Page 22 of Wicked Serve

“Nik,” she says, her voice wobbly as I press fevered kisses to the tops of her breasts.

I gently bite one of her nipples as I drag my hand down her side, bunching up her skirt. When I brush my fingertips over her panties, she moans into my mouth. My jeans are starting to get uncomfortable, but I ignore that in favor of teasing her. I know how easily she comes when I touch her just right.

“Isabelle.” The name most people call her is cute, but her full name is beautiful. I love the way it sounds in my mouth.

“More,” she gasps. “Please.”

In other, less hurried moments, I’ve coaxed her into begging, but I don’t have the patience for it right now. We’re in a closet in the middle of the goddamn library. I’ll control myself better in the future. Just... not yet. Not until I hear my name on her lips as she comes one more time.

I nudge her thin panties aside and slide a finger into her. She whimpers when I add another, curling both in search of that place that makes her fall apart. I kiss her all the while, getting both our mouths messy with spit. Her intake of breath lets me know I found her G-spot, and as I rub it, she arches her back as best she can against the door.

“Nik.” Her ankles dig into my lower back hard enough to make me grunt. “Nikolai.”

“Shh, sweetheart. Not so loud.”

I wish I could taste her. I have half a mind to slip to my knees and lick her out against the door, but that’ll make her come louder, and anyway, if I taste her again, it’ll be that much harder to forget. I angle my thumb so it brushes against her clit with each stroke of my fingers. Her eyes are open, wide and blue in the dim of the closet, her lashes perfectly curved. Her breath comes in short pants. She’s close.

I press our foreheads together, clenching my stomach as lust swoops through me. I’m skirting the edge just from this, and by her pleased smile, she knows it. I push a third finger into her. She’s trembling, clenching around my fingers so tightly I can barely move them. With the next touch of my thumb against her clit, she says my name sharply. I muffle her loud cry as she comes.

I’m right on the edge, balls drawn up tight, but manage to rein it in. I pull out of her slowly, resisting the temptation to lick my fingers clean.

“Perfect girl.” I let her down gently, tugging her skirt and panties back into place. “So fucking perfect when you come.”

If possible, the praise makes her blush even deeper. We stare at each other for half a beat too long before she reaches for my waistband. I shake my head, pulling her away with the hand that isn’t covered in her slick. I want that hand for when I jerk myself into my fist.

“Let me help.”

“You should get back to whatever you were doing.” I clear my throat; my voice sounds hoarse. “I’m sorry for interrupting.”

“You must be aching.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

It’s one thing to pleasure her, but another for her to do it to me. If I have any chance at keeping my desires at bay, that door needs to stay locked. Not just shut. Locked, key tossed away. She made me come better than anyone I’ve ever been with, and the last thing I need is to experience that again. Besides, this was reckless of me. Selfish and reckless. I need to keep my distance.

She hesitates, eyes searching mine. “You’re sure nothing’s wrong?”

“Really. I’m fine.”

She kisses my cheek, right over my scar. I shiver, resisting the urge to pull her into my arms once more.

“If you say so,” she whispers into my ear. “I don’t like seeing you sad.”

Chapter 10

Nikolai

I pull the jersey out of my locker, staring at the gleaming 16 stitched on both sides.

The home sweaters for McKee aren’t terrible. Deep purple with white accents, a crown splashed across the front. If I have to wear it, at least I get to keep my number. I make a face at it anyway. Like everything else in this locker room, it’s entirely too purple.

Mickey, the starting center, gives me a glance as he fiddles with the tape on his stick. “You okay there, man?”

Our lockers are next to each other, with Cooper’s on my other side. Since I was last here a few days ago, someone added my name and number to a metal placard over my slot. It’s strange to see Abney there, instead of Volkov, but I can’t deny the sense of satisfaction it gives me.

“Fine, thanks.” I shove the home sweater back into the locker and pull out a practice one instead. Today is the first whole-team workout, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. “How’s it going with you?”

He rips the end of the tape carefully and curves it over the handle. “Fine. That last reading was a bitch, wasn’t it? I’m dreading the quiz.”

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