Chapter Twenty-Seven EVERLEIGH

Chapter Twenty-Seven

EVERLEIGH

Wait a second.

Did I hear him correctly? Did Nico Valente just say he wants to make out?

With me?

It’s like I’m on a ten-second delay, his words slowly sinking into my brain and taking a moment for me to absorb. “You’re kidding.”

His face switches into an expressionless mask. “If you don’t want to, it’s cool. Just a suggestion.”

His voice is way too casual, which has me suspicious.

“It’s not that I don’t want to .?.?.” I clamp my lips shut, wondering where I’m going with this. On the one hand, I would love to make out with Nico. That one kiss in front of Portia wasn’t enough. It was like a tempting little snack before the actual feast.

While we feasted on each other a few nights ago, that wasn’t enough either. It’s like the more we kiss, the more I want it.

Does he feel the same way?

Casually kissing my roommate with tongues involved is not something I thought I would do. How am I going to feel after tonight’s proposed make-out session? Will I move on with my life, or will I crave more?

Knowing me, I’m guessing it’ll be the latter.

“I get it. You’ve already told me you don’t want to do this. That I’m not your type.”

Why does he sound so .?.?. defeated?

He makes no sense.

I peer up at him, swaying backward until I basically collapse against his headboard, nearly knocking my head on it. He lunges for me a little too late—see, I knew his reflexes would become slower from the alcohol—and his hand comes around to cup the back of my head, lifting me away from the headboard.

“You okay?” He’s holding me like I’m some sort of Disney princess laid out on his bed. Hovering above me like my very own Prince Charming. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No,” I whisper, my gaze resting yet again on his perfectly shaped lips.

They’re nice lips. The bottom one is fuller than the top, and when he smiles—like he’s doing at me right now—all my brain cells seem to scatter like leaves in the wind. Leaving me dumbstruck.

Breathless.

“You’re definitely not my type,” I admit.

The smile fades. “Right. You’ve already mentioned that.”

“If you’re having an insecure moment right now, please let me reassure you that I only say you’re not my type because you’re just—you.” I lift my hand, flicking my fingers at the perfection that is his face. “And I’m me.”

“What do you mean by that?” He sounds even more confused.

“You could have anyone here tonight. Every woman at this party would fall at your feet,” I tell him, savoring the way he’s still cradling me in his arms.

“Except for the one that I want.”

We stare at each other, and I swear I’m not even breathing. Not when his gaze drops to my lips. Not when his head starts to descend .?.?.

And definitely not when his lips touch mine.

A spark ignites between us at first contact, and I feel his exhale all the way down to my soul. It brings me back to life, has me sitting up, swiveling in his lap until his back is against the headboard and I’m straddling him. My hands are in his hair, my fingers twisted in the dark, silky strands, my mouth still attached to his.

We’re kissing. Our mouths connecting. Parting. Reconnecting. With every pass, my lips open more and more, until our tongues brush against each other. Tentatively seeking. Circling. Tangling.

Tingles sweep over my skin when he slips his hands beneath his hoodie I’m still wearing. They slide upward, running over the stretchy fabric of my dress until they’re touching the bare skin of my back, skimming along my spine. Making me shiver.

Making me moan.

The sound startles me. Brad didn’t make me moan, especially not at the end of our relationship. Did we kiss much? If we did, it would always lead to mostly boring sex that never lasted long.

Now that I’m out of one, I realize being in a relationship is hard work. Why would I want another one again?

That’s right. I don’t.

All thoughts of relationships evaporate the longer Nico and I kiss. It’s like we can’t get enough of each other. We’re lost in each other’s taste, the kiss going deeper. Lasting longer. I scoot closer to him, drawn to all that heat and muscle, and when I nudge against what is unmistakably his erection, I freeze, breaking away from his still-seeking lips.

“Maybe we shouldn’t take this any further,” I whisper, my breaths coming as fast as my heartbeat.

“Further like how?” His voice is a deep, rough rumble that has my stomach doing backflips.

“Nothing but kissing.”

He presses his forehead to mine, the sound of his ragged exhale making my insides tremble. “You’re serious.”

I nod, my fingers raking through his hair. God, it’s soft and so thick. The murmur of approval he gives when I do it again has my heart fluttering. “You’re the one who said you just wanted to make out.”

“I’m an idiot.” He kisses my cheek. Soft, sweet little kisses he trails across the side of my face until his mouth is at my ear. “How drunk are you?”

