“I have worse.”
“Use them.” I press my fingers harder, slower, watching her eyes go heavy. “Curse me in English and Spanish, baby. I want every dirty word in that pretty mouth when I make you come.”
She does.
Fuck, she does.
She curses at me in English first, then Spanish, nails scraping my neck, thighs shaking around my hips as I work her open with my fingers and my mouth and every filthy promise I’m dumb enough to mean. She says my name like she’s pissed it feels good. Like pleasure is another fight she refuses to lose.
I get my hands under her thighs and lift her. She wraps around me, slick and hot, and I pin her to the tile with my body, giving her every second to tell me no.
She doesn’t.
She digs her nails into my shoulders and looks me dead in the eyes.
That look nearly ends me.
“Still want me gone?” I ask.
Her lips part. Her chest rises hard against mine. “Shut up and fuck me.”
Goddamn.
I push into her slow because I want to feel the exact second she stops pretending this is just another bad decision. Her head falls back against the tile. I catch her chin and bring her right back to me.
“No,” I rasp. “Look at me.”
Her lashes flutter.
I grip her tighter. “Look at me, Lady.”
She does, and the whole world goes stupid.
I move deep and slow at first, letting her feel every inch, letting myself feel how bad I’ve got it. She’s tight around me, hot as sin, mouth open, breath breaking every time my hips roll into hers. Water runs down her throat, between her breasts, over the place where our bodies meet, and I swear Miami could burn outside that glass and I wouldn’t look away.
“That’s it,” I tell her. “Give me that face.”
Her nails bite into me. “What face?”
“The one nobody else gets.”
Her body clenches around me.
I grin like the bastard I am. “There it is.”
“Shady.”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Harder.”
That word in her mouth, rough and needy and pissed off, tears through what’s left of my control.
I fuck her harder, still watching her, still holding her like she’s a storm I was stupid enough to ride into on purpose. Her back hits the tile. Her thighs tighten around my hips. She’s cursing again, breathless and filthy, and every sound out of her goes straight into my blood.
I make her look at me when she comes because Lady Nyx likes to turn pleasure into performance, and I want the truth. I want the split second where she forgets the camera face. Where there’s no glitter, no crowd chanting her name from a dance floor, no sharp smile daring the world to underestimate her.
Just her.
