Nicoli: A Forbidden Romance (Dark Sovereign Book 4)
Nicoli: Chapter 9

Mira appears by my bedroom door, her hand on her hip and delicate eyebrows raised. The pout on her lips perfectly complements the impatient tapping of her foot. “Did you remember to buy me a present?”

I smirk and shove my books in my backpack. “Why would I buy you a present?”

“Because it’s my birthday.”

“No, it’s not.” I snicker. “Your birthday is still two days away.”

She walks in with her arms crossed, the pink bow in her hair bouncing against her cheeks while her white baby doll shoes glide across the carpet. “Doesn’t mean you can’t give me a present today.”

“That’s exactly what it means.” I slip on my jacket and glance in the mirror, trying to straighten my tie. As I turn, I replace Mira standing right in front of me, glaring up with narrowed eyes. “What?” I shrug.

“You’re supposed to get me a birthday present.”

“Two more days.” I clasp my big hands around her tiny arms, pick her up, and place her on the bed. She doesn’t move, keeping her arms crossed, still glowering at me.

“I want a pony,” she says, and I roll my eyes.

“You and two million other six-year-old girls.”

“Seven.”

“Not for another two more days. Now, as much as I’d like to stay here and remind you a thousand times that it’s not your birthday today, I’m late for school.” Grabbing my backpack, I rush toward the door, stopping and turning toward her. “Are you coming?”

“No,” she says, raising her eyes to the roof. “I’m going to stay. Right. Here.” She huffs, blowing a rogue curl from her face. “I’ll wait for you until you get back.”

“Oh, no. Not a chance. You want to go through my stuff again, don’t you?”

“No.” Her cheeks blush a light shade of pink, and the way she bites her bottom lip has a guilty conscience written all over it.

“Mira,” I say, giving her a warning look. “You’re not going to stay in my room and wait for me. Go stay in your own room.”

“I’m going to call him Hummingbird.”

I cock a brow. “Who are you calling Hummingbird?”

“The pony you’re going to get me.”

I drop my bag, unamused. “I’m not getting you a pony.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m still in high school and don’t have a job. And even if I could buy you a pony, I wouldn’t.” I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe.

Mirabella frowns. “Why not?”

“Because you want to call your pony Hummingbird.”

“What’s wrong with Hummingbird? I like hummingbirds. And I like ponies. So, I’m calling my pony Hummingbird.”

“It’s dumb.” I pick up my backpack again and fling it over my shoulders.

“No, it’s not.”

“I have to go now, or I’ll be late.”

“I’ll wait here.”

My jaw clenches, and I pinch my eyes closed, hold my breath, then let out a sigh. “Mira, please. I’m on my last life with the stupid principal. I can’t be late for school again. Do you want me to get detention?”

Her lips are still pouted, her cheeks sucked in as she ignores me, staring up at the ceiling.

“If I get detention, I won’t be here for your birthday party Friday afternoon. Is that what you want?”

“No,” she snaps.

Ah-hah. That caught her attention.

“I don’t want you to get detention on my birthday,” she says and slips off my bed, prancing toward me with the hem of her pink and white polka dot dress touching just below her knees. “I’ll wait until you get back from school.”

“Wait for what?” I pull the door closed behind me and watch as she walks down the hall, her baby doll shoes tapping lightly across the lacquered floors.

“To remind you that I want a pony for my birthday.”

“You really don’t have to remind me.”

She abruptly stops and glances up at me over her shoulder. “So, you are buying me a pony?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll wait until you get back from school to remind you.”

I shake my head, glance at my wristwatch, and hurry on my way, quickly ruffling my fingers through her hair as I pass her.

“Li, stop that. You know I hate it when you do that.”

I snicker at the way she groans with annoyance. “See ya later, Hummingbird.”

“Hey, that’s my pony’s name.”

“You don’t have a pony.”

“Li,” she calls out after me. “Li, stop!”

A loud groan vibrates up my throat as I reluctantly turn to face her. “I know you can say my name, Mira.”

“But I like calling you Li.”

“Okay, whatever. I have to go.”

Her green eyes glimmer with mischief as she glances from me to the stair railing, and I already know what she’s saying without actually saying it.

The word “no” teeters at the edge of my lips because I’m so late and don’t have time for this right now. But saying no to Mira—especially when it involves breaking some rules—is something I don’t like to do. Never have. My dad says she has me wrapped around her little finger, and I can’t deny it because…well, it’s true.