My answer is immediate. “Not too drunk for this.”

“You sure?” He pulls away slightly to stare into my eyes.

I nod. “I want this.”

I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.

His smile is slow. Devastatingly sexy. “Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” I suck in a breath when he presses his face into my neck again, his warm lips tickling against my skin.

“How about I kiss you .?.?.” He shifts up, nibbling on my earlobe. “Everywhere.”

I feel like I’m in freefall at his words, and I grip him closer. He turns his head, our lips now close enough that we could be kissing, but I need answers first. “Like where?”

He’s smiling again. Probably because I want details. “Where do you want me to kiss you? Your neck?”

Before I can respond, Nico dips his head, pressing his hot mouth to the side of my neck. He kisses and licks me there, making me gasp. “You like that?”

I can’t answer because my voice has disappeared, but yes.

I love it.

His fingers tug on the front of my hoodie—his hoodie—pulling it down so he can drop a kiss on my collarbone. “We need to get rid of this.”

Without a word I lift my arms, and he tugs the sweatshirt off, exposing me. My skin is covered in goose bumps, and the skirt of my dress is hiked up almost to my hips.

Reminding me that I have no panties on.

He kisses a fiery path across my bare shoulder. Then the other one. He gently nudges the strap of my dress down, and it falls to my upper arm, exposing more of my chest. I close my eyes, savoring the feel of his mouth on my skin, trying to remind myself that this isn’t the move. I’m only going to end up wanting more, and that will only lead us to trouble.

But it’s like all logical thought has been erased from my brain upon the first touch of his lips. I just want more.

This is looking to be the best make-out session I’ve ever had.

His hand drops to my rib cage, resting just under my right breast, and I suck in a breath, my core aching with anticipation. He slowly sweeps his thumb across my breast. My nipple.

I melt into him, pressing myself against his erection, and he rears his head back. I can feel him staring at me, and I slowly open my eyes to find his dark gaze locked with mine.

“You’re not wearing panties.”

“I know,” I whisper.

The smile that appears on his wickedly handsome face is filthy, and he shifts his hand so it’s fully covering my breast. “You’re a bad girl, Ever.”

I’m laughing. Is it the alcohol? The tone of his voice? The way his fingers gently massage my breast while I’m basically grinding on his dick? “No one has ever called me a bad girl in my life.”

“You’re the one who didn’t wear panties.” He presses his face against my neck, seeming to breathe me in.

“I didn’t want weird lines under my dress,” I admit, my hands sinking into the hair at the back of his head.

It’s like I can’t get enough of it. Enough of him.

Chuckling, he slides his hand down, gently cupping my rib cage before dropping to my waist. My hip. His mouth finds mine once again, and I kiss him back with everything I have, tugging on his hair. Desperate to get closer. I want him to consume me.

I want to consume him.

His hand falls to my thigh, resting there as our tongues twist, his fingers drawing lightly back and forth. Teasing me. Driving me out of my mind with anticipation.

“Your skin is so soft,” he whispers against my lips, and everything inside me clenches tight. My head is spinning, though I’m not that drunk. It’s from Nico’s touch. His mouth. His teasing fingers and soul-stealing kisses.

All thoughts of this being a mistake have fled my brain. I can only focus on the way his fingers play with the hem of my dress, perilously close to where I want them the most. And when those fingers slip beneath my dress and trace the spot where my pelvis connects with my thigh, a shuddery sigh escapes me—it’s not a place where I’m touched much beyond by my own hand.

“I can smell you,” he murmurs once he’s ended our kiss, his gaze dropping to the spot where he’s touching me. “We probably shouldn’t do this.”

If he stops touching me, I’ll scream like Portia did. My entire being is focused on the one place on my body where his fingers are. I cannot imagine him stopping, or what I might do if he does.

“Do you want me to stop, Ever?”

Swallowing hard, I slowly shake my head. “Please.”

It’s the only word that I can get out.

“Please what?” His fingers trace along the top of my thigh, getting closer. “Please stop? Please don’t ever quit doing what you’re doing?”

“The last one,” I manage to say, a whimper leaving me when his fingers brush the front of me, tangling in my pubic hair. I used to keep it waxed, but Brad didn’t really care, so what was the point?

I wonder if Sienna knows of a good wax technician.

His fingers slip lower, dipping inside, touching me lightly. I wind my arms around his neck and hold on, afraid I might melt into a puddle if I don’t have something to grip while he plays with me.

