Page 11

Nic

If looks could incinerate, Kai would be a pile of ashes right now.

Meanwhile, my knees aren’t supposed to be wobbling.

My brain is screaming at me to stand my ground, to throw something cutting back in his smug face, to storm out of here and never look back.

I cannot fucking believe my knees are bending.

The bastard doesn’t move. Doesn’t gloat. He just watches.

The moment my knees hit the carpet, something breaks open inside me, and euphoria floods my veins.

What the fuck?

I don’t have words for it—that same heady feeling from the car but stronger, purer. Everything else falls away: my hatred, the confusion, the constant noise in my head.

There’s just him.

His fingers thread through my damp hair, gently rubbing my scalp in that way that makes me want to purr. I lean into his touch, unable to resist.

“Good girl.”

A pulse of heat slams into my core so violently I gasp.

This should feel humiliating. Instead, it feels . . . freeing.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Kai’s voice rumbles through me, warm and thick as honey.

His thumb traces down my jaw, then rubs across my bottom lip. Back and forth. Again. My vision zeroes in on the thick veins snaking up his muscular forearm, the flex of his biceps, the ink on his tanned skin.

I don’t realize my lips are parted and I’m sucking on his thumb until he pulls it away.

I catch his hand before I can stop myself and put it back on my jaw.

But he snatches it back, turns and walks away. Crossing the room, he picks up a chair, drags it back and places it right beside the bed, then sits.

And waits.

My stomach tightens. I’ve done what he wants. Why isn’t he reaching for me? Why isn’t he grabbing me and pushing me face-down into the pillow?

Why is he making me stew in it?

“My name is Kai,” he rasps.

I clench my jaw, hating that I already know that. I would have given anything to be hearing his name—his real name—for the first time.

“And you can start begging now.” He leans back in the chair, completely at ease.

Prick.

Still, I’m already on my knees. Might as well. “Please, Kai.”

“Please what?”

I shrug. This . . . this is torture. “Just fuck me and be done with it.”

He smirks. “Take everything off.”

I unzip my sports bra, exhaling as the tight material peels away from my skin. The cool air hits my sensitive nipples, and I suck in a breath as they tighten almost painfully. My breasts may be smaller than I’d like, but my nipples are another matter entirely.

I hazard a glance at Kai.

His eyes are zeroed in on my breasts, the look on his face feral. His tongue flicks out, poking at the cut I left on his lip last night.

The bulge in his pants looks obscene. There’s no mistaking the fact that he likes what he sees.

Suddenly, I’m not shy anymore. I may be on my knees, begging, but he’s just as fucked as I am.

I slide my panties down, the silk clinging to my drenched core before falling to my knees. I hesitate, unsure whether to stand to finish or—

Kai solves the puzzle for me. He crosses the room, and with a sharp yank, he rips them off, then returns to his seat.

“Now, get on your back and show me your cunt.”

I stop breathing.

He leans back, gaze glued to the juncture of my thighs.

This is so much worse than kneeling and begging. But the intense ache his words trigger in my core has me obeying without question.

The sheets are cool—almost cold against my back, and I arch at the contact. I bend my knees, hesitating, not quite brave enough to spread them yet. He’s sitting too close. He’ll see everything—

A large hand hooks around my right knee and drags me to the edge with zero effort. His palm lingers at my calf, his thumb skimming the inside.

Then, deliberately, he starts to stroke.

My scarred, ultra-sensitive skin.

“Kai—” I breathe.

“Does it hurt?”

I swallow hard and shake my head. But it’s too much.

He resumes stroking, tracing along the curves and ridges, and my mouth falls open. It feels so fucking good.

How the hell have I lived this long and never known that patch of skin could do this?

“Fuck.” My fingers dig into the sheets. “Kai.”

“Spread your legs and touch yourself.”

My thighs fall apart, and I shudder as cool air brushes my drenched pussy.

I trail my hand up my stomach, fingers finding my breast and rolling my nipple between them.

