Page 61 of Protecting Nicole

I’m not exactly sure what the scent is when we enter the suite, but mercifully, it isn’t horrible. It smells similar to the scented oils Knox’s masseuse used anytime she did one-on-one visits at the studio.

“Laken, it’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt,” I promise him when a second after he plops me onto the vanity in my bathroom, he hunts for the first-aid kit in the medicine cabinet. “It won’t affect my jazz hands at all.” I raise my hands to give him the jazz-hand-performance of my life. “See. Perfectly capable of disgusting any man over the age of twelve.”

Laken doesn’t see the humor in the situation. “This isn’t funny, Nicole. You could have been seriously hurt.”

“But I wasn’t. You got there first—”

“After letting them rip you from my arms.” His hands are in his hair, tugging and violent. “I fucked up. I let you down.”

I twist to face him, our bodies awfully close. “You did no such thing.”

He acts as if I never spoke. “God, what if they’d—”

“Don’t force scenarios in your head. They never end well.”

“They could have killed you, Nicole. And it’s my fucking job to protect you. I’m meant to stop situations like that from happening, not encourage them.”

When his eyes lock with mine and I see their vulnerability, a thousand lyrics fill my head, but only one line from them matters. “You saved me.”

“No.”

I stop the shake of his head by placing my hands on each side of his prickly jaw. I’m meant to be expressing my gratitude for his quick thinking and assuring him that he’s the one who stood up to defend me while others sat by and watched my downfall, but the only matter that gets broadcasted is how uncontrollably crazy I am about this man.

I tried to fight the pull.

I tried to brush off my jealousy as anger.

Nothing worked.

I’m besotted, and I’m done pretending I am someone I’m not.

So, after hooking my thumb into the belt loops of Laken’s pants, I tug him forward and seal my lips over his mouth.

23

NICOLE

My boldness wouldn’t have dipped even if Laken hadn’t immediately returned my kiss. The tension is too thick for that. The lust is too firm. It’s been boiling for hours, and nothing will stop it now that it is finally spilling over.

Our exchange moves at a lightning-fast pace. There’s no time to be savored and appreciated. We need to fuck to quench days of tension. Then we can take it slow and relish every moment.

As my hands fumble with the opening of Laken’s trousers, his mouth drops to my neck to drive me wild with desire. He kisses me hurriedly, his mouth suctioning as his hand cups my breast to toy with my nipple.

One brush of his thumb over my budded peak puckers them both even more, and goosebumps break across my skin. It feels divine but almost too slow.

I want to be taken hard.

Consumed.

I want to be fucked.

“Please,” I beg, desperate to answer the pleading thuds of my clit that haven’t been quiet for a single second today. Its pulse has been frantic since breakfast, its beat as noticeable as the ping of the button in Laken’s pants when he yanks on the zipper so ruefully that it bounces across the tiled floor.

His eagerness sends a pleasing shiver through my body and doubles my boldness. A second after he yanks his pants past his delicious ass, I slot my hand between his mouthwatering V muscle and his cotton boxer shorts. I stroke him in rhythm to his pants hitting my neck as he rolls the stiff peaks of my nipples between each index finger and thumb. It is a fast, needy pace that announces I wish to make him as unhinged as the urge to come is making me.

I’m desperate to be beneath him, to be stretched by him.

Desperate enough to beg.

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