Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Nico snorts and buries his face in my neck as his hands slide to my ass and squeeze. “I’m yet to eat this cake. I hope you’d like that?”
“Oh fuck… I—” My head floats with embarrassment as I worry about him not liking how I taste, or smell, yet I can’t help loving the image of myself on my hands and knees while Nico buries his face between my buttocks. “I mean… you’re the one with experience.”
“But feel free to say if something’s not up your street.” Despite his size and strength, Nico’s so gentle with me I melt on the inside. “I want to know what you like. What you fantasized about when you bit the bullet and went to that nightclub.”
This I didn’t expect, not after the way he led me through the sex, taking over just like I dreamed he would. But when I swallow and note he’s still watching me, I slide my arms around him and soak up the warm weight as I speak. “I thought someone would like me—someone I liked back—and I’d get to go down on him?”
I know I’m making this sound like a question, but a part of me fears there are wrong answers to Nico’s questions.
He’s holding back a smile and strokes my cheek. “Aww, that’s almost wholesome. Are you glad I’m your first instead?”
My cheeks are burning, but I force myself to keep looking back at him as I nod. “This was… very hot,” I say in a voice so quiet I worry I might need to repeat myself.
“No rush, but I want to fuck you. Is that something you also wanted?” His blue gaze is so intense when he looks straight into my eyes without blinking. As if he’s focusing on prey.
That’s me. I’m the prey, and that fact is stirring something in my balls again. Am I attracted to danger? Is that it? Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to true-crime, not the intellectual reasons I claim.
“You mean anal sex, right?” I say and imagine it happening on this bed, with me face down in the pillows and him rocking into me.
“Yes.” Nico nods, still piercing me with the daggers he has for eyes. Thinking of daggers makes me think about penetration. “I want to be deep inside you, make you squirm and moan my name. I want to make you come first so you squeeze your muscles tightly around me. And then I want to come inside you and leave you dripping.”
I whimper and attempt to lift him with my hips, only to discover I can’t. He grins at me, as if this is a game, and I cross my ankles on the small of his back, excited beyond all reason. “Yes, please, I want that. I want you to take care of me,” I say, a bit shy, because I’m showing the very core of myself to a man who, technically, is still a stranger. So I add, “just let me get my bearings first,” I add, because no matter how exciting his words are, I do have a brain in my skull, and need to keep some semblance of control.
Nico bites back a smile. “Sure. No rush. Sweets, we will have the best Christmas here,” he says as I count the days in my mind.
How long does he intend to stay here?
Chapter 18
Blake
It’s been four days since we arrived at the cabin, and while my thoughts often drift off to Carl’s betrayal, analyzing our relationship over the years, it’s been an extremely peaceful time. There isn’t that much to do so deep in the woods, so I settled on first watching Nico do some repairs, then helping him out. I felt guilty over not offering to help him clean as soon as we arrived. I’m so used to these things just being done it didn’t occur to me, but that’s no excuse.
We then progressed to making some Christmas decorations, because he insisted, and soon the cabin was adorned with cut pine branches, fairy lights, and paper chains made of magazine cuttings. As much as I detest Christmas, there’s no denying that our efforts have elevated the place, making it feel more lived-in. It was also a surprisingly lovely way to spend time together in the evening, just sitting by the fireplace, homemade cake at our side as I cut the paper and Nico glued the pieces together.
Guilt once again poked me straight in the face when during cleaning I found a basket with yarn and a crudely drawn design of a sweater. In an instant, I realized that Nico made the piece of knitwear I called the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. It must have taken him hours, if not days, and he wanted to give it to me. I know it’s somewhere in the back of his car, but it would be weird if I started to wear it all of a sudden, accepting his gift out of pity, so I’m stuck in a guilt limbo any time I see the basket of knitting supplies.