Page 133 of The Failed Audition

“You love it in hell, John?” I laugh into a bigger smile.

He spins around, walking backwards to the elevators, and he says, “All my friends are here. So it beats everywhere else.”

Friends.He admitted to having multiple friends. My cheeks hurt.

He turns around, back facing me, and waves. “Night, Thora. Keep making stupid decisions.”

“Night, John.” And he disappears around the corner.

I scrubthe resin off my hands in Nik’s bathroom sink. About to take a shower.

He enters, leaning a hip against the counter. “I missed you coming in.”

“I didn’t want to wake you.” He was asleep on the couch, ESPN on mute in the background. When the channel isn’t on reality television, Nikolai plays sports on cable, mostly football and MMA. My tastes—The Vampire Diaries, Bitten, Witches of East EndandTrue Blood(RIP)—are outliers here. Still, I seem to fit in just fine.

Instead of talking, he stands behind me, his hands lowering to my waist. My heart double-skips, not immune to his advances, even living together now, even after we’ve run around the bases. He pulls my back into his chest, away from the sink.

My body heats. “I have…to…” My thoughts pop the moment he lowers his head to my neck, kissing me rightthere.A certain place throbs for more.Shower. You need to shower, Thora.“I smell.” Why did I just say that?

I feel him smile into my neck. “You smell fine to me.”

That’s what every girl loves to hear.Fine.Not like vanilla or roses or a fuckable scent. Fine isyou’ll do for now.I rotate and put my hands on his chest. “I…would rather smell like soap.”

He stares down at me, his gaze raking my frame. “I’d rather fuck you.” And then he lifts me up, splitting my legs apart and setting me on the counter. I can’t combat him, not when his lips meet mine and his tongue skillfully slips into my mouth. It’s an eager, aggressive kiss that steals breath and puts me in his possession.

Yeah—that shower is not happening.

His movements are more rushed than usual, no slow build up. He practically tears off my shirt, my bra, shorts, panties, and he pulls off his shirt, steps out of his pants, all in between a make-out session that numbs my lips. I moan the minute his fingers graze the spot between my legs.

He covers my mouth with his palm—since we don’t live in this suite alone. I’ve found it hard to restrain noises. My mind wants to shut it down, but my body loves the climax too much, always on its own agenda.

He kneads my breast, and then pushes into me without hesitation. I shut my eyes tightly, the fullness great, but the pain…not that much. It’s less than it used to be, so I know in time, it’ll all go away. It’ll feel better.

He kisses me again, trying to distract me, trying to wrap me in more pleasure. I clutch his arms while he thrusts into me, harder than usual. I open my eyes, and he’s absorbing my body with that intensity, in the way we fit together. His cock sliding right inside—I buck up, a cry stuck in my throat.

I reach out and accidentally splash the running water from the faucet that I never turned off. Still needing support, I cling back to him, now sufficiently wetting both of us. I don’t care much. The pain is starting to dissipate as my climax nears.

I meet his penetrating grays, and it sends me over.

“Nik...I…” My toes curl, my body clenching around him.

He says something in Russian, as if I can translate. I swear he does this to torment me. He kisses my cheek and then presses me to his chest, lifting me from the counter. While his hardness still fills me, he carries me to his bedroom, setting my back…on the desk.

He pounds against me, not finished yet. A layer of sweat coats my skin and his. He keeps his hand over my mouth and uses the other hand to lift one of my legs higher.

My eyelids slowly close, drowning in the way he thumps against my body: the melodic, hard,fastrhythm. Each time he slams into me, it’s like he’s trying to expel his pent-up emotions. I realize I should’ve asked how his day was, instead of worrying about a shower.

He rocks harder, and my noise dies in his palm.

Then he pulls out—ow—still erect, and he carries me to his bed. He tosses me on the mattress, tiny and little enough to throw me around. Usually it’s fun. But tonight, I think I need to ask, “How was your day?” I pant out the words.

He gives me a look like I asked about nuclear warfare in bed. And he crawls on top of me, kissing me deeply before he grips his shaft and slides right back in.Owww.I let out an audible cry, of pain, and he combs my hair affectionately, slowing his movement, only for a second.

This position is harder for me. Regular missionary—it’s like our hips don’t align right unless I have a pillow under my ass. And he’s not putting one there. Normally, he’ll turn on his side, making it more comfortable and easier.

My breath is shallow, and I close my eyes and just relax more. If he doesn’t want to talk yet, then I’d rather this be pleasurable. After another minute or two, he hits a peak. He’s gentler when he pulls out of me this time. So I think he’ll finally exhale, slow down, and hold me.

But he steps off the bed and yanks me to the edge. My heart hammers. And he lowers his head between my legs, kissing the spot—holy…shit.I reach out and clench his hair. I turn my cheek into the metallic comforter, noticing that he strokes himself at the same time his tongue flicks—

---