THERESA
Nikolai’s hands strengthened their grip, and his fingers dug into the flesh of my bottom. Mid-stroke, I was halted, unable to finish what I’d started.
His breathing was ragged. His hands were trembling against my skin, torn between pushing me away and pulling me closer. His lips parted, as if about to say something, but nothing came out.
I didn’t know how to react. I had been so close, just at the cusp of being swept into a hurricane. I tried one last time to move, but he had me in a death grip, walling me off from proceeding. Without meaning to, I let out the saddest whimper that had ever come out of me.
I immediately burned with shame—shame that I had gotten so carried away, just assuming he’d wanted the same thing, not checking in and making sure—not even pleasing him before
