Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” I tell him awkwardly, because years of watching romance in movies and reading about it in books did not prepare me for this kind of compliment.
Nico chuckles and kisses the back of my head as we lay there in a sweaty mess. “I wasn’t expecting to be on top of you so soon,” he says, still lazily stroking my ass.
I created a monster. I got too horny, I let him touch me, and now here we are. No matter how hard I try, I can’t hate the tender way he pets me. As though I’m worth all this attention, as if he doesn’t see my neediness as a turnoff.
But what now? I shouldn’t have let this happen. I should have told him off for touching me, and I sure as hell should not have started jerking off with him next to me. What the hell is wrong with me?
“I—maybe being sleepy got to both our heads,” I respond with a weak laugh, but I can’t deny that I enjoy his touch all over me and knowing that he’s now marked me with his scent. And yes, I’m still slightly turned on by lying under him with my pants down.
“Oh, I’ve never been more awake, sweetie. But let me know what you need. Snacks? Shower? Back to sleep?”
I don’t know how to feel when he calls me that. Like I’m already his, like he knows my hard outer shell is just that. Because yeah, it is nice to be someone’s sweetie. No one’s ever called me by a pet name, and I didn’t know how much my body needed it until now.
The soft tone of his voice is like a caress, and I arch closer, only satisfied when my nape is tucked against his warm flesh. I should say shower, because I am sticky, and tidy people wash up after having sex, but that is the last thing I want, closely followed by a conversation I’m not ready to have. So it’s a no to snacks as well.
“I… I think we should just try to sleep.”
Nico turns to his side, but pulls me with him, wrapping his arms around me as if I’m his personal teddy bear. My pants are down, and he’s not bothering to pull up his underwear, so I have a sneaky suspicion that if no one comes to save me tonight, I’ll be getting sticky with more cum first thing in the morning.
…Which is not a bad prospect?
“Are you my boyfriend yet?” Nico asks, nuzzling the back of my head and leaving me speechless.
My breath comes out as a whine, which is a level of embarrassment I can’t take, but before I need to declare my intentions, something stomps on the roof above us, and we both still.
“Santa?” Nico utters, and I imagine the stars in his eyes despite knowing that it’s definitely not Santa.
Chapter 14
Nico
A shadow obscures the sky, briefly watching us through the window in the sloped ceiling above, but then glass breaks, and the mysterious figure descends on us in a hail of transparent shards. I pull Blake close, to protect him from the glass, but when a serrated dagger flashes in the faint glow of my electronic clock, my lizard brain takes over.
Big, green eyes stare at me in panic. Blake stumbles off the mattress on wobbly legs, like a lamb that’s never seen a wolf before. The heavy man in black, smelling of leather and oranges, reaches for him instead of focusing on me like I expected him to.
I don’t have time to consider why he’s here. But I know knives, and the blade in his hand is sharp enough to cut halfway through a man’s neck in one go. I jump off the bed, standing between the attacker and Blake, and turn my back on the bastard to avoid getting stabbed in the guts.
Pain rips through my back as my flesh opens up, spilling blood, but I slam my elbow into his arm, already turning, and the fucker drops the knife, stumbling back.
He’s not getting Blake unless he pries him out of my death-stiffened hands.
A split-second decision makes me reach for the knife, but I realize how wrong that is when a garotte tightens around my neck and yanks me back.
The thin metal thread sinks into my flesh, so deep I can’t loosen it with my fingers, and when I find myself unable to breathe and my mind goes fuzzy, panic sets in. I sink my nails into the thick hand tightening the wire around my throat, but it doesn’t budge. When the stocky form of my opponent lays its weight on me, I attempt to break his ribs with my elbow. The down jacket he’s wearing softens my blows. As the garrotte tightens, darkening the edges of my vision, I struggle to come up with ways to free myself. I’m like a seal caught between a killer whale’s teeth, and unless some miracle—