The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

my neck. In my heightened state, everything was more sensitive. His whiskers were sharp, scraping against my skin as his lips parted, and then he sank his teeth into my neck—right where my pulse pounded.

His bite wasn’t any worse than his merciless fingers twisting my nipple, but the new source of pain crossed more wires inside me and caused exquisite chaos. The final push I needed came just after, when the man adjusted my leg draped over his arm. The change in the angle was delicious, but it was where he had put a hand down to brace himself that detonated the pleasure in my body.

He gripped Clay’s thigh, and both men seemed comfortable with the placement.

“I’m coming,” I cried.

“Yes,” the men said at the same time. Or maybe they had a singular voice now, speaking as one.

Fireworks blasted up my spine and shimmered through my limbs. My breath cut off as my lungs shut down and my heart jerked to a sudden halt. It was like every function in my body had to power down to weather the storm of my orgasm.

Which was shockingly intense. So fucking powerful, tears welled in my eyes.

Pain shifted onto its side, morphing into something else. Clay’s pinch was gone, but the burning ache became pins and needles as blood rushed back to my skin. The harshness of his bite on my neck softened into a kiss.

I was left quaking when the most intense orgasm of my life began to recede, and it left me only vaguely aware the man was close to coming. It wasn’t until his brow furrowed and his expression twisted with a carnal hunger that I realized what was about to happen. The muscles rippling beneath my palm tightened, and a huge gasp of breath burst from his lips.

His thrusts fell out of rhythm, turning jerky and erratic before slowing nearly to a stop. “Fuck.”

His face left no doubt he was orgasming, but there were also the pulses inside me to signal how much pleasure was rolling through him. Wave after wave, diminishing until there was only his uneven breath left in the aftermath.

God, he was beautiful like this. His eyes were clear but unfocused, and he looked at me like I held all the secrets he’d been searching for his whole life. Didn’t he know that wasn’t possible? He knew more about Clay’s world than I did.

I suspected I was staring back at him in exactly the same way.

“Thank you,” a cool male voice interrupted.

It broke the spell between us, and the man blinked, turning his gaze toward the person who’d just spoken. Irritation flitted through his eyes as he peered at Clay, but it vanished a heartbeat later.

Once again, the men conducted a wordless conversation as they exchanged a look, and the result of it did not make the man happy. He withdrew from me and slid his hand away from Clay’s leg, until he was no longer touching either of us.

We were silent while he pulled up his pants and clenched them closed with a fist. What had happened? The mood had turned cold as soon as Clay had thanked him—

Ecstasy and agony no longer lingered in my system, but my brain was slow to restart. What was it Clay had said earlier? How if I told the man thank you—it meant it was over and he was supposed to go downstairs?

Oh.

He’d just told his friend to leave.

The man climbed to his feet and cast his gaze down on me. It looked like he wanted me to say something, to ask Clay if he could stay, and I opened my mouth . . . but nothing came out. I was out of sorts and hadn’t a clue how to put what I was feeling into words.

So, the man turned and walked away, but rather than head for the stairs, he went the other way and disappeared into the restroom.

Clay extracted his hand from my top and refastened the clasps of my corset as I remained leaning against him, too stunned to move. Once my corset was closed, he pushed down the sides of my skirt so I was decent again, then shifted me in his arms so I was seated sideways. I stared at my legs draped over one of his, my heels on the couch.

He used a hand to turn my head toward his, and his mouth sealed over mine. His kiss was slow and methodical. Once again, it felt designed, and I couldn’t help but think it had an agenda. He used his kiss as a tool to pry everything else out of my head, to force my focus onto him.

And only him.

It worked. I was unaware the man had reappeared and was standing in front of us with his hands on his hips and a firm look on his face. His gray suit was back in place, and I was dressed, and we looked like we had earlier. As if the experience we’d shared hadn’t happened.

But it had. My underwear was still resting on the ottoman where he’d dropped it.

The man stared at Clay with demanding eyes, but the body beneath me filled with tension. Clay was displeased the man had returned.

“Thank you.” This time it was more forceful and a clear dismissal to his friend, who I was starting to suspect wasn’t exactly a friend.

The man’s tone was an even mixture of disbelief and offense. “Clay.”

“We had a nice time together,” he said. “Let’s not go ruining it.” When that didn’t get the results he wanted, Clay’s expression hardened. “Okay. Do you want your privileges revoked?”

The man jerked back as if Clay’s threat had physically landed on him, his face soured, and he threw a hand up in the air like an angry surrender.

Whatever, his eyes screamed.

Then he exhaled loudly, turned, and marched off like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

What in the world? I swallowed a breath and my tone turned skeptical. “You said you two are friends?”

“We are.” Clay’s arms settled around me, and