He steps closer, kissing her hard. Grazing the scarf along her arm. “I never have, but—I think I’d like to. With you.”
He spreads a blanket in front of the fireplace, drags her down next to him. In the auburn light, they unbutton and unbuckle and unzip. As though he knows the places she’s most self-conscious about, he gives them extra attention, telling her without words,These are the parts of you I like the most.Mouth pressed to her stomach. Her thighs.
“Come here,” he says, and she holds out her arms so he can wrap the scarf around her wrists. One loop, and then another. Her body rearranges itself—heart settling in her throat, pulse thrumming low in her belly. The silk is whisper soft, a sharp contrast to the heady exhilaration in her veins. She wouldn’t expect him to be anything but meticulous, and that’s exactly how he is as he ties the scarf in a loose knot. Tests the strength of it with two fingers. Then he dips his head to press a lingering kiss to her wrists. “How does that feel?”
“Perfect.”
With her hands tied, she lifts her arms over her head as his body covers her. The instant warmth of him, his reassuring weight. The way his mouth meets hers feels different now, too—fierce and urgent, with an undeniable hint of tenderness.There’s that trust, she thinks, and wonders why it nearly makes her blink back tears. But then he starts kissing down her neck, letting hisstubble scrape her skin in that way he must know she’s addicted to, and she loses herself in the thrill of the restraint. The rush of completely giving in to him—she likes it even more than she thought she would.
“I know you like being in control,” he says, rough as sandpaper. “But when you’re here with me…I think sometimes you like it when I’m in charge.”
“Yes.”
That girl from his office their first time is a stranger to her now. How ready she was, to be a body for him and nothing else.
“I think you like when I tell you how good you are.” He splays her legs open for him, and even with him in this position of power, he still has to swallow back a groan. “How gorgeous.” A finger slipping inside her. “How wet. You must have gotten drenched when I started tying you up, didn’t you, honey?”
“Even before that,” she manages, and he moves his finger faster, drawing out a strangled plea. She can’t rely on her hands to grip anything but a corner of the blanket, and that narrows her focus to only the places he’s touching her. The heat of the fire on her skin. The force of his attention as he drives her to the brink before pulling back, fingers trembling like it’s taking all his control to tease her like this. “How—how is it always so good with you?”
Nick gives her a soft, searching look. “Because,” he says, leaning down to lick the inside of her thigh. “I listen to you. I memorize what you like, so I can do it again, and again, and again.”
She’s light-headed and half-certain she’s levitating off the floor, but she thinks this might be the most erotic thing she’s ever heard. “Well, if that’s all—” she starts, dazed, but then his tongue is on her, inside her, and she loses the ability to speak.
Still, he stops moments before she can get any relief from that raw, hollow ache, leaving her breathless and bucking her hips. He slides on a condom, waits between her thighs while he plays with her hair. The fire turns him golden, unreasonably beautiful, a flicker of light catching a rare smirk. He’s absolutely evil—and yet. She fucking loves it.
He shifts his hips forward just slightly, giving her only the tip of his cock.“Please,”she whimpers.
“Not yet, honey.” His hand curves around her breast. Pinches her nipple taut. “You’re so pretty when you beg.”
She’s already so close,so close. He gives her another inch, and she cries out in anticipation, swearing his name.
And then his control snaps. Finally he’s there, filling her, stretching her leg to spread her wider. His fingers on her clit as he rocks into her, his other hand anchored on her hip.
“So pretty when you’re being fucked,” he says. “So pretty when I make you come.”
His teeth sink into the soft skin of her neck, and then she’s unraveling, piece by shimmering piece. Dragging him over the edge with her. He talks her through it, hot breath on her jaw and delicious words in her ear, clutching her like he never wants to let go—and if she had her way, he wouldn’t. When he lowers her arms to kiss the bind on her wrists, she keeps her eyes open, desperate not to miss a single moment. She can’t believe she used to turn her face away. That she didn’t want him to see her.
When maybe the truth is that he’s the only one who’s ever seen all of her.
27
“I can’t believe you’re datinga celebrity.”
Those are Nick’s aunt Camila’s first words to him the next morning when he gets downstairs to the kitchen. He feels his face heat up despite the chilly December air.
Camila, his father’s early-fifties younger sister, and her husband, Rob, drove up with Nick’s parents, Miguel and Dawn, who are busy unloading their suitcases in the front hall. Rob passes Nick a mug of coffee.
“You might need something stronger today,” he says with a laugh, giving Nick a hearty pat on the shoulder.
Nick’s cousin Eden and her wife, Sierra, will be flying in from San Francisco this afternoon with their young kids, Charlotte and Owen. Lexi and Audrey are also arriving a bit later. Better this way, so as not to bombard Ramona with too much family at once.
“She’s retired,” Nick says.
His uncle Rob lets out a low whistle. “Wish I could have retired in my twenties.”
After taking a fortifying sip of coffee, Nick goes to help his parents in the hall, breaking into a jog when he spies his father carrying a heavy duffel, something his doctor expressly forbade after a shoulder surgery last year.
“Dad, no,” he says. “Let me.”
