Page 9 of Nitro
Ibent and sealed my mouth over one nipple, sucking hard as if the word restraint had never existed. Her spine bowed, her wrists flexed against my grip, and a sound somewhere between moan and curse tore out of her. I bit—gently, then not so much—and soothed it with my tongue. Her freckled skin heated under my hands, and her knees brushed my thighs like she didn’t trust them.
“Nitro,” she breathed, and I had to close my eyes for a beat because the sweet sound hit me differently than anything before—like a palm to the chest. Then I snapped them open, afraid that if I looked away, I’d miss everything.
“Yeah,” I rasped, switching sides, taking the other nipple between my lips and dragging it until she gasped and tried to twist to chase the sensation. “That’s right. You know exactly whose lips are on you.”
“You’re—” She broke off when I flicked my tongue hard enough to make her curse again. “Impossible.”
“No,” I disagreed, my voice rough with need. “I’m patient. Which is worse?”
I release her wrists, and they stayed right where I’d put them, like her body had decided it wanted my hands free to roam. They did. One slid down the slick ladder of her ribs, the line of her belly, and the shallow dip above her pelvis that had been ruining men since the beginning of time.
Her coveralls hung open, a careless drape that made her look like trouble unwrapped. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of the black boy shorts hidden under the denim and felt her shiver when my knuckles brushed smooth skin.
“You’ve been avoiding me for over a week.” My mouth traced the edge of her tank. “Using fights as excuses not to look me in the eye too long.”
“I look,” she countered. “I just don’t stare.”
“Liar.” I slid my hand under the boy shorts.
Wet heat. The kind of soaked that made control feel like a lost cause. My middle finger found the slick seam of her and slid slowly from entrance to clit. When I passed over the little bundle of nerves, she jerked like I’d touched her with real fire.
“Fuck,” she rasped.
“Accurate,” I agreed, tracing a circle that wasn’t lazy at all. “You gonna behave if I lift you?”
“Define behave,” she shot back, then choked on a sound when I pressed two fingers inside—slow first, then deeper, working her open while my thumb kept steady pressure on her clit. She was snug, fluttering around my fingers in hot, wet pulses that hit my knuckles.
I caught her thigh with my other hand, hauled it up around my hip, and stepped in so she was pinned properly between the wall and me. The hardness in my jeans landed exactly where it wanted to be—right against the heat of her through thin cotton. I ground once, slow and deliberate, and her hands shot down to my shoulders, nails biting into my muscles.
“Fuck, Jana,” I grated, my forehead dropping to hers because I had a moment when I forgot distance existed. “You always this wet when we argue?”
“You bring out the best in me,” she managed, shivering, trying to get more of me. To close the distance. To get something she hadn't said out loud yet.
“Answer the question.” I pressed two fingers into her tight channel again, groaning at the way she clenched around me. “Is this for me?”
She whimpered, her head thudding back against the wall.
“Say it,” I ordered, thrusting my fingers deeper, thumb circling her clit. “Who’s got you dripping like this?”
“You,” she gasped, hips jerking against my hand.
“Damn fucking right,” I growled, grinding my cock against her center through my jeans. The heat between us was molten and sharp, the kind of thing that could level cities.
My fingers stroked inside, finding the spot that made her whimper in a broken little tone that I wanted to hear again immediately. Her breath went ragged. The tendons in her neck stood out, and her nipples rasped my shirt with every shallow grind.
“Who are you avoiding, really?” I asked because I’m a bastard sometimes, and I wanted the truth as much as I wanted her to come. “Me or the past in your head tellin’ you not to touch anything wearin’ a cut?”
“Don’t.” The warning melted into a helpless noise when I curled my fingers just right, and her hips tried to chase.
“I’ll stop,” I grunted. It was not a bluff.
Her eyes snapped open, furious and pleading in the same breath. “You wouldn’t.”
I raised an eyebrow and stared boldly into her eyes, the way she’d done that very first day.
She whimpered, and the look on her face told me just how much she hated the threat.
“Tell me,” I murmured, the pad of my thumb painting lazy eights that made her tremble. “Admit you want this.”
