“I don’t need a map.”
“You do.”
My mouth is millimeters from hers and I’m not going to be the one to make the first move. I don’t need to be; if she wants me, she’s about to show me.
The idea I’d need a map to get her off is laughable, her thinking I wouldn’t spend every moment learning her body better than my own is also laughable.
The thing I like about her is she’s competitive, but I’m competitive too; I always have been. It’s how I’ve gotten so good at winning, and right now, we’re competing to see who can hold out the longest.
Lowering my voice to a whisper, I give her one last chance. “Let’s test that theory, shall we?”
NINE | ANASTASIA
There isa real chance I could spontaneously burst into flames at any moment.
Nate’s voice is barely above a whisper as he suggests testing his theory, but I feel every syllable all over my skin as goose bumps spread down my neck and across my chest. I have been betrayed by my body from the second he put his hands on both sides of my head and leaned in.
He’s barely touched me and yet I’m ready to melt into a puddle at his feet.
I don’t know whether it’s the proximity, the sheer adrenaline, or the tequila, but every rational thought disappears, and I crush my mouth against his.
He wastes no time sinking his hand into the hair at the nape of my neck, gripping tightly. His free hand slips around my body and palms my ass, making me moan into his mouth.
Nate is everywhere at once; all I can do is hold onto him and take it, and when his mouth travels down my neck, sucking and nipping, I’m practically panting.
I didn’t think this would happen when I followed him up here, I swear. He just looks so good in his tux and watching him nervously check the party is going well all night has been sort of endearing. And he’s hot as fuck, have I said that before? All dark hair, dark eyes, and muscles upon muscles, upon muscles.
He sinks to his knees in front of me, tugging at his bow tie and undoing the top button of his shirt. With messy hair from where I’ve held onto it and flushed cheeks, he looks up at me. His hands run from my ankle to my knee, then back down again, and yep, still close to melting territory. “You sure?”
“Do you have a pen and paper for me to draw you a map?”
I’m making jokes. Why am I making jokes? Why do I find how unimpressed with me he looks right now so funny? And hot?
“I don’t joke about consent, Anastasia,” he says softly, leaning forward to kiss the inside of my knee.
“I’m sure.” I don’t know why I’m sure. I’m sure I shouldn’t be sure. I shouldn’t like how he looks hooking my leg over his shoulder. I’m definitely sure I shouldn’t be enjoying his tongue running up the inside of my thigh.
He pulls the material of the dress to the side, and when I put on this dress earlier, this is not how I saw the evening turning out. I hear a groan of approval when his mouth gets closer to the apex of my thighs, and he realizes I’m not wearing any panties.
The anticipation is killing me. I know he’s doing it on purpose, getting closer and closer, but not doing anything meaningful.
I’m about to open my mouth to tell him to hurry up when his tongue runs between my folds, circling my clit slowly. A loud, desperate moan echoes around the room. I don’t even realize the noise came from me until I feel his shoulders move because the jackass laughs.
Fingers tickle up the back of my thighs until they can’t go any farther. His huge hands sink into my ass, squeezing at the same time he sucks my clit into his mouth in a way that makes me feel like I’m floating.
I’m a wreck. A writhing, moaning, shaking wreck. Shit. I don’t even need to be looking at his face to realize how arrogant he is right now, not that I could—it’s buried pretty deep between my thighs.
Sinking my hands into his hair for something to hold on to, a satisfied groan rumbles in his throat and the butterflies in my stomach freaking multiply.
I want to say something smart, sass him in some way. Not give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s turned me into a whimpering mess in a matter of minutes. Back arching away from the door, eyes rolling to the back of my head, hair pulling mess.
One of his hands moves from my ass cheeks, and when I look down, a pair of brown eyes are staring back at me. They stay burning into me, watching me closely as two of his fingers slide into me, finding my G-spot in 2.5 seconds.
It’s game over.
His pace increases as he pumps his fingers in and out of me, perfectly coordinated with his tongue, and if he wasn’t holding up my entire body with his mouth, I’d have toppled over by now.
The feeling keeps building, hands tug harder at his hair as I cry out, stiletto heel digging into the hard muscles of his back as I desperately try to move my hips to ride his fingers. “Nathan…” I whimper. I’m wound so impossibly tight I can’t breathe. “Nathan, I’m going to co—”