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“Fuck, I shouldn’t,” he says, right before his lips tease mine apart.
I’m flying. I’m lost. There’s his mouth on mine and his tongue sliding into me, and it’s all tease and promise and held-back force. The kiss is a light exploration, a prologue to more. I want to dive into the wetness and heat of him.
We fit. It’s there, more than I’ve ever known before. It’s like he’s a piece I’ve been missing, a piece I need.
And then he breaks the kiss, and he’s so hard against me, so big, and I can feel the throb and beat of the artery in his throat. I rise up, pitching into him so that I can have more.
I want more.
I need it.
“Nicolo, Nicolo, I want you to be my first.” I kiss him hard. He groans against me as the world spins and tips like a top. “I’m so glad you came into my bar. That I met you. Take me home. I want your cock.”
A thrill of delight slams into me when I say that, and the world spins harder. My hands slip, and I dig into his shirt against his hard, hot flesh.
“Nicolo,” I say, his name slurring. “Take me home with you. Please. I think someone is after me.” Those words come from nowhere, but they seem right. Everything seems right. “I’m glad you’re not a criminal. I want you.”
“Avah, fuck.”
And the world spins harder, and things start to fade.
ChapterSeven
NICOLO
Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
I stare down at her on my bed. Her golden hair spilled like some kind of fallen halo around her as I strip off her jeans.
She passed out on the ride home, and I’m sure as fuck those assholes slipped her something.
I managed to get her to my car, and she stumbled along the way, falling into me until I swung her into my arms. And now?
She’s out for the count. Those satin and lace panties she’s got on in a lilac shade are damp enough I can see the line of her cunt’s lips. I can tell she shaves or waxes, and I’d like nothing more than to slide those off her, too, part those thighs and thrust into her.
Mouth, fingers, cock. All of the above.
But I’m not gonna take advantage of her. Instead, I undo the buttons of her shirt that’s already twisted up around her and ease on one of my T-shirts, a gray college one with most of the insignia worn away from too many washes.
I pull it down over her breasts on display in the same lilac lace and satin, the pink of her areolae delicate against the confines.
But once she’s in something comfy and she can, if she stirs, make it easily to the bathroom, I pull the comforter up over her.
Avah makes a small sound, and the taste of her is still on my tongue. That kiss held so much. I wanted to crush her to me, devour her, take her, ravish her, but I didn’t. I kept it light because I knew I shouldn’t have gone there. Not when I could see something was up.
She might not be a drinker, but two light beers and a shot aren’t going to have her stumbling, slurring, and suddenly losing inhibitions.
I sit, fisting the comforter.
Fuck, shit, is she really a virgin?
Untouched, there ripe and ready and just for me?
I really don’t care if someone’s a virgin or slept with half the city. That’s not my business. As long as when I’m with that woman, she’s only mine. That’s all I’ve ever asked. I’ve never sought out virgins. I haven’t run. If it’s right, then it’s fucking right.
And this sweet morsel of delicious female . . . Christ, she might be right. For now, for however long.
But I’m not pondering. I got other fish to fry. Heads to smash, people to see to.
