Page 86 of Sweet as Sin (Bad Habit 1)
“What?” I cried, trying to pull away. “You’ll punch me?”
Like an animal, he bared his teeth. “No. I’ll punish you.”
Dragging me away by my arm, he hauled me out of the kitchen, leaving Michael bleeding and chuckling darkly in a pool of alcohol and broken glass.
There was a door on the opposite side of the kitchen. Nico pulled me through it. It led to the empty dining room. Another door led to a corridor that led outside, to the backyard. Across the yard was a pool house, which was where Nico was headed.
“Let me explain—”
“Quiet!”
I huffed in outrage. He didn’t notice, or didn’t care, because he kept up his determined march to the pool house, dragging me along behind him like a piece of luggage. He stormed through the door, slammed it shut behind us, spun me around to face him, and kissed me. Hard.
I shoved at his chest. He didn’t budge. His tongue invaded my mouth. I twisted my head but he held me in place with one arm banded like a vise around my back. His other hand locked around my jaw.
I bit him. He pulled away with a curse.
“Good, I hope that hurt! Try and kiss me again before apologizing and I’ll bite your tongue off!” I was panting from our walk-run across the yard, from indignation, and from fury. I couldn’t believe he’d actually had the nerve to ask if I’d been the one to instigate that kiss with his brother.
I had half a mind to rip the necklace he’d given me off my throat and choke him with it.
A low, dangerous noise rumbled through Nico’s chest. His eyes flared animal bright. In one swift move, he bent, picked me up, and hoisted me over his shoulder. I found myself upside down, staring at a floor of polished terra-cotta pavers.
“Put me down!”
Instead, Nico slapped my ass with enough force to make me gasp.
“I said, quiet!”
He crossed the room in a few long strides. He flipped me upright, then pushed me down onto a sofa and stood standing over me, staring down in murderous rage, fists clenched, dark hair falling into his eyes.
My mouth went dry. He loved me. I knew he loved me. But at that moment, I would have sworn he was also perfectly capable of wringing my neck.
I kept my voice steady. “Before you do anything, you should know that if you lay a hand on me in anger, it will be the end of us.”
Nico’s lips thinned. Deadly soft, he said, “Katherine. So help me God. One. More. Word.”
“Nico—”
He lunged at me. I squealed, sounding like a mouse when it spots the cat in midjump. But he caught me before I could bolt. His weight pinned me against the sofa cushions. His hands curled around my upper arms. He gave me a jolting shake, as you would give a naughty child, and started to yell.
“Every fuckin’ time things go sideways, all you wanna do is run! You think this is a game, me and you? You think this is somethin’ either of us could ever run from? It’s not, Kat! You don’t run away from what we have and keep on breathin’! This ends, it’ll kill us both!”
With a strangled sound deep in his throat, he crushed his mouth to mine. I strained against him, wanting to bite him again, equally wanting to reassure him. How could he think I thought we were a game? Didn’t he know how much I wanted him? Needed him? How every breath I took, every thought I had, was for him?
As he ripped at my clothing, shoving my dress over my hips, tearing at my panties, I realized there were no words that would reassure Nico of my love.
I had to show him. I had to show him in the only way he could accept, and understand.
I let him push me back against the sofa. I let him drag my panties down my legs. When he fell on me, ripping at his zipper, I wriggled from beneath him. With a murmur to shush his protests, I pushed him back to the cushion I’d just been lying against. Then I lifted my dress over my head, let it fall to the floor, unsnapped my bra and tossed it aside, unzipped his jeans, freed his erection, and took the entire long, hard length of it into my mouth.
Blowjobs aren’t something I’ve ever had strong feelings about one way or another. I know men love them, the same way I’ve always loved it when a man with a skilled tongue goes down on me. These things were all a nice part of sex. But this felt like much more than a mere sex act. More than trying to give pleasure, far more than angling for control.
As I bathed Nico with my tongue, as he arched and brokenly moaned my name, his head tipped back into the cushions, his fingers clenched in my hair, every muscle in his body pulled taut with bliss, I felt as if this was a form of communion.
There was no him. There was no me. There was only us. Giving and receiving, trusting and sharing, divine and holy and raw and ugly and everything in between.
“Baby,” he groaned, thrusting his hips helplessly, his fingers twitching against my head. “Please. Please.”
