Page 64 of Worth Every Penny

20

KATE

Nico’s footsteps thump up the stairs, and I collect the rest of my sketches, sliding the loose sheets back into sketchbooks and piling them on the desk.

I can’t believe he walked away. He didn’t even wait for me to choose when he asked if he should stop touching me.

He decided. He decidedeverything. He always has.

Maybe this time, I get to decide.

I follow him upstairs. I’m not clear on exactly what I intend to say to him, but my body is on a mission I’m powerless to redirect.

When I reach his room, I grip the door handle, take a deep breath, and push the door open. I’m immediately struck by the decor. What must Nico think of this place? The carpet is worn and moth-eaten in patches and the soft furnishings are all chintz fabric from the early nineties. My sketch lies discarded in the middle of the bed, but there’s no sign of him.

A noise comes from the bathroom. The door to the ensuite is wide open. What if he’s taking a piss and I’m marching in here uninvited? I’ll leave before he sees me.

“Kate.”

Too late.

But the way he said my name… it was almost a groan. Guttural. Desperate. Does he know I’m here? Has he seen me? Maybe he’s as confused as I am. Maybe he wants to talk about what just happened.

I freeze, wondering what to do when he says my name again.Crap. He definitely knows I’m here. No point running away now.

I step towards the bathroom, and he looms into view. His back is to me, and he’s braced against the sink, the muscles of his shoulders rippling beneath the fabric of his shirt. But his trousers hang halfway down his thighs, the tail of his shirt half-covering a perfectly muscled arse.

It takes me a moment to realise that what I can’t see from behind, I can see clearly reflected in the mirror.

Fuck.

He’s pumping his hips, fisting his cock, driving it so hard into his hand that it looks painful. But pain isn’t what I see on his face; he’s approaching ecstatic bliss, and it’s the sexiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.

Another deep groan rumbles from his perfect mouth, and heat pools between my legs. Nico Hawkston is about to come, and I have a front-row seat.

He grits another sound through his teeth, low and harsh with arousal. I shouldn’t be here. This is a private moment. I need to get out. I need to leave.

But I can’t move, because I’m tethered to Nico. Wave after wave of heady desire spills through me, so intense my entire body throbs with it. I need to witness his climax like I need my next breath.

I’ve got seconds to break this spell. To back away. To get the fuck out—

Nico’s eyes pop open, meeting mine in the mirror.

Oh, shit.

He doesn’t stop, his hand continuing to move up and down his shaft. Once, twice more, before cum spills over his fist. His mouth is wide, his jaw and throat tense as he silences his pleasure, but he doesn’t look away from me for a second.

Heaviness settles between my legs, pulsing and tingling, bringing me closer to orgasm than I’ve ever been without being touched.

Nico breathes heavily but continues to stare, the heat in his eyes enough to give me third-degree burns.

And then something snaps—some sliver of shame ruptures my trance—and I’m free, stumbling backwards, tripping over my own feet. “Gosh. Sorry. Shit, sorry.” I bump into the side of the bed and the jolt lets me break eye contact with him. My limbs feel hollow and weak. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Stay and watch?” he rasps, as he turns on the tap and rinses his hands. He reaches for the towel to dry his hands before tugging up his trousers and flicking the belt in place. “I’m pretty sure you did.”

How the hell is he so composed right now? My cheeks are so hot I know they’re flaming red; my skin is damp all over.

“You said my name. Twice.”

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