I let my eyes open, not hiding from him anymore. He’s looking straight into my face, and I can’t read his expression at all. Maybe he’s lost in his own feelings, or maybe he’s just concentrating on what he’s doing. I can’t tell. From here, his face looks like a mask. There’s no smile, no warmth on his mouth or in his eyes. But when he thrusts, pushing harder now, a little faster, his jaw clenches.
“Nick.” It’s a whisper, not even a whisper. So soft I’m not sure he hears it at all. I don’t know why I say it. I want him with me, though, focused on me, not with his thoughts a million miles away. He seems to come back a little bit, his eyes a bit less distant. He reaches between us, working his hand down toward my clit.
His fingers find me, dragging through the slickness where I’m damn near dripping around his dick. It’s like setting a match to my body. The sensation spears straight up into my chest, and suddenly everything inside me explodes. I’m clenching on his bare cock, and I hear him make a strangled noise. He doesn’t come yet, though.
I’m coming, whether he’s ready to dive over the edge with me yet or not. It’s so intense my eyes go hot, as if I’m crying. I can’t even scream, or whimper, or do anything but stiffen, my mouth open and silent, staring at the ceiling as a giant fist of intense pleasure closes on my womb, my belly.
I can feel my thighs quivering. His fingers press hard against my clit, until it hurts, but he eases back then. He braces his hands on the mattress, and then he’s letting go. I can feel the heat as his come pours into me. His cock pulses inside me, and I clench down on it, making him gasp. I want to feel every pulsation, every explosion as he fills me.
His eyes fall closed. Reaching up, I grab his hair. “Look at me.” I’m not sure where the words come from; it just seems suddenly vital that he acknowledge me. “Look at me, dammit, Nick.”
He does. There’s haziness in his eyes, like he’s so consumed by his orgasm that he can’t quite focus. Then he comes back to himself a bit, and a vague smile curves his mouth. It’s that not-quite smirk that seems to be his natural expression. His head dips, and he kisses me. Thrusting again, his hips press hard against me. I can’t tell if he’s still shooting into me or not, but he stays there for a few long seconds before he finally lets the arch in his back relax with a slow release of breath.
“There,” he murmurs against my ear. “Now we wait.”
The zinging thrill of pleasure is fading from my skin, and again I remember exactly what I’ve promised him. And, very clearly, I realize it’s too late to change my mind.
#
“Where are you going?”
“I need to get some things for you.”
I decide not to argue with that. Hopefully by “things” he means clothes and such. I’d prefer not to spend the next week or whatever in Nick’s too-big shirt and these jeans that used to belong to somebody he doesn’t remember.
When he leaves, I walk around the room for a while and then go to the bathroom. It’s strange, feeling his come slide down my thighs when I get up. I feel almost guilty trying to get rid of it. Not that anything I’ve done will stop any particularly motivated sperm from doing their thing.
That’s not something I want to think about. I go back to the bed and lie back down, still naked. It occurs to me that I actually feel safe for the first time in a long time.
I drift off at some point then wake abruptly with the strong sense somebody’s looking at me. Somebody is. It’s Nick. He’s standing over the bed, watching me.
“That’s not creepy at all,” I tell him.
He smiles. “I was just taking you in.”
I push myself to a seated position, suddenly self-conscious about my lack of clothes. I grope for a blanket, but Nick shakes his head. “No. Let me look at you.”
My face goes hot, and I can’t look back at him. “What did you go to get?”
“Some clothes for you. We’re going out to dinner.”
My gaze jerks to his. “We are?”
“Yes.”
“Won’t…won’t somebody see us?”
“Yep. That’s the point.” He reaches down and slaps my ass. Not hard, but enough to make a sharp noise. “Get up. Let’s go. I’ve got reservations at Lloyd’s.”
Lloyd’s. Great. It’s the place everybody in Spada’s organization hangs out when they’re not in the mood for Italian. I’ve been there a couple of times with Sal, and I know it’ll be crawling with syndicate people. It’s also hella expensive and requires formal attire.