Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Then his hands went to his belt.
The leather was soaked, making it difficult to unbuckle, but he managed it with swift, sure movements. The sound of his zipper seemed impossibly loud in the confined space of the shower.
My heart was beating so frantically I was pretty sure it was trying to win some kind of Olympic medal for Most Panicked Organ.
When he freed himself, I stopped breathing entirely.
He was...oh wow. Um. That was...that was a lot. Like, a lot a lot.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly.
I dragged my gaze up to his face, feeling like my cheeks were on fire despite the water streaming down them.
“Have you done this before?” The question was gentle but direct.
I shook my head, not trusting my voice to form actual words instead of just embarrassing squeaks.
Something fierce and possessive flashed in his expression, a primal satisfaction that made my insides twist with need. “Good. I’ll teach you.”
His hand threaded through my wet hair, gentle but firm, not pulling, just holding. Guiding. Like he was anchoring me to reality when every part of me felt like I might float away on a cloud of disbelief that this was actually happening.
“Open your mouth,” he commanded, his voice low and rough in a way I’d never heard before.
I did, my lips parting without conscious thought, my body surrendering to his authority like it had been waiting for this moment for years. Maybe it had.
“Wider.”
I obeyed, and he guided himself between my lips, slow and devastating to whatever remained of my sanity.
The taste of him flooded my senses—salt and heat and something uniquely Nicolo that made my head spin like I’d just gotten off one of those tea cup rides at Disney after eating nothing but cotton candy all day. I instinctively tried to take more of him, but he held me still with the hand in my hair.
“Easy,” he murmured, his voice strained but controlled. “Let me show you.”
And he did.
He taught me how to use my tongue, how to hollow my cheeks, how to take him deeper without panicking. His voice was low and rough, guiding me through every movement, praising me when I did something right in a way that made my insides melt like ice cream on hot asphalt.
“That’s it,” he groaned when I found a rhythm that made his hips jerk slightly. “Just like that, sweetheart.”
The endearment sent liquid heat pooling between my legs. I’d never been anyone’s sweetheart before. Never been anyone’s anything before, period, and it was why hearing it from Nicolo while I was on my knees for him made something inside me break open.
I lost myself in the rhythm, in the weight of him on my tongue, in the way his breathing became more ragged and his control started to slip. Water streamed down both of us, the shower creating a private world of steam and heat and desperate need where nothing existed but this moment, this connection, this surrender.
When he came, it was with my name on his lips—not whispered, but groaned like it was being torn from somewhere deep inside him—and his hand gentle in my hair, holding me steady as I swallowed everything he gave me, determined not to disappoint him even though I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
For a moment, we just stayed like that. Me kneeling on the shower floor, him breathing hard above me, both of us trying to process what had just happened. What lines we’d just obliterated. What bridges we’d just burned to ash.
Then he was pulling me to my feet, his hands surprisingly gentle as he steadied me against the wall. My legs felt like they were made of jelly, wobbly and unreliable and completely useless.
“My turn,” he said roughly.
Before I could ask what he meant, his hand was between my legs, and all I could do was cry out.
My head fell back against the tile as his fingers found exactly where I needed them with unerring precision. He knew my body better than I did, somehow knew exactly how to touch me to make me fall apart in record time.
“Nicolo—” My voice didn’t even sound like mine anymore. It was breathless, desperate, pleading for something I couldn’t articulate.
“Let go,” he commanded, his mouth against my ear, his breath hot on my neck. “Come for me.”
Two strokes of his fingers against that perfect spot, and I shattered.
The climax hit me like a tidal wave, massive and overwhelming and completely unstoppable. My knees buckled completely, but he held me up, his strong arm around my waist keeping me from collapsing as wave after wave of sensation crashed over me, each one more intense than the last until I wasn’t sure where I ended and the feeling began.
When it was over, I could barely stand. Could barely remember my own name. Could barely process the fact that I’d just had my first orgasm courtesy of my stepbrother’s fingers in the shower while I was still reeling from what I’d just done to him with my mouth.