Wretched (Never After Series)(6)

His hands grip my shoulders, lifting me up aggressively, and before I can even blink, he’s got my skirt up and my panties pushed to the side. “I need to be inside you.”

He hoists my legs back around him, and with one solid thrust, he’s there.

So deep.

He starts a quick and punishing pace, and my eyes roll back in my head because I don’t think anyone has ever fucked me like this. Quick and dirty and like he doesn’t want anything else but me.

That thought combined with the way he’s filling me up makes my orgasm climb quickly, my clit swelling as tension coils tight in my abdomen.

“Oh, god,” I murmur, my head cracking against the wall. “I love your cock.”

He chuckles, pressing into me harder, his grip on my thighs almost bruising with how tight they squeeze. “Show me,” he says, sucking my earlobe between his teeth and biting down. “Show me how much you love my cock.”

His words are the last thing I need, and I explode, bright lights blinding my vision, my nails digging into his shoulders as he continues to fuck me through the pleasure.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Give it to me.”

A few more thrusts and he pushes in deep until his hips press against mine, his low groans vibrating through every bone in my body as his dick jerks wildly.

Slowly, I come back down to Earth and realize what just happened and where I am.

What I’m supposed to be doing.

He drops my trembling legs, running the pads of his fingers up my thighs and gripping my sides as he presses his forehead to mine. “Tell me your name,” he whispers.

I don’t, choosing to push him away. Hunching over to grab my clothes, I get dressed, my limbs still shaky from the way he just fucked me.

Definitely the best I’ve ever had.

Suddenly, the air feels stifling, and I need to leave. Now.

I don’t like the way he makes me feel. Because I want to give him my name. I want to ask about where he’s going and who his friends are, and… that isn’t how I work.

That isn’t how I function.

So instead, I turn back, the walls feeling like they’re closing in around me. Walking up to him, I slide my fingers around his neck and rise up on my toes, leaving a soft kiss on his swollen lips.

His eyes darken.

Then I walk out of the restroom, moving as quickly as possible to make sure he won’t follow.

He doesn’t.

And when I shoot a bullet into the neck of Andrew the bartender three hours later in the back alley, watching his blood douse the cracked pavement while he drops to his knees… all I can think of is how I wish I could have given Nicholas my name.





3





NICHOLAS





My stomach is in knots. The kind that sends anxiety spinning into your head and bile surging up the back of your throat.

There’s not much that gets under my skin and even less that worries me, but every time I look at my sister, Rose, it’s in the background, nagging at my conscience like a bird pecking at a tree. Knowing this is the last I’ll see her for who knows how long makes the sensation stronger.

It isn’t the first time I’ve gone undercover, but it is the first time since it’s been just the two of us. Since I tracked her down off the back streets of Chicago and finally—fucking finally—got her ass clean and set up in my apartment.

“Hungry?” she asks, lifting a brow at me and plopping a hand on her hips.

“I could eat.” I shrug, tapping my fingers on the round wood dining table as I watch her flit around the tiny kitchen. She fidgets as she pours boxed pasta into a pot and runs her bitten nails through her deep-red hair.

“When’s the last time you met with your sponsor?”

Her body jolts and she places her hands against the lip of the white stove, dropping her head with a heavy sigh. “Don’t start, Nick.”

“I’m not starting anything. I’m just asking.”

“Well, stop asking,” she snaps.

My chest pinches and I frown at her, my eyes moving from the freckles on her face, down to her protruding hip bones, although not as prominent as they once were, then to the scars and faded marks scattered between her fingers and up her arms.

She grabs a wooden spoon from the drawer to her right, the other utensils clattering as she shuts it harshly. “I can feel you investigating me. Quit it.”

The corner of my mouth lifts and I reach up to rub at my jaw, the stubble scratching against the pads of my fingers. “Listen, kid…”

“I’m three years older than you.”

I grin. “Semantics.”

She laughs, shaking her head as she turns back to the stove and stirs the pasta.

My stomach tightens, my brain trying to push the words from my mouth when I don’t want to say them. There’s not much I care for other than work, but if there’s anything I do, it’s right here in this room, and leaving her all alone for an undetermined amount of time makes nausea churn in my gut.

“I’ve gotta go away for a while.”

Her shoulders drop. “For what?”

My tongue runs over the front of my teeth.

She hesitates. “For work?”

I nod.

Her head bobs, fingers shooting up to her mouth where she nibbles on the ends.