“Can I see them again?” I ask, my voice breathless with anticipation, a giddy smile stretching across my face as I wait for Nickolas to reveal his back once more, to show me the tattoo of my lips adorning his scars. Even now, the reality of it steals the air from my lungs, making my heart flutter wildly in my chest.
His answering smile is soft and indulgent, his eyes glowing with warmth as he slowly turns, baring his back to me. I suck in a sharp breath at the sight, my fingers itching to trace the delicate lines of ink, to map the ridges and valleys of his scars. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to seeing this tangible proof of his love, this permanent declaration etched into his very skin.
“Can I touch them?” I whisper, my voice hushed with reverence, knowing how sensitive he is about anyone laying hands on his scars, even me.
Nickolas turns to face me, his gaze locking with mine, the intensity in his eyes stealing the breath from my lungs. “My body is yours to do with as you please, little one,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion.
He spins back around, presenting his back to me once more, and my heart swells with a love so fierce, so all-consuming, it brings tears to my eyes. Smiling through the sheen of moisture, I reach out with trembling fingers, tracing the raised edges of his scars, the smooth lines of my lips. I press a soft kiss to each mark, each reminder of the pain he’s endured, the strength he’s shown.
“I love it,” I breathe, gently tugging him down to lie on his back, resting my chin on his broad chest as I gaze up at him, my eyes shining with adoration.
“I’m happy you do,” he rumbles, his fingers threading through my hair, trailing down the length of my spine to cup my ass, giving it a playful spank.
I meet his gaze, my expression sobering as the weight of all we still need to discuss settles over me. “We have a lot to talk about,” I murmur, my fingers absently tracing patterns on his chest.
“Yeah, we do,” he agrees, his hands sliding up to grip my waist, effortlessly lifting me to straddle his hips. My palms splay across his chest, my fingers dancing over the ridges of his abs, marveling at the play of muscle beneath his warm skin.
“Nickolas,” I gasp, my voice breathy and strained as I feel him hardening beneath me, his hard-on pressing insistently against my pooling core.
“I’m not the one with the dripping pussy against my dick,” he growls, his words sending a bolt of liquid heat straight to my center. In one smooth motion, he lifts me up and sheathes himself inside me, filling me to the hilt and stretching me deliciously around his thick length.
“Fuck,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut as he bottoms out inside me. “Why doesn’t it feel like the first time every time?”
A fierce blush stains my cheeks at his words, a heady mix of pleasure and pride unfurling in my chest. Slowly, I begin to rock against him, grinding my hips in a sensual circle, relishing the guttural moan that tears from his throat.
“Nickolas,” I whimper, his name a breathless litany on my lips as I increase my pace, chasing the building pressure at the apex of my thighs.
I let my head fall back, my eyes drifting shut as I lose myself in the sensation of him moving inside me, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hips hard enough to bruise. My release builds quick in tandem, the coil of tension winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.
Nickolas’ hand slides up my body to wrap around my throat, applying just enough pressure to make my head swim, to intensify the pleasure coursing through my veins until it borders on pain, exquisite and all-consuming.
“Nickolas,” I keen, my toes curling as I teeter on the edge of oblivion, desperate for the final push to send me tumbling over.
“Fuck, little one,” he grunts, his hips pistoning up to meet my downward thrusts, the obscene slap of skin on skin echoing in the charged air around us.
“I’m cuming,” I scream, my release slamming into me, my walls clenching vice-tight around him as I shatter, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me until I’m boneless and spent.
Nickolas gentles his grip on my throat, his hand sliding down to cup my breast, kneading the sensitive flesh as his other arm bands around my waist, lifting me up and down on his cock as he chases his own release. A few more deep, powerful thrusts and he’s spilling inside me with a hoarse cry, his cum painting my inner walls, dripping down my thighs.
I collapse against his chest, my heart hammering against my ribs as I struggle to catch my breath. Nickolas wraps his arms around me, holding me close, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my sweat-slick skin.
“We really need to talk,” I mumble, my words muffled against his chest, my limbs heavy and languid in the aftermath of our lovemaking.
“Yeah, we do,” he agrees, pressing a tender kiss to the top of my head. But first, he rolls us over, blanketing my body with his own as he takes me one more time, slow and deep and achingly tender, a physical affirmation of the love we share.
Finally, we manage to drag ourselves out of bed and into the shower, our hands roaming and exploring as we wash away the evidence of our passion. Once we’re dressed, Nickolas takes my hand, leading me out of the room with a mysterious smile.
“There’s someone you need to see,” he says, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I think you’ll be happy to see them.”
Curiosity burns through me as we descend the stairs, my mind racing with possibilities. But nothing could have prepared me for the sight that greets me at the bottom.
“Took you guys long enough,” an achingly familiar voice teases, and my head whips around, my eyes widening in shock as they land on the man standing there, his arms open wide, a grin splitting his handsome face.
“Eric?” I breathe, hardly daring to believe my eyes. But it’s him, it’s really him, alive and whole and here.
With a choked sob, I race down the remaining steps, flinging myself into his waiting arms, burying my face in his chest as tears of joy stream down my face.
“I thought you were dead, too,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion, my fingers clutching at his shirt as if to reassure myself he’s real, that this isn’t just a beautiful dream.
“It’ll take a lot more than that to kill me, princess,” he chuckles, his arms tightening around me, his chin resting atop my head. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“I can’t wait for Lily to see you,” I say, pulling back to beam up at him through my tears. “She’s going to be over the moon.”
At the mention of his mate, Eric’s eyes soften, a wistful longing filling their depths. “How are they doing?” he asks, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. “Lily and the baby?”
“They’re both perfect,” I assure him, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. “Healthy and happy and waiting for you to come home.”
“I can’t wait to see them,” he breathes, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “To hold them in my arms again.”
“Whenever you’re ready,” I promise, my heart aching with happiness for my friend, for the reunion I know is coming.
But then Eric’s expression shifts, curiosity and concern warring in his gaze as he focuses on me once more. “Enough about me,” he says, linking his arm through mine as he steers us toward the living room. “I want to hear about you. How did you come back from the dead? What happened?”