Kai’s grip on my leg tightens, and he makes a raw, tormented sound that has my eyes snapping open.

“Nic.” He rasps. “Stop that and do as you’re told.”

Pleasure shoots straight through me. I obey instantly, dragging my fingers down, lower, lower—only to have my wrist caught in his grip just before they hit the mark..

“Use your left hand.”

My breath stutters and my gaze snaps to his.

His smirk is pure sin, dark eyes gleaming as they drop to my trembling fingers. “That’s right, my dirty girl. Take that ringed finger and fuck yourself with it.”

A strangled moan rips from my throat as I slide my fourth finger into my soaked heat.

His tongue flicks out to wet his lips, watching like he’s committing every movement to memory.

“Look at you coating their pretty little promise.”

A sharp cry escapes me as my hips buck into my own touch.

“Feel that diamond? That belongs to them. But this?” His gaze flicks lower, to where my finger slides in and out. “This greedy little cunt? It’s mine.”

My thighs clench, and a moan rips from my throat as I angle my finger to reach my sweet spot.

“That’s it. Keep dragging their perfect little ring through your mess. Let’s see if they ever notice when you give it back—unwashed.”

Oh. My. God. He’s sick.

But so am I. Because I’m fucking myself like I need it to live, the sounds coming from my mouth unlike anything I’ve ever heard. “Kai—”

“Deeper. Spread those pretty pink lips and don’t stop until you’re screaming for me.”

My breath catches—humiliation, arousal, pure depravity—it’s too much. I need to come. Desperately.

“Oh God, Jesus, Kai, please—”

“Pick one deity, will you?”

I gasp, as pleasure spreads through me in violent waves. “You’re so—so cocky—” I try to glare, but my eyes don’t get the memo, preferring to roll back into my head.

“And you’re breathtaking.” His voice is dark and reverent, as if he’s watching something holy.

I should take back control and snap out of this madness. Instead, I spread my legs wider for him. Because more than anything, I need him to see me break—to make me break.

He drags his thumb in tight circles on my right calf—just above the deepest scar—and when he suddenly presses hard, I swear I feel it right on my clit. My back arches off the bed.

His fingers trail lower, tracing another oversensitive stretch of grafted skin, and I let out a ragged moan.

“Please Kai . . .”

Suddenly, I want him to make me come more than I want my next breath.

He leans in, dragging his lips just above my knee. His breath is fire against damp skin.

“I’m listening. Tell me what you need.”

I shake my head frantically, beyond the ability to speak.

“Find your words, Nic, I’ll wait.”

“Touch me,” I gasp, beyond pride.

“You’re doing an amazing job already,” he counters smoothly.

“I need more,” I sob.

“More what?”

I let out a broken, filthy sound I didn’t know I was capable of making.

He groans, low and appreciative, like I just gave him exactly what he wanted. “So sweet and open,” he murmurs. “So fucking desperate for me.”

My finger moves faster, sloppier, my hips lifting in a silent demand for something deeper, harder. “Kai,” I gasp. “I c-can’t—I need you”

Suddenly, he’s leaning over me. With one firm tug, he pulls my hand away and grabs my other wrist, pinning them above my head in one large, unyielding grip.

“Now,” he breathes against my parted lips. “Let me show you what you got on your knees for.”

His free hand slides between my legs, and I fucking shudder.

He slips one thick finger inside me and curls it, unerringly hitting the exact spot where I need him. His thumb presses against my swollen clit.

Fuck!

There’s no teasing. No hesitation. Just pure precision.

It takes all of five seconds. Five perfect flicks and thrusts.

I come violently—loud and utterly unrestrained, my body convulsing under him as I fall apart for him. His name rips from my throat in a scream, and I don’t even care how it sounds. I don’t care about anything except how thoroughly he just unraveled me.

I barely register the way he holds me through it. His grip is tight around my wrists, finger deep inside me, his eyes drinking in every expression.

