Page 69 of Wicked Serve

“My good girl.” He squeezes my ass with both hands, massaging lightly. “You’re going to sit on my cock and take every fucking inch.”

I scratch my nails down his perfect torso. He’s ridiculously built, each part of his body honed for the sport he loves so much. I take his cock in hand, giving it a firm pump. He’s rock-hard, skin flushed and wet with precome.

I tilt my head to the side. “You promise?”

Part of him wants to roll me over; I see it in the way his eyes catch, but he grabs the condom he pulled from his wallet as he undressed and hands it to me. I roll it down, a little inelegantly, and with enough pressure to make him hiss. He checks between my legs, just to make sure I’m still plenty slick, and I don’t miss the hitch in his breath when he realizes just how soaked I am. He kisses me, hand tangled in my hair, as he lifts me up.

I slide down his cock inch by agonizing inch. He’s the biggest I’ve ever taken, and I love it regardless of the position, but this is a special kind of torture. The slow drag of him against my core, the way his fingers dig into my skin as he fights not to buck into me. When I bottom out, I’m practically panting, and he looks exactly as wrecked as I feel. He rubs my clit, easing any discomfort.

“Slowly,” he murmurs. He helps me move on his cock, kissing my throat when I let my head fall back.

Each movement loosens moans from my throat. I try my best to move myself up and down, but before long, I’m trembling with effort as well as arousal.

“This is”—I gasp as he gives my clit another firm rub—“a core exercise.”

His startled laughter makes me soar. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” He guides one of my hands to the headboard and the other to his chest, for leverage. “Give me a little bit more.”

“I want to come with you inside me.”

“I know.” He takes pity on me, planting his hands on my hips as he snaps his own upwards. I cry out sharply. “I fucking want that too, want to hear those sweet noises from you while I fill you up.”

Another thrust, and another. I bear down, meeting each of his movements with one of my own. I press my nails into his chest so hard it must hurt, but he doesn’t even flinch. His intense eyes never leave mine, the hunger stark in his expression even as he’s getting his fill. It’s as though he could devour me entirely and still want more.

I squeeze around him as we move together, pleased when it makes him moan. The pleasure grows and grows, bringing me to the peak. On one of the downward thrusts, he catches me against his chest. He holds us still, and with aching slowness, takes one of my nipples into his mouth and sucks.

I come with a scream, the tension seeping out of me in a rush. I wind my fingers through his hair, lifting his head. He crushes his mouth to mine. I bite his lip because I can, and I smile when I feel him spend inside me, holding on to me so tightly I know I’ll feel it tomorrow. He whispers my name, over and over, as we float down from the high.

I don’t protest when he untangles us, but I reach for him when he comes back to bed after getting rid of the condom.

We’re close enough that I can see the gold in his eyes. He tucks my hair behind my ear, a tender smile on his face.

I wonder if I’m the only one who has ever seen that smile. The only one to touch that scar.

I open my mouth, to say—I don’t know what. Despite what we just did, the night feels paper-thin. Anyone, even Nik, can say the right things and touch me in the right ways, and still not want to stick around.

“I started the bath,” he says. He traces a pattern onto my hip. “It’s big enough for us both.”

A bath sounds nice. Much safer than the conversation I don’t even know how to begin.

“That is a spectacular bathtub,” I mumble against his shoulder.

He scoops me up, holding me with a fraction of his strength. “Need you clean before I can get you dirty again, sweet solnishko.”

When I wake, the bedroom, with all the evidence of last night strewn around, is bathed in morning light.

Nik’s spooning me, breathing softly, a hand splayed over my middle. Our feet are tangled together. I rub my face against the pillowcase as I smile, covering his hand with mine.

Every kiss, every touch, every word we shared, comes rushing back. The whole perfect birthday night, from start to finish, in color film.

If you decide it’s going somewhere, don’t hide it.

I rub my thumb over the back of his hand. He has a bruise on his finger. He’ll need to tape it before his next game.

I’ll tell him over breakfast. I’ll tell him that I want to put a label on this, and stop sneaking around, and if last night wasn’t a fluke, if it wasn’t a hollow moment without a heartbeat—

Reality slams in a second later.

The team. The bus back to campus.

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