“Fine,” I concede. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

Her sunshine smile reaches her eyes as she places a finger on her lips. “Shh.”

“Yeah, you better shh.” With a quick glance around, I hop onto the banister, steadying myself with my hands on the cold iron, and slide all the way down to the end of the stairs, leaping from the edge and landing on my feet.

“And that’s how it’s done.” I grin, bowing in her direction.

Mira’s laughter fills the air—light and melodic, and it has the power to make even me smile.

I right my backpack on my shoulder. “Now, go play with your dolls or something. I’ll see you later.”

“Remember, you’re buying me a pony,” she calls after me as I shut the door, stepping out on the porch.

I grin and shake my head. “Hummingbird.”

I’ve never been more convinced that the universe has a hard-on for me. I just happened to walk down the hall at the same time Mira just happened to stroll around with nothing but a towel. And that towel just happened to drop to the floor, my jaw following suit. You can’t make this shit up.

Whacking my own dick isn’t something I like to do. I prefer to feel a pussy clench my cock rather than my fist. But the second my bedroom door slams closed behind me, I unzip my pants and pull out my dick. It’s impossibly hard. I don’t think it’s ever been this hard. Give me a concrete wall, and I’ll fuck a hole in it with this jackhammer throbbing in my palm.

Her perfect-sized tits—just a little more than a handful—begging to be touched, rosy nipples pleading to get sucked, and that temptingly tight cleft inviting me to slide my shaft between her breasts. Fuck. Her smooth skin wakes every nerve ending in me. I’m convinced she bathes in silk every night and showers in honey every morning. How else can one explain how goddamn perfect she is?

Mira’s hourglass curves and rounded hips with an ass worth starting an apocalypse over had precum pearling on my dick the instant that towel dropped. I had to lock my jaw and clench my fists just to keep myself from pouncing on her like a wild, rabid animal. I would’ve settled for humping her leg like a dog if given half a chance. Jesus.

I grip my dick tight, feeling the thick vein throbbing, pumping it up and down, imagining it’s her pussy. Landing strip. I knew it. I knew her pussy would have a plush little streak of neatly groomed hair. The perfect fucking rectangle for just enough tickle to let me open my mouth wider and eat her cunt like she’s a five-course meal for a man who has been starved his entire life. That’s how I feel right now. Starved. Famished. Ravenous.

I grab hold of the bedpost, gripping it tight, and moan softly as my balls start to draw up close to my body. With every stroke, I see her more clearly, how she spreads her legs wider, her pussy lips glistening with arousal. I can smell it. I did smell it. I couldn’t stop myself from drawing in a deep, slow inhale with her sex so damn close, all I had to do was stick out my tongue, and I would have tasted her. Sweet mother of God. If she tastes as sweet as she smells, I would never come up for air. It was agony not to lick up her crease and sink a finger into her hole, to make her come and swallow her pleasure.

My hips rock as I pump my cock, harder, faster, imaging my palm as her velvet-softness gripping me tight. I slide my thumb over the head, running circles around it, then slip my hand back down, pulling back all the way to the base. In my head, Mira and I are on the bed, her ivory skin a deep contrast against my navy-blue sheets. I’m sliding in and out of her, her heels digging into my ass. The deeper she takes me, the faster I thrust into her with only one goal…to wreck her cunt.

My breathing gets heavier, weaved with short, raspy moans. And as I imagine kissing her for the first time, feeling her lips against mine, having her exquisite tongue brushing mine, I give myself one final stroke as pleasure rips through my balls and up my spine. My cum jets onto the sheets as I continue to pump, milking my own cock for every last drop.

But it’s still there. The fire. The need. The hunger. It’s still buried deep in the pit of my stomach, and other than the ribbons of cum staining my sheets, there’s no proof that I just jerked off and came. There’s zero relief. No trace of satisfaction. And I’m still one hundred percent fucked.

I tuck my dick back in pants then stomp to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. It’s like hell just opened its asshole and my veins are on fire. But as the water runs from the faucet, and I look at my reflection in the mirror, my mind comes to a screeching halt.

Landing strip.

A beautifully groomed pussy.

Ready to be taken whenever.

By whom?

Jesus. Fuck. I grab hold of the basin’s edge, my knuckles pure white. She’s a virgin. I know she is because there’s not a man alive who has the balls to touch her. It’s one of those very simple ‘I can’t have her, so no one can’ scenarios. It’s selfish, but I don’t give a rat’s ass.

I let go of the basin and breathe in deep. Yeah…Mirabella’s definitely still a virgin.