NOVA POV
Even though I’m seeing Grant in a few hours—at a hotel not too far that it feels like I’m sneaking away, but not close enough for anyone from school to catch —he still sent flowers to my doorstep. Roses. Wild ones. The kind that look untad even in a vase.
There’s a small envelope tucked inside, obviously handwritten by him, sharp, masculine and confident, slides right through my chest as I read:
"Wear your best sin, Nymph. Surprise ."
A ridiculous blush crawls up my neck before I even finish the note. It feels like he’s in the room, whispering that word Nymph right against my ear.
Thank goodness Lena isn’t back yet, and Katie is buried in her iPad like always. I can enjoy this mont without their teasing eyes.
Still, under the excitent, worry hums in my stomach about Lena, about Sandy, about the way sothing feels wrong. But when I hold the roses up to my nose, their scent wraps around like him. I exhale, deciding that just for tonight, I will try to stop thinking.
I spend too long staring at my closet. Every piece of lingerie he bought feels too revealing, too sinful, too him. And that’s exactly why I end up choosing the one that scares the most: a soft coat, nothing underneath but a skin-colored corset hugging my waist and bare skin beneath.
It’s bold. It’s insane. It’s sothing the old would’ve never worn. But the new , the Nymph he coaxes out with every touch wants to see the look in his eyes when I drop that coat.
The drive to his suite feels like forever. When I reach the door, it’s unlocked, always when he’s expecting . That small trust does sothing to .
"You couldn’t wait till I got here?" I tease, slipping inside and shutting the door with my foot.
He’s sitting at the table, sleeves rolled up, laptop open and his facial expression serious, then he looks up at , and his face softens, heat spreading through those storm-gray eyes that make forget my own na.
"What kind of lover would that make ?" he murmurs, voice low, smooth as smoke. "All I’ve thought about since morning is ravishing you till sunrise."
A thrill slides down my spine. He says ravish like it’s a dream co through and maybe it is.
"I have a surprise for you," I say, stepping closer. The air between us grows heavy. When I untie the belt of my coat and let it fall, his breath catches. His gaze drops slowly, over the curve of my shoulders, the faint shimr of the corset, the bare pussy below it.
He looks like a man trying to morize every inch of my body.
For a second, he just stares. Then, like sothing snaps, he pushes everything off the table, the papers, laptop, a glass of water and the crash makes gasp. But his eyes never left my body.
"Eyes here," I whisper, pointing two fingers from my eyes to his.
He smirks, that wicked curl of his lips that always ends with begging. "Yes, ma’am," he murmurs, but his voice already hoarse with need.
"I said I have a surprise for you." My tone turns breathy as I trail one hand down my stomach, between my thighs, touching myself slowly, deliberately. His eyes darken, no teasing now, only hunger.
He rises and it was like the room shrinks d into itself.
"Does your surprise include killing ?" he says hoarsely, closing the space between us. "Because you’re killing , Nymph."
He’s behind now. I feel his breath against my neck, his heat pressing close but not touching. My skin aches for contact.
"No, baby," I whisper, leaning back into him, "but tonight, we’re reversing roles."
His laugh was low and dangerous as his lips slid right against my ear. "I love the sound of that."
My hand finds the hard outline of him through his pants. "You talk too much," I murmur, and he groans softly, like I’ve pulled the words from his lungs.
"How about you show ," I add, glancing over my shoulder with a teasing smirk.
"I intend to," he says, voice breaking into a growl.
But before he can move to push into whatever position he likes, I push back slightly, enough to make him still. "On your knees," I whisper. "Let see what your tongue can do."
He hesitates, a single heartbeat where I see his control shift, surrender flickering through his eyes. Then, slowly, he kneels.
"You don’t cum until I say so" His hands trail up my thighs, reverent. "Do we have a deal, Nymph?"
"Yes," I breathe.
He unhooks my corset and lifts it, his voice rough. "What was this for?"
"I was a little bloated but—"
"Don’t." His tone snaps, dominant and powerful all at once. "Don’t hide yourself from again." His eyes flick up, sharp and earnest. "You are perfect and baby, you’re mine."
My breath stutters. "Yes, sir."
He kisses then, first on my stomach, then lower, moving in slow worship.
"I love you," he murmurs between kisses. "You’re my definition of perfection." Each word is a promise, each kiss a slow unraveling of everything holding together.
By the ti his lips reach , I’m trembling. The first brush of his tongue against makes my knees weaken. The second makes moan out his na.
"Grant," I gasp, fingers tangling in his hair. He answers by going deeper, slower, cruelly gentle, until all I can do is shiver and whisper prayers that sound like moans.
Every worry I’d carried about Lena, Sandy, or the world outside this room dissolves. All that exists is this mont was the rhythm of his tongue, the heat of his breath, the growl vibrating from his chest into my body.
He pulls back just enough to whisper, "Don’t co yet."
I couldn’t hold my whimper and with my trembling hands I clutched unto his hair. "Please..."
He only smirks, lips glistening. "Patience, my love."
When I finally break, when he finally lets , it was not just an orgasm because it felt more like a release. The kind that feels like confession and maybe freedom.
And when he rose up, pulling into his arms, I felt the weight of him, every inch of him pressing into the space between his body and the world, every kiss claiming and dominating at once.
His lips move over mine like he’s searching for the truths I haven’t yet spoken, and for a mont, the rest of the world falls away. I cling to him, letting myself drown in the heat and the rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.
But then the thought crashes in, jagged and unwelco. I pull back slightly, hands pressed firmly against his chest to keep him at bay. His eyes, still clouded with desire, search mine as if they can read every unspoken word.
"We need to talk," I whisper, my voice trembling even as it tries to assert control.
He shakes his head, a smirk tugging at his lips, though the fire in his gaze never dims. "No talking," he murmurs, leaning closer, pressing against him again. His hands grip my hips, pulling flush against him.
The familiar ache in my core flares to life, and I rember exactly why I let him dominate , why this connection is as much about surrender as it is about love.
But the world refuses to be ignored. "Lena went to Texas with Sandy," I blurted, unable to hold it in.
His entire body stiffens. The heat that lingered monts ago drains away, replaced with a storm of concern, anger, and disbelief. His hands tighten around my waist, and his voice booms over , raw and demanding:
"You said what???"
I shiver, caught between the need to cling to him and the fear of how far this revelation will hit him. His eyes are lightning and intense, impossible to look away from. I can feel the pulse of his anger as it moves through his body into mine, and sowhere deep in , I know he won’t let this go quietly.
He releases just enough to search my face, to make sure I’m telling the truth. I et his gaze, honest and trembling, and the tension between us snaps into sothing thicker, heavier, more combustible. Every inch of desire from monts ago now pulses with urgency, tied to fear and frustration, to love and protection, and it’s overwhelming.
His hands grip my shoulders, his forehead resting against mine. "Tell everything," he growls, his voice low, dangerous, yet intimate. "Now. No more secrets, Nova."
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