Page 73 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
My lips part, ready to beg him for his touch, but I don’t say a thing. I don’t want to break this seductive trance we’re in, where he isn’t the guy I’m supposed to hate, to stay away from, and I’m not the girl that conned my way into his life. So instead, I put my legs on either side of him, opening myself up in front of him like I’m serving myself up to him for dinner.
“I prop myself up on one elbow, while my other hand snakes its way back down. His eyes are glued to where my fingers slowly work their way in and out. In and out.”
I follow his directive before slipping a third finger into my pussy with ease, allowing the foreign sensation to build in me. I say the words before he does, meaning every single one of them, “I wonder what you taste like… Your lips. Your cock. Do you ever wonder what I taste like?”
“What do you think?” he says, and I wish to know if he means those words.
If he’s just saying them because they’re in the book or because he wants me as much as I want him—a lot. With shaky hands, I take the tablet away from him and set it behind me on the island, not wanting him to read the next scene. Because when he tastes me, I want to know if it’s because he wants to and not because it’s in a book.
I lean back onto my elbows, allowing my right hand to return to my pussy. Staring him right in the eye, I let out a long, soft moan, picturing his cock as I begin to finger fuck myself with renewed vigor.
“Niccolaio,” I moan out his name, so he knows it’s him and not Mr. James I’m thinking about when I bring myself even closer to an edge I’ve never before leapt off of.
I startle when he uses his knee to nudge my calf, spreading my legs wider for him. I press my leg harder against his, savoring the contact. I’m chanting his name, riding my fingers and rubbing my clit against the heel of my palm. Desperate for him, I lower my body, so my ass is only halfway on the island and my pussy is closer to his face.
And when I feel his breath travel across my pussy, caressing my clit with its warmth, I come hard, screaming his name out like a prayer and jerking so hard off the ledge that his hands reflexively reach out for my upper thighs to steady me. The contact only causes me to come harder, until my wetness is dripping past my lips and making a mess on the cold marble below me.
When I’m finally able to open my eyes again, I see him leaning forward. I tense, thinking he’s going to lick me down there, but instead I feel the coldness of the glass rim of his beer bottle swiping upward along the length of my pussy, collecting my wetness.
Sitting up, I watch with bated breath as he raises the bottle to his lips, my walls clenching in renewed arousal as his full lips make contact with the wet rim of the bottle. He looks me in the eyes, his gaze unwavering as he downs the rest of the beer, swiping his tongue around the rim when he’s done.
There’s a painful second when I wonder if he did that because of the book or because he wanted to taste me. But then, he leans forward against me—his clothed chest brushing against the hardened peaks of my nipples and the hardness of his massive cock pressed against my clit through the expensive fabric of his pants—and says into my ear, “The next time you serve yourself up to me like that, you won’t be thinking about a damn book. It’ll be my fucking orders you take. It’ll be my words that have you gushing onto my waiting fingers. It’ll be my cock pounding inside of your tight, wet pussy, not these pretty little fingers.”
Leaning back a little, he reaches for my hands, bunching them together and pressing a light kiss on the tips of each finger until he reaches the three that were inside of me. He inhales, groaning at the scent before brushing the residual wetness across his lips and briefly pressing them lightly against mine.
And then, not for the first time since I met him, the jerk steps away from me and leaves.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dumbledore says people find
it far easier to forgive other for
being wrong than being right.
J.K. Rowling
“Hit me,” Jax says, his voice raspy from all of his muffled moaning and groaning.
About an hour ago, he agreed to shut up if I took the nectarine out of his mouth. He’s kept his word, and we’ve been playing blackjack ever since. Of course, his hands and legs are still bound by Niccolaio’s heavy duty rope, which makes playing… interesting.
It means that I’ve been able to see all of his cards as I handle them on his behalf and deal the cards to the both of us. To even out the advantage, I should be playing with both of my cards up instead of just one, but I’ve never been one to fight fairly.
My lips curve upwards as I deal another card to Jax. It’s a bust, causing him to groan. I lean back a little in my seat, disgusted by the radius of his odious breath. I make a mental reminder to ask Niccolaio to bring Jax a toothbrush.
Behind me, the tablet rings, indicating a call from Mina.
Jax’s eyes widen, and he pleads, “No, no, no, n—,” as I shove the nectarine back into his mouth.
I help him out of the chair and onto the floor in his designated corner. Sometime within the last week since Niccolaio invited me to Lucy’s wedding as his date, I insisted that he lay sheets down for Jax, and for some reason, he actually agreed with me.
Now, there’s a makeshift bed down there for Jax. I push him onto it, face him toward the wall for some extra privacy and hurry back to the tablet. Pressing the bright green button, I accept the call, smiling brightly as soon as I see Mina’s beautiful face.
“Hi, Minka!”
“Hey, pretty girl.” I look at the clock. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“It was a half day,” she says dismissively. “Guess what!” She’s visibly jumping in her seat, unable to contain her excitement.
