Page 72 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
Removing my fingers from my pussy, I open my eyes to stare at them, to witness the foreign wetness soaking them with my own eyes. But when my eyes open, I find Niccolaio staring at me from the edge of the bed, his intense eyes roaming the length of my body before they stop on my wet fingers.
I try to process this—him being here. Even in his suit, I can see the hardness of his muscles, muscles that are tense right now, accompanied by clenched fists, a widened stance and crossed arms. His eyes take in the scene before they land on the tablet beside me, and I think I see the faintest glimpse of a smile on his face before it’s gone.
“A-are you going to just stand there?” I ask, putting much effort into maintaining an adequate level of sass in my voice.
In only my panties, I feel vulnerable so naked beneath his gaze, but I can still feel the wetness on my fingertips, and I realize that perhaps this is what I want. To let someone—to let him—consume me.
So, I plead, “H-help me.”
His nostrils flare, and for a brief moment, I think he’s going to say yes, but instead, the jerk says, “No.”
My jaw drops, but he’s already reaching forward for the tablet, his eyes skimming through the passage on the screen. “Misbehaved?” he says, amusement in his voice as he reads the title of the book. His lips finally curve up into a sexy smirk, and reads, “I’m afraid he’s going to turn me down again.” He laughs out loud at the coincidence, the seductive sound a soothing balm on the fresh wounds his denial has inflicted upon me.
“Tell me to stop. Throw me in the fucking lake, I don’t know. But he doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, he stands and grabs a beer—once more—then returns to the booth,” Niccolaio’s voice trails off as he enters the kitchen himself to grab a glass bottle of beer, and oh, God, I see where this is going.
He takes a seat on the bar stool, legs spread apart, his elbows on his knees, and an open bottle of beer in one hand and the tablet in the other. “This is the last thing I should be thinking about doing after tonight, but this is the first time he hasn’t shut me down, and I need to know I’m not the only one feeling this. I need to know I affect him as much as he affects me. He sits forward, with his elbows on his knees, the bottle dangling between two fingers as he studies me.
“He wants to watch.
“I lean back on my elbows and bring my knees up so my feet are resting on the edge of the counter. Now my legs are spread wide.”
My heart racing, I back myself up, so my back is resting against the headboard of the bed, tilting my body to give myself a clear view of Niccolaio, thanks to the open floorplan of the studio safe house. Spreading my legs, I allow him to see the wetness staining my drenched white panties.
“If anyone walked in right now, he’d appear to be disinterested.”
And Niccolaio, bless him, makes the perfect Mr. James, his features impassive except the distinct clench of his impressive jawline. I dart my tongue out, trailing a path across my lips, imagining that I’m trailing a path along his jawline instead. His eyes follow the movement greedily, but aside from that, he’s the image of indifference.
“But I know the truth. He wants this. But he wants me to take the choice from him. I rub myself over my panties, slowly circling my clit again.”
I follow the directive, nudging my clit beneath the fabric of my panties.
“Touching myself is nothing new, but with Mr. James watching me, it’s never felt better. A moan slips out, and my hips start rocking into my touch. He licks his lips and takes another drink. When he sits back in his seat, I see exactly how much he wants me through his gym shorts. But he doesn’t make a move to touch himself. Challenge accepted.”
My eyes drift to Niccolaio’s lap, and he gives me a knowing look. A thrilling jolt of lust soars through me at the sight of his massive hard on, straining against the constricting fabric of his suit pants.
“I take a deep breath and pull my panties to the side, showing him the parts of me no one else has ever seen. I’ve never been exposed like this… I’m spread out on display for my teacher, and the thought only gets me hotter.”
Taking a deep, nervous breath, I reach for my black lace panties and pull them aside, giving Niccolaio a clear view of my glistening pussy.
“Fuck,” Niccolaio groans.
They’re Mr. James’ words, but looking at the desire on Niccolaio’s face, and the way his knuckles are almost white from clenching the beer bottle so tightly, I know they’re his words, too.
“I slip two fingers inside, and they slide in easily with how wet I am. My head drops back, and I fuck my fingers harder, rubbing at the tight bundle of nerves with the heel of my palm.”
I dip two fingers inside of me to steal my wetness and drag them to my throbbing clit before returning my fingers inside of me. I thrust the fingers in and out of me, fucking them as I use the base of my palms to rub roughly at my clit.
I’ve read the novel enough to know what Remington says, “I picture you touching me like this almost every night. And in class. It’s all I ever think about.” The stolen words slip past my lips, barely distinguishable between breathy moans.
“I stand and walk toward him,” Niccolaio reads, betraying his eagerness by skipping to the part where I bare myself to him completely. “When I’m standing next to the table in front of him, I slide my underwear down my legs, letting them fall to the floor.”
I stand on shaky legs, approaching him slowly, and when I’m a foot away from him, I turn around and slide my panties down my legs, giving him a view of my bare ass before I straighten and step out of my panties.
I wish it was my name on his tongue, but instead, Niccolaio reads, “‘Remington,’ he warns, his voice still hard and gruff. It’s the same stern voice that tells me to stop touching myself. To go to the headmaster’s office. To behave. Only tonight, I will misbehave until I break him.
“Before he has the chance to object, I sit on the corner of the table, swinging one leg around him so he’s in between my thighs.”
When Niccolaio grabs my waist, helping me onto the kitchen counter, I falter, taken aback by the burning sensation his touch leaves on my body. I want him to touch me lower. To trail his hands down my waist and see how wet I am for himself.
