But I got his eyes and I got his finger as his gaze caught mine and he shoved his finger tight against my clit.

My eyes closed and my lips parted.

That was when Nick finally kissed me.

* * * * *

1:02 – Sunday Morning

“Fuck,” Nick grunted.

I’d had my bare ass to the top step to his bedroom, my legs had been around his hips as I took his cock, but I’d pulled off, squirmed up, turned to crawl out from under him to force him to follow me to the bed.

He didn’t follow me to the bed.

He wrapped an arm around my belly and yanked me back, pulling me between his legs. My thighs pressed together but bent at the hips, he rammed back in.

I moaned and pulled forward against the strong hold he had on me but only to drive myself back.

I heard his noises, thick and deep and greedy, mingling with my own, which were soft and desperate, and a wave of wet hit between my legs as a shaft of electricity shot from clit to nipples.

I drove back harder.

Nick thrust in faster.

I was close and I wanted it to happen together.

I tossed my hair to look over my shoulder at him.

“Come,” I ordered.

His liquid blue eyes came to me as he kept fucking me. “Do not come.”

“Come,” I hissed.

He pulled out.

“No!” I snapped.

He straightened, taking his feet and taking me with him, my ass in his hips, my back to his front.

I tried twisting in his arms.

Instead, I fell forward to the bed as Nick fell with me.

I tried to regain my knees and add my hands under me.

Nick used his weight to subdue me, his strong thighs to push between mine, and then he was filling me again, thrusting deep with me on my belly.

I stilled just so I could fully experience that beauty.

He didn’t still but shoved a hand under me, straight down, finger to my clit.

“Now you come,” he demanded in my ear.

I lifted my hips to get more of his cock at the same time I undulated them against his finger.

“Sebring,” I gasped.

“Come,” he ordered.

My entire body started trembling.

“Fuckin’ come,” he growled.

Shuddering under him, I came.

Spectacularly.

* * * * *

2:24 – Sunday Morning

Nick had me pressed against my car, one arm around me, his other hand in my hair at the side of my head.

“You’re a fuckin’ nut,” he muttered, looking amused.

“I am?” I asked, sounding confused.

“Olivia, you’re drivin’ home instead of sleepin’ in my bed and wakin’ up in a few hours on a Sunday, a day I think it’s a law is supposed to be lazy, which means I’ll fuck you slow then make you breakfast. And, just sayin’, I make fucking great cinnamon French toast.”