“You’re gonna win, Nova girl,” he breathes, his body moving against mine. He threads our fingers together at my hip and holds me tighter. “Fuck, you feel so good. And you look—” His hand sweeps down my side, over the tattoos painted along my rib cage. “You look so pretty I think I’m having a heart attack,” he mumbles. He pulls out of me, groans, and then pushes back in half a second later. If he was trying to hold himself back, he’s not doing a very good job of it. “You’re definitely going to win. I’m going to last ten seconds, max.” Another laugh wheezes into a whine when he picks up his
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