on my knees for him made something inside me break open.

I lost myself in the rhythm, in the weight of him on my tongue, in the way his breathing became more ragged and his control started to slip. Water streamed down both of us, the shower creating a private world of steam and heat and desperate need where nothing existed but this moment, this connection, this surrender.

When he came, it was with my name on his lips—not whispered, but groaned like it was being torn from somewhere deep inside him—and his hand gentle in my hair, holding me steady as I swallowed everything he gave me, determined not to disappoint him even though I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

For a moment, we just stayed like that. Me kneeling on the shower floor, him breathing hard above me, both of us trying to process what had just happened. What lines we’d just obliterated. What bridges we’d just burned to ash.

Then he was pulling me to my feet, his hands surprisingly gentle as he steadied me against the wall. My legs felt like they were made of jelly, wobbly and unreliable and completely useless.

“My turn,” he said roughly.

Before I could ask what he meant, his hand was between my legs, and all I could do was cry out.

My head fell back against the tile as his fingers found exactly where I needed them with unerring precision. He knew my body better than I did, somehow knew exactly how to touch me to make me fall apart in record time.

“Nicolo—” My voice didn’t even sound like mine anymore. It was breathless, desperate, pleading for something I couldn’t articulate.

“Let go,” he commanded, his mouth against my ear, his breath hot on my neck. “Come for me.”

Two strokes of his fingers against that perfect spot, and I shattered.

The climax hit me like a tidal wave, massive and overwhelming and completely unstoppable. My knees buckled completely, but he held me up, his strong arm around my waist keeping me from collapsing as wave after wave of sensation crashed over me, each one more intense than the last until I wasn’t sure where I ended and the feeling began.

When it was over, I could barely stand. Could barely remember my own name. Could barely process the fact that I’d just had my first orgasm courtesy of my stepbrother’s fingers in the shower while I was still reeling from what I’d just done to him with my mouth.

Life was full of surprises, wasn’t it?

Nicolo turned off the water and wrapped me in a towel, his movements sure and steady while I was still wobbling like a newborn baby giraffe trying to figure out how legs worked. I was dimly aware of him carrying me to my bed, and as Nicolo laid me down on the soft sheets, I thought I heard him murmur something that sounded suspiciously like...

Mine.

I WOKE UP ALONE INbed the next day, and for a moment I couldn’t remember why my body felt so languid and satisfied, like I’d just had the world’s best massage combined with eight hours of actual sleep for once.

Then the memories came flooding back.

The shower. Nicolo. What we’d done.

Oh. My. Gosh.

I sat up quickly, looking around my room for any sign of him, but he was gone. Like he’d never been there at all. Like maybe I’d dreamed the whole thing in some kind of fever dream after a day of compatibility tests and shifter princes and family dinner disasters.

Except for the note on my bedside table.

It was written on heavy cream paper in Nicolo’s bold handwriting:

Tomorrow night. Lucent Summit. Masked ball.

Be ready by eight.

I’ll choose what you wear.

N

I stared at the note, my heart starting to race all over again as reality crashed back into me like a wrecking ball wrapped in anxiety.

It was another compatibility test for sure, and something told me I was in for a very long night.

I fell back against my pillows with a groan, covering my face with my hands like I could somehow hide from the memory of kneeling in front of Nicolo, of his fingers between my legs, of the way he’d said my name like it was something precious and forbidden at the same time.