And oh, how he plays with me.

He swirls a slow circle around my clit with his index finger before dipping lower, sliding back and forth, searching every part of me while his mouth finds mine. He kisses me fiercely, his touch remaining gentle yet insistent between my thighs, and when he slips a finger inside me, I cry out against his lips. Wanting more.

Needing more.

“You like that?” His voice is pure sin, and I can’t respond. All I can do is hum my approval, and he adds another finger. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

No one has ever said those words to me, but every time Nico so much as makes a sound, I swear I get wetter. His fingers are probably drenched, and maybe in another lifetime I’d care.

But not now.

His mouth never leaves mine as he continues to fuck me with his fingers. I move with him, lifting my hips, needing him deeper. Moaning when he presses his thumb against my clit and rubs it. Everything inside me focuses on that one spot where his hand is so busy, his thrusting fingers filling me. Teasing me. I rub against him shamelessly, panting against his lips when the sensations become too overwhelming and I can’t concentrate on anything else.

Just this.

Just him.

“You’re close,” he murmurs, and I love that he can tell. That he’s paying attention. Listening and watching for my cues.

My nod is frantic, and I try to spread my legs wider, essentially riding his hand.

“Shhh.” His fingers go still, though he leaves them inside me. I wait there, hanging on the edge of orgasm, my entire body trembling. Aching for release. “Don’t move.”

I do as he says, waiting. Breathless. Anxious. He removes his fingers from my body, both hands going to my hips, and the next thing I know, I’m falling backward onto the mattress, my head at the bottom of it, and Nico’s head .?.?.

Right between my legs.

His mouth hovers over my pussy, his breath wafting across my sensitive skin, just before he dips down and licks me from my clit to my ass.

“Ohmygod.” The words come out as one, and I clamp my hands on top of his head, keeping him there as he sucks my clit in between his lips. He slips his fingers back inside me, fucking me at a steady pace, and I rock against him. Barely able to take it.

I close my eyes, lost in the sensation of his searching tongue. It feels so fucking good. Too good. Unbelievably good.

And then I’m coming, the intensity of my orgasm leaving me unable to think. Breathe. Function. I just clutch him to me, my entire body going still before I fall completely apart.

I’m crying out as I lift my hips, my toes freaking curled into my feet like I’ll never be able to straighten them again as wave after wave sweeps over me. I tilt my head back, completely overwhelmed by the tremors that rack my body. He never stops licking me, fucking me with his fingers, and then all at once, it’s too much, and I’m pushing him away. Begging him to stop.

He pulls to the side, wiping his face off on the inside of my thigh, and again, I imagine the old me would’ve been mortified he did that. Like it’s a bad thing I’m wet.

But I think he liked it. He wasn’t hesitant about going down on me at all and my God .?.?.

The man is really good at it.

“You all right up there?” he asks after a couple of seconds of my shaky breathing.

I blow out a slow breath, trying to control my racing heart. Pressing my lips together when I feel him kiss the inside of my thigh.

If he does that again, I might request a repeat performance.

“I’m—I’m fine,” I finally manage to say.

“You sure?” He’s smiling. I can hear it in his voice, and I finally dare to open my eyes to find that, yes, Nico is definitely smiling while still lying between my legs.

This is the most surreal moment of my life, I swear to God.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” I whisper.

“What? Made you come with my mouth? I think you needed it, Ever.” Oops, there he goes again, kissing the inside of my thigh, his hot lips like a brand.

“What if I told you I might need it again?” Hope rises in my chest, and I mentally bat it down, reminding myself I shouldn’t be greedy. He already gave me one orgasm for the night. I doubt I could come one more time anyway. “Wait, never mind.”

“Never mind? What do you mean?” He sounds genuinely confused.

“I’m more of a one-and-done type of girl when it comes to—that,” I say somewhat primly.

He actually laughs, and when our gazes meet, I see the determination there. His eyes are actually twinkling, and I recognize that look. It appears every time he talks about football. “Are you implying that you can’t have multiple orgasms in one night?”

“I never have,” I confess.

“Ever?” He’s grinning.

“Ever,” I stress.

“You can’t challenge me like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m now determined to make you come again.” His mouth shifts up higher. “Maybe even two more times tonight, if you’re lucky.”

His hands shift to the inside of my thighs, spreading them wider, and everything inside me clenches up tight in anticipation. Oh my goodness .?.?.

I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.