Page 42 of Hooked on Trouble

I gasp, and he pauses. He kisses me so soft and deep the room spins. I catch the wave of his breath and dive with him, moving my lips to his addictive rhythm. He shifts forward, filling me, inch by inch, until we’re flush. He stays there, running his lips and tongue over my neck and breasts, giving me time to adjust. The fullness is toe curling. His thickness stretches me, every nerve ending alight. I shift my hips, and he settles deeper into my body. My life. My heart.

Like this, with him, it almost doesn’t matter what happens with Rose.

I clasp his shoulders. “Don’t hurt me again.”

He pushes up and fans his large hand over my chest. “Never.”

When he pulls out and glides back in, I cry out. He does it again. And again. More cries follow. His hand stays on my chest. Each drag transports me places I’ve never been. Physically. Emotionally. I’m not sure how many erogenous zones a woman has, but he hits every spot. Like with his game, I open wider, let him in farther. He takes his time with me, his strokes smooth and firm.

“I’m so deep inside you,” he says on a groan and lowers to his elbows.

“So deep,” I repeat.

The next roll of his hips lifts me out of my body. I rise up to meet him. Our chests connect. He’s powerful enough to crush me, but he’s so tender, worshiping me with his mouth. I grab his ass, the muscle solid, and try to force him faster. The man doesn’t comply. Even thrusts. In and out. Slick and hard. He works me over with a steady rhythm, my whispered name rumbling from his throat. When he looks at me dead on, his name catches in mine. His eyes always overwhelm me, but there’s more there tonight, our shared pasts lighting them from behind. It unhinges me.

His next thrust hits me hard and deep. “Fuck.” I’m not sure which one of us cries the word, but I arch my back and widen my legs, needing more, all of him. God, he’s big. I drag my hands up his spine, exploring the muscles on his back. They shift with each exertion.

“I’m close,” I say.

“Eyes on me. I love watching you come.”

I could watch him all day: the deep cuts along his arms, his bunched shoulders, the length of him moving in and out of me. A wave of pleasure gathers in my core, building, coiling. When my lids flutter, he says, “Eyes,” and I snap them open.

Then he lifts and tilts his hips just so.

I fly apart, unintelligible words tripping off my tongue as I claw his shoulders and clench around him. I’m an electric current, aftershocks seizing my body. His sheer size draws out the longest orgasm I’ve ever had.

He keeps moving. The veins along his neck tighten, his jaw flexing with each pulse. He doesn’t speed up, so I thrust, urging him on. I want him to let go. Steal his pleasure from me. This man is a giver, and I prompt him to take, take, take. Like before, he doesn’t follow, but the cracks in his armor show—his grunts get ragged, his breathing hot and heavy. He drops to his elbows and kisses me, our tongues tangling. His calloused fingers are rough on my cheeks. Steadily, he pumps into me, my name passing from his lips to mine. Then he lets go. His body shudders, all that brawn putty in my grasp as he thrusts and his heat rushes between my legs.

When he comes down, his lips get back to work, kissing my neck and throat and chest. He spends extra time on the flowers above my breasts. “I could do this all night.”

He takes my nipple into his mouth, and I hum. “You wouldn’t catch me complaining.”

Instead of holding true to his word, he lifts up and pulls out of me, hopping off the bed to deal with the condom. The loss is instant. To be so full then empty has me curling into a ball, the effect hollowing. I’m raw and sore between my legs, as I’d imagined I’d be, but the deep need to have him here, next to me, is unexpected. Or maybe it’s not. This has been the way with us, even the first time we fooled around. But we’ve opened up more, given each other more, and this longing is more.

The bed dips when he returns. The minute he curls around me, peace descends. We’re on top of the sheets, in the middle of the bed, his naked body cocooned around mine. And I can breathe.

His thick bicep settles on my arm. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”

I squish closer to him, not that it’s possible. “I’m perfect.”

Against him. With him. Being his.

He flattens his palm on my belly. “So am I.”

This is how we fall asleep. But not how we wake up.

Somehow I end up under the sheets, but Nico’s big, warm body isn’t behind mine. The room is too dark for it to be morning. The clock reads 5 a.m., and a sliver of light shines from the ajar bathroom door.

Nico’s voice carries out. “When? How many? Was Jericho busted, too?”

I sit up at Jericho’s name. Nico mentioned him when discussing Josh’s trial, something about him being important. I squint as if it will allow me to hear better.

After a pause, he says, “What exactly are you suggesting? That I force this Tyler kid to lie? To take the fall for Josh?” Then, “I know I’m running out of options. I don’t need you to tell me that.”

The door shuts the rest of the way, blocking me out, but unease coils under my breastbone. From the sound of things, Nico has the chance to clear Josh…but at what cost? Nico’s entire family is counting on him, not to mention the pressure he puts on himself. Would he cross the line to help? Break the law? I probably would. Forget probably. My moral compass is as wonky as Justin Bieber’s. But Nico’s whole life has been a test of integrity. The Libra scales on his back are a permanent reminder of the choices he’s made to walk the line.

He emerges a few minutes later. My eyes have adjusted enough to see his face, but I wish they hadn’t. A thick groove has sunk between his brows, his full lips flattened. He’s in his boxers, his hands fisted at his side. When he looks at me, his shoulders drop. “Did I wake you?”