Page 40 of Run for the Money

His hold on my wrists loosens and his palms glide over mine until our fingers are interlaced. He presses light, teasing kisses to my lips and cheeks until I’m about to cry in frustration. One more whimpered, “Please,” earns me the long, thorough kiss I’m craving. I cling to his hands as his lips part mine to give his tongue entry. My legs wrap around his waist of their own volition, and his weight sinks against me. Nick’s won. He’s already dragged me down. It doesn’t matter how he touches me; every single one of my nerve endings screams for him. I’ll say anything he wants me to, as long as he keeps touching me.

He pulls back, entirely out of reach.

“Why?” I whine.

“You haven’t answered me. How do you want me to make you come?”

While I try to remember how multi-syllable words work, he tugs his shirt off and throws it over his shoulder. The smattering of dark hair between his pecs doesn’t help untie my tongue, nor does the hungry way he looks at me while he runs his fingertips over my ribcage.

“Focus, baby,” he says. “Lips? Fingers? Cock? What do you need?”

“Yes.All,” I manage.

Nick shakes his head. “Aw, don’t tell me all that teasing and demanding was bluster! What do you really want, Melanie? Tell me.”

He rolls my nipples between his rough fingers as he talks, the sensation shooting straight down my spine to my core. The answer hits my brain and leaves my mouth at the same time.

“Mouth.”

“Mouth where?” he prompts.

“On my pussy.”

“Atta girl.”

Those words have never come out ofmymouth before. Then again, I’ve never told anyone to fuck me before, either. I’ve never even thought the word “fuck” this many times in one ten-minute span. I don’t know who I am or what I’ve done with Melanie Archer, but I’ll have to puzzle it out when Nick’s face isn’t buried between my thighs. The first warm, wet swipe of his tongue against my clit sends a high, keening noise through my head. By the fourth swipe, his arm across my pelvic bone is the only reason my hips aren’t on the ceiling. I chose right. He’s committed to the task beautifully. Long, exploratory tastes turn into targeted, specific actions designed to undo me.

He sucks and nibbles at my clit, drawing all the tension and anticipation that’s been building in my body over the last two days into a knot between his lips. I’m going to cry or come—probably both. Then I realize the keening noise isme,and way too soon, it’s all over. I fall apart embarrassingly fast, my pussy trembling against his mouth as I come. Despite the burst of pleasure, I still feel restless and needy.

“I’m not usually…” I start, cheeks flushed. “One is usually enough, but…”

Nick peers up at me from where he’s kneeling at the foot of the bed and strokes his thumb lazily through my slick folds. “But not with me?”

Heat prickles under my skin. “Not with you.”

He smirks. “Don’t look so distraught, Miss Manners. This isn’t over—I’m just warming you up. Maybe keep your voice down this time, though—don’t want the rest of the hotel to think I’m killing you in here.”

“This time? Oh,” I gasp as he slips two fingers into me.

He curls them, stroking in a rhythm that makes my back arch and my head buzz. I clap a hand over my mouth to avoid a repeat of my impromptu tea-kettle impression. With the hand that isn’t fucking me, he caresses every part of me he can reach: my thighs, my stomach, my breasts, the backs of my freaking knees. His eyes take in just as much. Mylimbs are useless; the fingers of my free hand clutch at the bedspread, and my ankles dangle over Nick’s shoulders while my quaking thighs batter his ears. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re unbelievably soft. You know that?” he says in a ragged voice. “Fuck, baby, I never felt anything so soft as your cunt. Can I call it that? I think you like it when I curse at you, because I felt the way your wet little cunt quivered when I said that word. See, there it goes again. Oh, Miss Manners, what has gotten into you? Not so prim and proper, are we?”

My hand is doing an abysmal job at muffling the noises he’s drawing out of me. It’s like my body decided to sell me out and show him just how badly I need him, how much I’ve been aching for this. Between the wet sounds his fingers make inside of and against me and the way I shudder at every filthy thing he says, I should be embarrassed. But I’m not. After his wild-eyed confession about how many days he’s been jonesing for me, it feels reciprocal to be laid so bare.

He circles my clit with his thumb and light dances behind my eyes. I dig my heels into his shoulder blades. I don’t mean to, but he’s coiling my body into an impossibly tight spiral, every muscle activated. It’s baffling. I’ve had good sex before, but it’s never been like this. It’s never made me feel so ripped open and vulnerable and eager at the same time. My body’s never been so out of control.

“That’s it, baby. You can come for me again. I know you can. Don’t hold back,” Nick encourages.

I bite down, hard, behind my hand because the whimpers and moans that are surging out of me are exactly the kind of sounds that would raise suspicions with other hotel guests. Nick keeps telling me about how much he’s enjoying my body, how soft and beautiful I am, and the closer I get to the edge, the more he curses like he’s about to lose control, too.

My second orgasm lasts longer than the first. The initial snap is just as sharp, but the waves undulate through my body for longer, and there are more of them. Nick strums my clit through it all. Just when I think I’m at my limit, his mouth replaces his fingers. I’m a snow globe full of glitter. A thousand confetti cannons. All the stars in the sky. A very loud tea kettle.

Gradually, I sink back into my body. I’m a woman again, gazing up at the man who caused all this commotion while he strokes my cheek with his thumb. Nick smiles at me—a real one, teeth out. His undone jeans have slipped a few inches below his hips. There’s a small damp spot on his boxers near the head of his still-hard cock. I’m sweatyand wrecked, but nowhere near ready for him to stop touching me. The hand caressing my face isn’t enough. I want his weight on me again, like when we were kissing. God, I want to kiss him again.

“Be more naked,” is the sophisticated, sexy way I decide to articulate these thoughts.

“Not a good idea,” he says ruefully.

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