Page 64 of Princes of Carnage

Holding his gaze, I lick my palm slowly, dragging my tongue along the contour of my hand, and then reach down behind me to grip his cock.

He makes a muffled noise in response, but it’s definitely a positive one. He presses up a bit into my hand and doubles his efforts, licking and lapping at me like there’s nothing else in the world he wants to be doing right now. He buries his face even deeper between my legs, bucking against me as I start to stroke him, applying pressure here and there, blindly rubbing my thumb against the head of his cock.

His tongue is deep inside me, a probing intrusion that seems to know all the best places to hit to turn me on even more. When he slides it out to pay more attention to my clit, I gasp as that sends a jolt of pure pleasure right up my spine.

My body pulses, the feeling growing and spreading, trickling through me like a current. I grip the headboard with my free hand, needing something to hold on to as I work my hips, chasing the feeling.

I’m so close now, the spreading heat of an orgasm rising in me, making me move faster and more erratically.

“Nico,” I gasp out, breathless. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

I don’t get any further before it’s washing over me, strong and fast. It’s intense, each surge of pleasure rolling through me like a tidal wave as I cry out.

Nico moves quicker than I can track, lifting me off him and flipping our positions again.

This time, I end up on my back, still shaking and writhing through my climax, and he replaces his tongue with his cock, driving into me hard as I’m still falling apart.

My mouth drops open wider, but no sound comes out.

It’s so much, and I’m so overstimulated, twisting on the bed, trying to remember how to breathe while Nico uses me, chasing his own pleasure as he fucks me. It doesn’t take long before he buries his cock deep inside me one last time. I can feel the pulse of it as he loses control, roaring out his release as he comes in long, throbbing pulses.

It takes several minutes for us to finally come down from the exertion, breathing hard. Nico collapses onto the bed next to me, and I don’t even try to move away or kick him out. We’re both sweaty and exhausted, and my eyes drift closed easily.

I feel boneless and totally relaxed—perfect—and I don’t want to think too hard about the cause of this amazing feeling.

I just want to enjoy it.

21

QUINN

I’m woken by a soft grumbling in my stomach, and I blink blearily as I gaze around the room. It’s late at night, the room quiet and fully dark, and I realize with a start that I’m not alone on the tangled sheets.

There’s the warm line of a body pressed against mine, which means Nico is still here. In my bed.

He clearly fell asleep just like I did, worn out after the marathon round of sex we had.

My stomach flips over a little at the thought that we’ve been sharing a bed like this for several hours. It’s different when it’s just fucking—even though that was supposed to be off limits too. But at least that served a purpose.

This is just… sleeping.

He’s naked, the hard lines of his body contoured by the dim light coming in through the window. Just like I did when I slipped into his room on our wedding night, I find myself studying his features, as if they’ll give me some insight into this hard-edged man while his guard is down.

Part of me is shocked that he was willing to fall asleep beside me after I woke him up with a knife against his throat—but I guess the same question goes for me too. I’ve been sleeping with my door locked, but tonight, I somehow managed to fall into a peaceful and deep sleep lying side by side with my enemy.

My stomach lets out another loud rumble, and I grimace, putting a hand over it and turning away from Nico so that he won’t catch me looking at him if the sound wakes him up.

But he doesn’t stir, his breathing staying smooth and even, and after a moment, I slide out of bed and pad silently across floor. I tug on a pair of pants and a comfortable tank top, then throw one more glance over my shoulder at Nico before I slip out of the room.

I never ate dinner, and there’s zero chance my body will let me go back to sleep until I get some food in my stomach.

Dragging my fingers through my hair to untangle some of the knots in it, I head quietly down the stairs. There’s a dim light emanating from the living room, and when I reach the bottom landing, I freeze.

Atlas is still awake.

He’s in the living room, his head tilted to one side as he examines the contents of a bookshelf that’s set against the wall beside the TV. He looks over at me, his face illuminated by the flickering glow of the TV, where some action movie is playing with the volume down.

“I didn’t take you for a Twilight City Chronicles fan,” he says, gesturing to the bookshelf.

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