The Sweetest Oblivion (Made 1)

He groaned, and before I could even lower my arms, his mouth latched onto my breast, giving it one slow suck while dragging his teeth across the nipple. White heat shot like lightning between my thighs before pulsing in an empty ache. I swayed into him, running one hand around his neck and into his hair.

His hand shoved down the front of my shorts, brushing over sensitive skin and cupping me with a roughness that brought me to my toes. His entire palm rubbed back and forth, a firm pressure against my clit. My head fell back with a moan.

“So fucking wet,” he growled. He sucked a nipple into his mouth and then slid two fingers deep inside me. Hot, sweet pressure filled me, threatening to overfill as he fingered me. Fast and then lazy. Over and over.

Maybe I should have been embarrassed that I was so wet the room filled with the sounds of his fingers pushing in and out of me. But my skin was hot enough it felt like I’d been doused with kerosene and then lit by a match. The fire burned into my lower stomach, creating a blaze that needed to be fed. And if not . . . I would go up in smoke.

“Oh, God . . .” I moaned, digging my nails into his shoulders. I was so close, so so close. “God, please.”

He trailed over every inch of my breasts, kissing them like he would my mouth: with lips and tongue and teeth. His fingers slipped out of me, pulling wetness to my clit, and when he pushed them back in, that was it.

Pressure burst into tingles and flame. My veins burned up like a line of gunpowder, shooting flames of light behind my eyes. A shudder fluttered through my body as though three shots of liquor poured straight into my bloodstream, before a languid heat spread.

As I came down, I realized my legs had given out and I sat on his thigh. I hadn’t opened my eyes yet when his lips and a deep rasp touched my ear. “Jesus, you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Satisfaction still shimmering with an orange glow dripped into my chest like a leaky tap. “Thank you,” I breathed, my cheeks flushed enough to singe if touched. His hand slid from my shorts and I shivered at the loss of contact.

His eyes were heavy-lidded, the color black intoxicated. His thumb grazed my lips and his words were coarse like he hadn’t spoken in a while. “You’re welcome.”

He left a streak of wetness across my mouth, and I knew it was of me. I drew my tongue across my bottom lip and licked it off.

His gaze flashed. “Get on the bed.” It was a demand, his lazy mood hardening into a harsh one that made my heart thump against my ribcage.

I pulled away from him and crawled onto the bed. It felt like I lay on a cloud of Nico as I got settled on my back. It was too soft to be him, but it smelled like him: warm whiskey, sandalwood, and an unnamable scent I associated with sweet temptation and danger.

While holding my stare, he slipped his sweatpants off, and my cheeks grew warmer even though he still wore boxer briefs as black as his full sleeve. I swallowed as I glanced at his erection that strained through the fabric. Anticipation thrummed to life between my legs. He was so hard, and it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

My body was languid, pliable, and still high on an orgasm, but as this man watched me while he walked around the bed with a volatile darkness in his gaze, my pulse began to tremble in my throat.

Goose bumps spread across my skin as the air-conditioner kicked on with a blast. He opened the nightstand drawer, pulled out a condom, and tossed it on top of the table. My stomach tightened, and a noise of surprise escaped me when he grabbed my ankle and jerked me to the side of the bed.

“These fucking shorts,” he gritted, grabbing the waistband and yanking them down my legs along with my thong.

A somewhat manipulative part of me knew exactly what he meant. The shorts resembled underwear, and I might have worn them in front of him while he was still my soon-to-be brother-in-law.

He tossed my clothes on the floor behind him. “Were you trying to fuck with me, Elena?”

The orgasm might as well have been truth serum, because I breathed, “Yes.”

He grasped my thighs, parted them, and then let out a low curse. His gaze flicked to my face, hardening. “Who else do you fuck with?”

The words hit me in the stomach and turned every drop of lust sour. He still thought I was a slut, and here I lay with my legs spread for him? With a glare, I yanked my thighs out of his grasp and stood. “Screw yourself, Nicolas.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’d rather screw you.”

“Too bad,” I snapped, pushing past him.

I didn’t make it another step before his arm wrapped around my waist, my feet left the floor, and he tossed me onto the bed. The air whooshed out of me and a breathless annoyance flared. “I’m not a doll you can throw around, and I’m not sleeping with you.”

He crawled onto the bed and kneeled between my legs. “No one said anything about sleeping,” he drawled.

I hated to admit it, but my body loved his voice and responded by growing warm everywhere. I was such a pushover. “Nico—”

“Platonic.”

I faltered. “What?”

A sigh escaped me as he ran his calloused palms down my thighs, spreading them. “You want me to stop, you say Platonic.”