“Just follow my lead,” he mumbles against my lips. “You tell me if you want me to stop.”
He props himself up on one elbow so his face is above mine. Performing for the cameras feels gross, but with him above me, it feels like only him and me in the entire world. I can practicallyfeelthe camera on us as he leans down, so slowly I think he might change his mind. Our noses graze. Our breaths mingle. My lips part.
His lips just barely skim over mine, but even that whisper of contact sends a shudder rushing through me. I turn my head to catch his mouth more.
He gasps against me, but I breathe him in and kiss him again, firmer. I can practically hear the rifling of papers in filing cabinets in his head as he catalogs every sensation.
“Eden,” he groans against my mouth.
“Don’t think,” I say. “Just feel.”
I part my lips, running my tongue along the seam of his lips, urging him to let me in.
“Please,” I beg.
That’s all it takes.
His lips move against me with a desperation that gives me a full-body shiver, like every nerve ending woke up and just remembered what it means to feel good.
He’s clumsy. His mouth crushes mine. I can feel the hesitation in the way his mouth moves, like he’s not quite sure what to do.
But I can show him.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue stroking against his, urging him to let go of his control. He makes this broken sound as his hand winds in my hair, fingers threading through the tangled strands, while the other pulls me closer against the hard line of his body.
I scrape my teeth across his bottom lip. The salty tang of blood hits my tongue, and I immediately jerk away.
Shit.
“I’m sorry,” I say, opening my eyes to examine the largest cut in his lower lip, the one he got from the Game Master smashing his face into the van window. A tiny amount of blood trickles out of it, mixing with his saliva. “I didn’t mean to?—”
He makes a frustrated growling sound and brings my mouth back to his before I can finish, parting his lips to mumble, “So worth it.”
He kisses me like the pain doesn’t exist, like it’s not even reaching him, and after a couple of seconds of hesitation, I kiss him back the same way. I can feel every ridge of muscle pressed against me, can feel how strong he is even in his gentlest touches, can feel the heat of his skin burning through the remaining fabric between us. I pull his hips toward me, andthey bend forward. I nudge his chin, and he tilts his head up. He melts into me like he’s turned into Play-Doh that I can mold into any shape I want.
His mouth lifts from mine. I’m about to protest the loss when his lips find the corner of my mouth. Then my jaw.
“What are you doing?” I ask, out of breath.
He grins—a slow, wicked curve. “Enjoying.”
He nips kisses all the way along my jaw. My fingers dig into his shoulder, nails biting into his jacket, and when he reaches the spot just below my ear, I make a humming sound. Something Dylan would have made fun of me for, but I want Nico to hear how much I want him.
Nico picks his head up to look at me with heavy-lidded eyes, and holy hell, the sight nearly stops my heart. His hair is mussed from my fingers. His lips are swollen and red, and his usually pale eyes are almost black, pupils blown wide and open like pools of inky water I want to jump into. He looks like I’ve undone him with just my mouth. The power of that realization makes me feel drunk.
“That sound you just made,” he says, “will be the death of me.”
I’m blushing so hard I can feel it in my ears, but I’m not embarrassed. I feel like I’m glowing under his gaze.
“I want you to make it again.” He punctuates his words with kisses. “I want to make it my ringtone.”
It’s so unexpected that I laugh. “That would make team trips in the van awkward.”
“I don’tcare.”
He kisses that same spot again. I laugh again, but the sound is quickly cut off when he pulls the tender skin between his teeth and bites down, tugging hard enough to make me groan.
Oh my God?—
