Page 109 of Overtake
“He’s amazing.” Nico’s smile turns into a smirk. “Do not tell him I said that. His ego’s big enough already.”
“Oh?” I arch an eyebrow. “You mean that tall, strong, sexy specimen of man intimidates you?”
“Careful, Hayter.” His voice drops low. “Or I might have to remind you which world champion you’re with.”
“Promises, promis?—”
His kiss cuts me off, exactly as I’d hoped.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
After dinner and many goodbyes,they’re hurried back into the SUV.
Nico watches Petra in his peripheral vision as the drivers speed back toward the hotel. Streetlights dance across her beautiful face, making her look otherworldly.
They slip through the service entrance, avoiding the media circus at the main doors, and he takes her hand in the service lift, needing to touch her. “That dress has been killing me slowly.”
“It was this or camos and my pink Docs.”
He laughs and pulls her closer. "You look good in anything, Petra."
Anticipation crackles between them and the journey to his room feels endless. The moment the door clicks shut, Nico presses her back against it.
"About time." He slides his fingers under silk to find skin.
"For what?" The breathiness in her voice alone is enough to get him hard.
He replies with a kiss, deep and thorough, tracing her lower lip with his tongue before he claims her mouth completely. Petra grips him hard enough to leave marks. Good. He wants her marks on him.
The silk dress whispers against wood as he pins her there, one hand on her jaw, the other mapping the curve of her waist. Her pulse hammers against his thumb where it rests at her throat. Her lips taste likemoleandcervezaand something uniquelyher.
"You've been driving me insane all night." He moves his mouth to her ear. "This dress. That smile for the cameras. Like you didn’t even feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“Anything.”
She laughs. “Is that supposed to be dirty talk?"
"Give me a minute." He nips her earlobe and presses into her harder, trapping her between his body and the door. "I'm working up to it." Nico’s need to be inside Petra is a primitive, possessive thing that’s dwelled inside his brain and under his skin for as long as he can remember.
Her laugh becomes a sigh when he slides his hand higher, fingers finding the edge of lace beneath silk and around to cup her ass. She’s wearing a thong. Christ. The discovery shorts out his brain for a solid three seconds.
They move into the room, shedding pretense and clothes with each step. His fingers tangle in her hair—finally, fuck, he's been wanting to touch it all night—and the texture surprises him. Softer than it looks, thick and vibrant between his fingers. She makes quick work of his shirt, buttons scattering. He should care about that. He doesn't.
Those white stilettos are abandoned near the door with a satisfied kick that makes her laugh.
“Petra.” Nico breathes her name against her neck, overwhelmed by the reality of her here, like this. A boy's dream come to fruition now that he's a man. "So fuckingbeautiful."
“Nico.” Her voice shakes, and when he looks at her, her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide.
He kisses her again, slower this time. Learning the shape of her mouth, the way she gasps when he bites her lower lip, the pleased sound she makes when he soothes the sting with his tongue. She explores his chest and shoulders, fingers charting muscle and bone.
Talk becomes secondary to touch and taste and friction.
Petra’s dress drops in a whisper of silk that pools at her feet. Nico steps back. He needs to see her, and the sight steals his breath. Black lace. Tan lines. The lean, powerful muscles of her thighs and the softer curve of her small, perfect breasts. She's equally delicate and ferocious.
"Stop staring." But she doesn't move to cover herself, doesn't look away from his gaze.
