Page 101 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

‘Yes,’ the word is little more than a breath of shared air.

There’s another pause, a feeling like being suspended at the top of a rollercoaster, the instant before the freefall.

‘Show me,’ he says, somehow making the rough words a demand, a plea and a question all at the same time. His posture eases back, giving me a chance to escape.

But that’s the last thing I want.

This time my smile is victorious. My fingers are shaking as I slip my hand into my shorts, and press the toy where I’m already wet and ready.

My eyes fly to his and Nico watches, his face impassive.

‘Turn it up.’ His voice is low.

There’s a click as I press a button and I gasp as the intensity of the air pressure increases.

‘Hold it there,’ he says. ‘Right there.’ I hold the vibrator firmly against my clit where it pulses over and over. ‘Press it again.’

The pressure grows, a beat hammering between my legs as he tells me when to ease off the intensity before turning it back up. As he has me do it again and again.

Click, click, click.

‘Nico,’ I moan, the sensation almost unbearable.

‘Such a good girl,’ he murmurs, and I jolt, the words like a shock of electricity hitting my nervous system. He lets out a rumble of approval, his gaze trailing over my face. ‘Look at you.’

My legs are trembling. His arm brackets me, but he’s not touching me anywhere, and I don’t know why it’s so good, but it is. The way he’s watching me unspool, come undone right in front of him, while he’s totally in control, only the edge of something hot and hungry in his eyes.

I can feel my climax building, can already tell it’s going to shatter me, and he hasn’t even laid a finger on me.

I have to hold myself up and I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it for much longer. Air saws in and out of my lungs, a bead of sweat runs down my spine.

I try to tell him how good it feels but I can’t form full thoughts let alone words. Every nerve in my body is alive and spitting sparks. I’m lightning in a bottle. I’m coming apart at the seams.

‘Let me see, baby,’ Nico whispers, his mouth close enough to the shell of my ear that I can feel his voice like a caress. ‘Let me see how pretty you look when you come.’

The orgasm hits me hard and fast, my hips bucking as my eyes flutter shut. Behind my eyelids there’s an explosion of scattered light. ‘Oh god,’ I moan as my body riots.

When I open my eyes, he’s still there, looking back at me. His pupils have eaten up his irises, his chest is rising and falling almost as heavily as my own. Slowly, he peels himself back from the wall.

He looks at me for a long moment, and nods like a decision has been made.

‘Okay,’ he says.

Then he turns and leaves the room.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Nico

There’s no use pretending anymore, and in a way it’s a relief. What happened last night can’t be waved away as a misunderstanding or played off as part of our charade. It’s pretty damn clear that what exists between Lee and me is a lot more than friendship. Tonight, when I get home from work we’re going to have to talk about it, and I’m experiencing a confusing mix of anxiety and anticipation over that.

Last night I pinned Lee to a wall and watched her climax and it was without question the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever witnessed. Seeing those blue eyes flutter closed, the pink that spilled across her cheeks, the way that perfect rosy mouth of hers opened as the orgasm hit her. Every detail of it is imprinted on my memory, and will be for ever.

It was a moment that there was no coming back from, and when I realised that, instead of panic all I felt was… satisfaction. The kind of overwhelming, primal satisfaction I’ve never experienced before, swiftly followed by something else: need.

The way I need her is like a disaster. Something violent, painful, thundering through my body like a hurricane, obliterating me and testing the very fragile hold I have on my own control to its limits.

In that moment I wanted to touch her so badly that I had to leave the room before I did something we’d both regret. Unfortunately, that noble gesture meant that I spent a long uncomfortable night alone, followed – if I’m honest – by a long, uncomfortable morning at work.