Page 111 of Rejected By My Shifter Billionaire
“You w-wouldn’t,” I stammered, but the words felt hollow even as they left my lips.
His eyes never left mine, predatory and intent. “Try me.”
The challenge hung in the air between us, loaded with promise and threat in equal measure. I stared up at him, water streaming down both our faces, and realized with growing horror that I didn’t want to push him away.
My knees wobbled, suddenly unable to support my weight. Before I could even process it, I was sliding down the shower wall, my legs giving out entirely.
I ended up kneeling on the wet tiles, looking up at him through the steam and spray. The position was unmistakably submissive, but I hadn’t exactly planned it. My body had simply surrendered when my brain short-circuited.
His eyes went dark, pupils expanding until the green was just a thin ring around endless black.
“Maryah,” he said roughly, and there was something almost reverent in his voice. Like he was seeing something sacred and forbidden at the same time.
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Could barely breathe through the fog of need clouding every rational thought I’d ever had. This was Nicolo. My stepbrother. The man I’d spent seven years pretending not to want.
And I was on my knees in front of him, naked and trembling and silently begging for something I couldn’t even name.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The only sound was the water hitting the tiles and our ragged breathing.
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.”
