Page 33 of Nicky

I undid the buttons of my shirt, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor. He shifted again, his hand reaching for mine, bringing it to the hem of his shirt. A breathless look passed between us, a silent question and answer all at once.

He was so damn open, eyes wide, trusting me in a way I didn’t think I deserved. Not yet. But maybe that’s what he needed—to trust someone enough to let down his walls completely, to feel what it was like to let go and let me guide him into this moment. To give himself over to me, fully.

And God, did I want to.

The air between us was thick, the only sound in the room our breath, shallow and quick, as I slowly undressed Nicky. His gaze never wavered from mine, a mix of trust and something else—something deeper, more vulnerable. His shirt came off first, revealing the lean muscles of his chest, the way his skin flushed under my touch. My fingers lingered on the fabric of his jeans, the moment stretching longer than I expected.

He was so much more than I had imagined, more than I had expected. Everything about him—the way his body responded, the way his eyes softened even when he was teasing—made me ache with the desire to take care of him, to protect him, to push him just far enough to see him let go, to watch him shatter those walls and trust me to hold the pieces.

But I held back. Ihadto. For now.

I licked, nibbled, suckled on one nipple, then the other, eliciting the filthiest moans anyone in the fifty states had ever heard. The sounds… Oh God, the sounds made something tightand hungry unfurl inside me. My hands slid over his hips, to the button of his jeans, and I paused, letting him make the choice. “Nicholas,” I growled, “tell me if you want to stop.” I lifted my gaze to his, giving him a moment to back out if he wanted to.

“Call me Nicky. I want you to call me Nicky. Say it.”

I froze—not because of the name itself, but because of the shift it carried. He’d corrected me before, insisted onNicholas. But now, he was offering something different. Something that felt like a piece of himself I wasn’t sure he’d shared with anyone else.

“Nicky,” I said, testing it, watching his face carefully. His lips parted, a soft exhale slipping out like I’d hit a nerve in all the right ways. “Tell me if you still want this, Nicky.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. His eyes searched mine, raw and unguarded, before his hand found mine, pressing it gently against his stomach and guiding me lower. “I’m not stopping,” he whispered, a small grin tugging at his lips.

That grin twisted something in me, made my heart race even faster. Not just because of his answer but because of what he’d just let me see.

“I used to hate it when people called me Nicky,” he murmured suddenly, voice soft but steady, like he needed me to hear it now, in this moment.

My hands paused, my eyes lifting to meet his. “Why?”

“Because it made me feel… like they saw me as helpless. Small. Someone who couldn’t handle things.” His fingers tightened around mine. “But when you say it… it doesn’t feel like that. It feels…” His voice trailed off, his cheeks pinking, but the way his gaze held mine told me everything he couldn’t say out loud.

“Like I seeyou,” I said, the words tumbling out without hesitation.

His smile softened, his eyes warming as he nodded. “Yeah. Like that.”

I leaned in, brushing my lips over his, and when I whispered his name again—Nicky—I felt the way his body melted into mine.

I finished undressing him, pushing his jeans down his legs, taking in every inch of his skin as it was revealed to me. His body was strong, flawless, and yet, there was something about him that was delicate, something that begged to be cared for, nurtured. I wanted to be the one to give him that. But I knew I had to move slowly—no rushing, no overwhelming him.

When I pulled him closer, our bodies finally meeting skin to skin, I felt a shiver run through him.

Heat pulsed between us, and I couldn’t stop my hand from roaming, following the curve of his spine, the dip of his waist, the strength of his thigh beneath my fingers. Every movement was deliberate, each touch a promise.

A groan almost escaped when his hips shifted just right against mine, the friction setting me on edge. Words pressed at the back of my throat, the kind I’d usually growl out to my boy—but he wasn’t ready for that. Maybe he never would be.

I bit down on the urge, focusing instead on the moment. The slow drag of my lips across his collarbone, the faint salt of his skin lingering on my tongue. His fingers curled into my shoulders, not pulling, just holding, like he needed something steady to cling to.

My hand found the crumpled fabric of my pants amidst the chaos on the floor. My fingers slipped into the pocket, brushing over the crinkling foil of the condom and the small packet of lube. My gaze flicked back to Nicky, spread out before me, his chest rising and falling, skin flushed. His hand moved over himself in slow, teasing strokes, but his eyes stayed locked on mine, daring, trusting, needing.

His legs parted wider, the silent invitation clear. I knelt between them, the heat radiating from his body pulling me closer. Slicking my finger with the lube, I ran it along his entrance, pausing to meet his gaze again. “Relax,” I murmured.

When I pressed inside, his sharp inhale sent a shiver down my spine. His head tipped back, the curve of his neck exposed as he adjusted, his body slowly yielding to the intrusion. I stayed still for a beat, letting him catch up, before adding a second finger. His moan, soft at first, built into something raw, something that hit me right in the chest.

“Just like that,” I whispered against his skin, brushing my lips along the curve of his shoulder. The way he responded, the slight arch of his back, the way his breath caught and stuttered, was enough to undo me.

When I curled my fingers just right, found that spot inside him, it seemed I’d unraveled something deep within him. His hands clawed at my arms, his hips bucking against my hand as his lips parted on a broken cry. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop watching as pleasure unraveled him, his trust in me making it all the more intoxicating.

A third finger followed, easing him open slowly, carefully. I murmured soft reassurances, my free hand stroking his thigh, grounding him. The way his body moved, the way he responded to every shift of my fingers, made it nearly impossible to hold myself back.

When I finally withdrew, his sharp inhale caught me off guard. It wasn’t just the absence of my fingers in his hole—it was anticipation, an unspoken readiness. I let my hand linger on his thigh because I didn’t want to stop touching him, didn’t want to lose that connection. Rolling the condom on and slicking myself, I glanced up to find his gaze locked on me, steady and sure, despite the way his chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.

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