Page 116 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

Nico leans over me, grips the hem of my jumper and pulls it up over my head. Cradling my face between his hands he finally kisses me, easing us back on the bed. He tastes like whisky, his mouth a hot, slow tease. I try not to black out as his tongue slides against mine, and the sandpaper scruff on his jaw scrapes against my skin. He traces my cheekbone with his fingers. My teeth close around his earlobe, the metallic touch of his earring cold on my tongue, and he shivers.

The room is full of quiet sighs and whispered encouragement. His fingers are deft as they undo my bra, as he turns his attention to my breasts, nipping and sucking and teasing me all while he unbuttons my trousers. He kisses his way down my body as he slides them off, and my fingers thread through his dark curls while he places open-mouthed kisses across my thighs, one big hand pressing lightly on my stomach in a silent command to keep still.

I make a choked, desperate noise and he lifts his head. ‘What did I say, baby? I need you to be quiet, or I’ll have to stop.’

‘I’ll be quiet,’ I promise, feverish. ‘I’ll be so quiet. Please don’t stop.’

He hooks his fingers into the sides of my underwear and drags them slowly down my legs, and then his mouth is where I want it, where I need it to be, and I squirm and press my hand to my lips to keep from crying out as he fucks me with his fingers, with his tongue – leisurely, languidly, relentlessly – until my vision hazes over and I come apart. I press my hand harder over my mouth, swallowing a scream as the heat uncurls inside me, starting in my toes and travelling up, up, up until I’m nothing but stardust, a supernova exploding across the sky.

When I come back to earth, Nico is lying beside me, wearing a self-satisfied smirk. He’s also fully dressed and I don’t have a stitch on. This would usually make me feel self-conscious but I think he blew up that part of my brain.

‘No fair,’ I grumble. ‘Why do you have all your clothes on?’

‘We can remedy that situation any time you like.’

‘Great.’ I press my hand to my heart, which feels like it’s trying to escape out of my chest. ‘Just give me two to three business days to catch my breath.’

‘We’re in no hurry,’ he says, and as if to prove the point he leans over and gives me a lingering kiss. His fingers trail down my side, and stop at my tattoo – he traces the letters with his fingertips, a barely there touch that has me thinking maybe I don’t need that long to recover after all.

‘Tell me about this,’ he whispers. ‘It’s from Pride and Prejudice, right?’

I lift my brows in surprise and he laughs. ‘I Googled it,’ he admits. ‘Everything nourishes what is strong already,’ he reads the elegant, looping script that trails over my ribcage.

‘I got it last year,’ I say as he continues to touch me. ‘Tara and I both agreed to get bookish tattoos and it felt… daring, actually. Unexpected. Like a secret.’

‘Mmm…’ He leans down and kisses the ink. ‘Knowing that underneath those tidy clothes it’s silk underwear and secret tattoos… That’s going to make my life more difficult. I have enough trouble focusing around you as it is.’

I laugh, and he grins and kisses my neck.

‘So what does it mean?’ he asks.

‘Elizabeth Bennet says it.’ I close my eyes, relaxing into the feeling of his fingers stroking my skin. I want to purr like a cat. ‘She’s being funny, talking about someone writing bad poetry for her sister Jane, and how there’s no quicker way to kill off romance, and then Mr Darcy says something about how he thought poetry was the food of love. She tells him it probably is if people are really, properly in love with each other, that “everything nourishes what is strong already”.’

‘I like that,’ Nico murmurs.

‘I do too,’ I agree sleepily. ‘People think love is all poetry and tempests, but I never wanted it to be like that. I think there’s something romantic about saying that a love story doesn’t sprout because of a few pretty words, but that when you’re in love, really in love, then art – then everything – can be for you.’

‘Like when you hear a love song, and you finally feel like you really understand it,’ Nico muses.

‘Exactly. You don’t fall in love because of the song, the song says something about how you feel already and in that moment you feel it even more. It feeds it. Something strong that only gets stronger.’

He’s quiet for a moment, and I feel hazy, drugged, slipping into that place between waking and dreaming as he strokes my side, as he feathers kisses across my shoulder. He manoeuvres the bed sheets, dragging them over my sensitive skin. I prise my eyes open to see him unbuttoning his shirt.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

‘Shhh, go back to sleep,’ he says.

‘I’m not asleep,’ and I feel cross about this comment, until his shirt hits the floor and I get to drink in all those beautiful muscles, all that delicious gold skin. He shucks off his jeans and slips into bed beside me, wearing only his boxers. He reaches out and pulls me against him, his fingers sliding over my stomach, as he brushes a kiss against my neck.

‘You were definitely asleep,’ he murmurs against my hair. ‘You were making cute little noises.’

I wrinkle my nose. ‘I certainly was not. And anyway,’ I press against him, ‘I seem to remember something about you wanting to fuck your wife in this bed.’

Nico lets out a pained hiss, and I can feel him hard and ready against me.

‘But only if you can be very quiet,’ I whisper, turning in his embrace and winding my arms around his neck, kissing him and rubbing my extremely naked body against his.

‘Fuck,’ he bites out. ‘I want you so much.’