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“Filthy little whore,” he murmurs.
“No point in changing things now,” I mutter.
“Get on your knees, Siren. I want to watch you suck me dry while the city moves around us.”
I glance through the glass balcony, seeing the tiny cars moving on the road stories beneath us. There are people down there. Hundreds, thousands of them. But none of them can make us out up here. Not that it would matter, even if they could. Fear of being watched is unlikely to stop me from getting a taste of my man right now.
Sliding from the cushion, I press my knees against the warm tiled floor and run my palms up his solid thighs before leaning forward to lap up the precum that’s leaking from his slit.
29
NICO
Panic.
Pure unfiltered, heart-stopping panic.
That’s the only way I can describe the bone-chilling feeling when I woke and found myself in bed alone.
It was ridiculous. Pathetic. Weak and needy. But fuck, I couldn’t stop myself.
My first thought was that she’d snuck out like she’s so prone to doing and that everything that happened yesterday wasn’t real. It was just some incredible and totally fucked-up dream.
But then I sprang from the bed, my body hurting in a way that only pointed toward my memory being real, and I flew out of the bedroom like the hounds of hell were snapping at my heels.
I was more than prepared to go running out of the building stark bollock naked to hunt her down and drag her back kicking and screaming if necessary.
She’d made me a promise the night before. A promise I fully intend on making her stick to.
She told me she was mine. And that’s how it’s going to fucking be.
My heart rate doesn’t slow and my muscles don’t relax despite the signs that surrounded me that she was still here.
I didn’t even notice her knickers balled up in my fist while I slept like a toddler with a fucking blankie, or her bag that was still on my bedroom floor.
It isn’t until I hear her voice that everything settles and the red haze of panic that had descended over me fades.
And the second that happens, I feel like a pussy.
So what if she left? I could have handled it, right?
I’m a fucking man.
I torture and kill people for a living. One woman should not have the power to bring me to my knees when fully grown scary motherfuckers barely make me break a sweat.
She’s not just one woman, though.
She’s my woman.
Every day since waking up in that hospital bed, I’ve understood that to be a fact more and more. And I’m also beginning to understand that those feelings aren’t new. In fact, I’m pretty sure they’ve been there all along. I just refused to embrace them in favour of smothering them with the bullshit lies I told myself.
I stand next to the kitchen island watching the back of her head, listening to her talk. I can’t hear what she’s saying from here. I don’t need to know. She’s here, and that’s all that matters.
Well, it is for a few minutes, because my need to see the front of her, to find out who she’s talking to instead of being in bed with me gets the better of me.
With my eyes not leaving her, I stalk closer until I begin making out words. It becomes instantly obvious who she’s talking to. And I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised.
“Seriously though, Bri. Are you doing okay?” Jodie asks, concern for her best friend more than obvious in her tone.
