Next-Door Nemesis(74)
Sucker.
“Fine, I’ll give you a tour.” He shakes his head and smiles down at me. “But this means you’re going to have to let me read the script you’ve been working on one day.”
After what happened with Peter, not only did I think I’d never write again, but I knew there was no way I’d ever feel comfortable sharing my work with anyone. But for some reason, when Nate asks, I don’t think twice.
“Deal.” I extend my hand and he envelops it with his large one. “Now, let’s start upstairs and work our way down.”
Because if he’s going to tell me about this twenty-five-hundred-square-foot craftsman, I want to begin the tour by watching his butt climb the stairs.
* * *
? ? ?
And that’s the house,” he says when we step back into the kitchen with custom-made cabinets, soft-close drawers, and quartz counters. “As you can see, it’s a steal of a deal and will be the perfect choice for you and your family. I’m sure little Suzie and Sally will love it here.”
Halfway through the tour, I stopped being me and turned into Debra, wife and mom of two looking for the perfect home for me and my family. Nate showcased the Jack and Jill bathrooms and the bedroom closets, which have enough space for all the toys now, but will transition flawlessly to their teen years. He highlighted all the storage in the master bedroom and the custom window coverings that not only look wonderful but will save on my energy bill. By the time he finished, I caught myself trying to figure out how I could afford this house.
“I know you’re going to think I’m being sarcastic.” I grab one of the chocolate chip cookies off the tray on the counter. “But you’re really freaking good at your job and I think it turned me on a little bit.”
“Okay.” He rolls his eyes and laughs even though I’m being dead serious.
Obviously I think Nate is very attractive, but now it’s crystal clear why all the women in the neighborhood are so obsessed with him. While he walked them through their houses and sold them on a dream, he became tangled in the fantasies of their perfect suburban lives.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing.” I push the tray to the side and hop on top of the counters he described as indestructible. “I just watched your ass for twenty minutes as you waxed poetic about storage, counter space, and energy-saving appliances. That tour was practically X-rated. If you started an OnlyFans page giving house tours, I bet you’d make a fortune.”
I grab his tie and twist it around my fist, pulling him closer to me. He pushes into the counter and I wrap my legs around his hips, pinning him close to me.
“Oh really. You liked that?” His eyes darken as they watch my lips.
“Yes,” I whisper as I scoot forward, feeling the bulge in his pants as it begins to strain against the zipper. “But there is one thing you didn’t tell me about this kitchen.”
My voice is breathy and my hands are trembling. I’ve never been more aware of an unlocked door and opened windows before, while at the same time, I couldn’t care less.
He’s so close that I can feel the whisper of his breath against my lips. “What didn’t I tell you?”
I struggle to keep my eyes open as my back arches and my breasts brush against his chest. “You didn’t tell me what it would be like if someone were to bend me over this counter.”
“That’s because that’s not something I can tell you.” He sucks in air through his teeth, his hazel eyes never once looking away from me as he presses his groin into my center. “That’s something I have to show you.”
Before I even know what’s happening, I’ve lost the little bit of control I thought I had.
His mouth is on mine, his kiss hard and demanding as his tongue tangles with mine. He moves his hands up my back until they’re cradling the back of my head, and he lays me down ever so gently against the hard stone.
I let go of my hold on his tie as he straightens above me and looks down at me spread out across the countertop for him.
“Fuck, Collins,” his gruff voice whispers in the silence of the house. “You’re so fucking beautiful. I can’t believe you’re in front of me right now.”
One of my more problematic traits is that I always have something to say. Some people might argue that I say too much. But right now, staring at Nate as the cool tile seeps through my thin cotton tee, I couldn’t string a sentence together if my life depended on it. All I want in this moment is to feel his hands on me.
To feel him inside me.
And luckily for me, Nate knows what I want without my having to say it.
His hands graze across my torso and hook into the waistband of my shorts and underwear. His eyes never leave mine as he pulls them off in one quick downward motion. The cold quartz against my bare skin shoots chills up my spine before Nate’s warm hands are splayed across my hips. I clench on the edge of the counter as he tosses my legs over his shoulders and bends down so his face is level with the counter.
My breath lodges in my throat as anticipation makes my toes curl.
In the recesses of my mind, I know there’s a very real possibility of someone walking in on us. It should be enough to tell him to stop, and that we can pick this up at his house in a few hours.
But when his mouth latches on to my center I lose all ability for rational thought. And when he pushes a finger inside me, moving it in perfect rhythm with his tongue, I do nothing but feel. He begins to move faster, his mouth more urgent as his finger finds the spot deep inside me.