My body shouldn’t be this wrecked from so little. And yet, it’s the most ruined I’ve ever felt in my life.

My breath still stutters, my pulse pounding in my ears. I feel suspended, caught between aftershocks and something else.

I should be sated with that orgasm. And yet—the ache between my legs has only intensified. I’ve never been hungrier.

I open my eyes to meet his.

There’s no gloating. Not even his usual infuriating smirk. Kai just watches me.

My arms are still pinned above my head, my wrists locked in his hold, my legs still trembling from the force of my undoing.

I let out a serrated breath. “That . . . that wasn’t sex, Kai.”

“No,” he agrees, watching me too intently. “It wasn’t.”

And that’s when it hits me. The choice he gave me in the car.

. . . backseat, with your nails in my shoulders and my hand over your mouth . . . or . . . make it better?

The choice wasn’t between a hard or a slow fuck. He was asking if I wanted a body or mind fuck.

I suddenly feel hot all over. I really should have picked the backseat. I should have let him nail me into the rich leather and called it a mistake.

Because this—this deliberate, agonizing unraveling—only makes me crave the mindless sheet-clawing sex more.

“I want you,” I whisper.

A flicker of something passes over his face. “I know.” He brushes his lips against my temple, then releases me and sits back in the chair. “It’s your turn, though.”

I prop myself up on my elbows. “My turn for what?”

“To give me something I need,” he murmurs.

I blink slowly. Of all the things I expected, that wasn’t one of them. A dozen thoughts collide in my head. A hundred filthy possibilities, things he could demand from me. Things I’d probably do to him.

My voice is hoarse when I finally manage, “What do you need?”

“Sleep.”

“What?”

He doesn’t explain. Just watches me with quiet intensity, as if waiting for me to understand.

As if sleep is something I could give him.

I recall the exhaustion in his eyes earlier tonight and the way he shut down when I asked if whoever he was visiting in the hospital was okay.

I swallow. “Okay.”

Something shifts in his expression. He studies me for a second longer before issuing a soft command. “Turn onto your belly.”

My brows furrow, but I turn over, pulling one of the pillows close and pressing my cheek against the cool fabric.

He stands and slowly unbuckles his belt, his eyes trained on my ass. The bulge in his pants makes me sink my teeth into my bottom lip.

I watch, hypnotized, as he pulls the belt out in one long, deliberate swipe, dropping it onto the floor with a dull thud. The sound of his zipper follows.

And then his pants slide down his hips and . . .

I stop breathing. My core tightens as if in anticipation. My entire existence short-circuits as I see him.

“Kai,” his name slips from my lips, breathy and aching and so goddamn greedy.

He’s . . . big. Thick. Heavy. Long.

So freaking perfect.

I barely have time to process him before the bed dips behind me.

And then—

Oh.

Oh.

This is not spooning. No. This is spooning on steroids.

He stretches out behind me, his bare heat pressing into my back, his weight delicious against my smaller frame.

I think he’s done—that I’ve reached my limit of surprises for the night—until he reaches for my hand and threads his fingers through mine beneath the pillow.

My heart seizes.

And then—

His other hand drags open my thigh, spreads me wider, and just rests there.

Between my thighs.

Like it fucking belongs there.

Like his hand is mine to use, to ruin, to keep.

My shudder has nothing to do with the chilly room . . .

Chilly room.

Suddenly, I get exactly what he meant earlier by me ‘warming up in a bit.’

Kai is a fucking human blanket.A huge, dominant, unusually warm, and infuriatingly perfect human blanket.

My toes curl. The ache between my legs surges into an inferno, and my body reacts on instinct, my thighs clenching against his hand. The friction sends a ripple of pure pleasure through me, and I shiver.

Not just with need. With something else. Something I have no name for.

I do it again, pressing my thighs harder against his palm, and sensations arcing through my limbs, leaving me dizzy, drugged, ruined.

And then, I’m being pulled under. Falling asleep wrapped in him.