Page 77 of Nocturnes & Nightmares

“You’re saying that was intentional?”

“Today was about you, Nola. Not me.” He reaches for the two bottles of water set out on the nightstand and tosses me one.

Cracking the lid, I tip it back, guzzling the ice-cold fluids that damn near sizzle when I swallow, while my mind spins an endless web of questions. Did I do something wrong? Is he turned off? Perhaps thinking of someone else? Wishing of someone else?

“Am I …” A bad lay? Even Denny came relatively quickly, and that was toward the end when we hated each other.

After one long swig, Voss sets his half-drank water bottle back on the nightstand. “Are you what?”

“I mean … I know I’m a little inexperienced, and all …” I close the cap, running my finger over the top to keep from having to look at him, where he sits sprawled beside me, the embodiment of masculinity. “I’ve not been with many …”

“You’re perfect. Don’t question anything about yourself.”

“You say that, but that’s exactly what I’m doing.” Weakly pushing up from the bed, all I want to do leave and not have to look into those eyes of his again, but the moment I slide from the mattress, I’m yanked back.

Hard.

The mortification ruptures inside of me, and his ridiculous little affirmations are just a slap in the face. “Let me go, Voss.”

“Not a chance.” Amusement colors his voice, only adding to my frustration, as I muster what little energy is left in me to wriggle away from him, so I can go hide in the bathroom and chide myself for being an idiot. “You’re upset about what, exactly? That I didn’t want it to be over in a matter of minutes? That I chose to draw it out for as long as I could and savor you?”

“I … um.” Feel kind of silly. I didn’t think of it that way.

“The pain of anticipation heightens the ecstasy of release. I’ve built up a lot of stamina, waiting for a woman like you to come along who can take it.”

“That’s very poetic, Voss. But I don’t believe a word of that.”

“Whether you believe it, or not, it’s true. I could go all night with you, Nola.” His still hard cock nudging my ass is a reminder that sends an ache up into my womb. Had I done something wrong, or turned him off, I doubt he’d have kept that monster erect the whole time. “I’d never tire of you.” Arm banded across my stomach, he pulls me tighter. “You’re the best kind of torture.”

“I guess I just feel kind of … greedy.”

“You should feel greedy. You deserve to be greedy. How many assholes would’ve felt bad for busting a nut inside of you first and calling it a night?”

Too many, unfortunately. I doubt any guy I’ve been with ever bothered to put much thought into my enjoyment.

“Be greedy. Be tenacious with the things that make you feel good. And for fucks sake, don’t ever apologize for it.”

I want to believe that Voss is everything I’ve made him up to be in my head—this ridiculously hot alpha who is all about pleasing his female at the expense of his own gratification.

I’m inclined to think he follows his own advice, though, pursuing what he wants unapologetically, so his words don’t exactly add up in my head. But regardless, he’s right. No man I’ve ever been with felt bad for using me, so why the hell should I? Particularly if this one is giving me permission to take from him.

And I did. A couple times. It felt pretty damn amazing, too.

Scooting back onto the bed beside him, I curl up into his massive body, wrapping my leg over his hip, where his rock hard erection still sticks up between us. Jesus, the guy must be in agony right now. “I could try to get you off, if you wanted.”

Palm gripping my thigh, he lifts my leg higher so his tip sits at my entrance. Maybe he’s a masochist, or something. “It’s okay. You’re tired. Get some rest.”

He’s right. Having gotten up early to prepare for this show, carting all that pottery around, followed by hours of sex, has softened my bones and left me useless. My whole body feels like it’s been pummeled, but I can’t deny that I didn’t enjoy every minute, even the parts that made me a little uncomfortable at first.

“I can’t really bear to think of someone using that wine stopper again,” I say. “We’re just going to toss it, right?”

A chuckle rumbles in his chest. “I had the bellhop pick it up from the gift shop downstairs. It’s yours to keep. As a souvenir.”

I laugh at that and snuggle into him. “Thank you for this,” I whisper, more appreciatively than before.

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For being a decent guy.” I yawn and stretch against him, letting his warm body lull me into the afternoon snooze that’s calling to me. “Feels like everyone’s a psychopath these days.”