Page 67 of Cold Front
Niall’s eyes darkened.
For a second, he didn’t say anything. His fingers flexed against my waist, his jaw tightening like he was weighing something, battling something. Then, with a gruff little exhale, he muttered, “Yeah. Okay.”
I released a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. His words shouldn’t have made me feel like I’d won something, but they did.
I didn’t give him time to change his mind. I practically threw myself off the couch, heart hammering as I strode toward my room, half afraid I’d turn around and he wouldn’t be there.
But I heard him behind me. The soft thud of his footsteps.
I barely held back a grin.
Once inside, I pulled my shirt off, then shoved down my jeans, leaving only my boxer briefs. My skin prickled, anticipation buzzing under every inch of me.
I lay back on the bed, my breath still unsteady, and glanced at Niall. He stood just inside the doorway, eyes locked on my chest. The muscle in his jaw ticked, his fingers twitching like he wanted to touch, but wasn’t sure if he should.
I softened. “No pressure,” I said quietly.
Something in him eased at that. And then, finally, he moved further into my room.
He reached for the bottom of his hoodie, yanking it over his head in one quick motion. His shirt followed, then his jeans, until he stood there in nothing but black boxer briefs that clung to him in a way that made my throat go dry.
I swallowed hard, but before I could say anything, he climbed onto the bed, his body heat sinking into the sheets.
I rolled over him, propping myself up on my elbows. “You okay with this?”
Instead of answering, he hooked a hand around the back of my neck and pulled me down, kissing me deeply. Teeth. Tongue. Desperation.
I groaned into his mouth, my body reacting instantly to the way he devoured me.
“Fuck,” I whispered against his lips, barely able to think past the way he was pressing into me, past the way his fingers skimmed down my spine, hesitant but hungry.
He was letting himself want this. Letting himself wantme.
And I was going to make sure he never regretted it.
I kissed him again, murmuring against his lips, “You’re so good at this.”
Niall’s breath hitched, his fingers tightening against my back.
For a second, I thought he might deny it, might fall back into whatever usually held him back. But instead, he just looked at me, lips kiss-swollen, eyes dark and hungry, and let the praise settle over him like heneededto hear it.
I pressed my forehead to his, smiling against his mouth.
“Let me take care of you,” I murmured.
And this time, he didn’t hesitate.
With a sudden shift of strength, he flipped us, rolling me onto my back. My breath hitched, my body melting into the mattress as he loomed over me, his knees bracketing my hips.
His eyes roamed my chest like he was seeing me for the first time.
Heat burned in his gaze, his expression unreadable, but the way his lips parted, the way his tongue darted out to wet them—it sent a sharp pulse of anticipation through me.
Then he finally looked up, locking eyes with me, something hesitant but determined flickering in his expression.
“I—” He swallowed, his voice rough, like he had to force the words out. “I love your nipple piercings.”
My stomach clenched.
