He takes a step forward and snaps me out of my trance.
“This might be the longest I’ve ever heard you not talk for.” He chuckles and it wraps around me like a physical touch. “Are you okay?”
It takes an immense amount of effort, but I manage to stop admiring the way his chest is covered by the perfect amount of hair and meet his eyes. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been better.”
“Glad to hear it.” He leans down, so close that our noses almost touch. “Now how about we take care of this?”
His hands fall to my sides and his fingers trail along the hem of my T-shirt. Goose bumps dance up my arms and down my spine, but not from the chill of my damp clothes. My breathing is shaky as he drags the fabric upward, revealing my midsection and then the lacy bralette I threw on this afternoon, not thinking in a million years Nate would be looking at it later. He pulls it over my head, tossing it to the side somewhere.
Even after all the years I spent with Peter, I always felt uncomfortable being naked in front of him. It was like he was constantly assessing my body, noting what could use improvement and what was acceptable. The gym membership he signed us both up for stung for months.
But beneath Nate’s intense gaze, I’ve never felt more powerful. He doesn’t even attempt to hide his desire as his hands explore my bare skin. His cock jumps when his fingers skim across the thin fabric concealing my nipples, and I can’t hold back the moan that slips through my lips. His heavy breathing grows deeper, the sound echoing in the empty foyer, before his mouth is back on mine.
The gentle scrape of facial hair I know he’ll shave in the morning is a stark contrast to his pillow-soft lips. He nips at my bottom lip, quickly tracing the sting with his tongue. One of his large hands pulls me against him while the other slips into the waistband of the boyfriend jeans Ruby forced me into. I’m hyperaware of his cock pressing into me and the nuisance of my pants preventing him from giving it to me like I want it.
However, before I can complain, Nate—the wonderful overachiever he’s always been—anticipates my needs. He slips his hand in mine and pulls me behind him up the stairs and down the short hallway to the last open door.
“You’re sure about this?” he asks one final time. “I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll understand if you change your mind.”
“If I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t have rung your doorbell.” I admit what I wasn’t even sure I was prepared to admit to myself. “I don’t just want it now, I need it.”
He nods, and a slow, sexy-as-hell grin spreads across his face.
“Good.” His lips touch mine and the gentleness of the small touch takes my breath away. “I think I’ve needed this for years.”
Before I can absorb the full weight of his confession, he tugs me into his bedroom. A lamp next to his bed is on, I assume from when I rang the doorbell like a maniac, and casts a dim glow across the space. Unlike the shocking amount of beige in his living room and the kitchen, his bedroom is dark and moody. The walls are painted a dark green that without the burst of light from the lamp I might think was black. His oversized bed is highlighted by a camel leather bed frame, the large headboard taking up most of the wall. His floor’s covered by a gigantic sheepskin rug that probably makes climbing out of bed in the morning semi-bearable. But the thing that gets my attention the most is the gallery wall above his dresser. Black-and-white photos of Nate and his friends are framed on the wall, and even though I’m trying not to stare, I can’t help but notice how personal this room feels in contrast to the rest of the house.
It feels like a privilege to be invited in.
“I really like your room,” I say when I catch him staring at me. “It’s nice.”
“As opposed to the rest of my house?” He laughs, not offended by my unintentional backhanded compliment. “It’s my favorite part of the house, so thank you.”
In order to not put my foot in my mouth again, I decide it’s time to put something else there instead. We shift positions and now I’m the one pulling him.
“Sit.” I give him a gentle shove when we get to the foot of his bed.
“My pleasure.” He doesn’t hesitate. His naked body hurries up the bed until he’s sitting with his back propped up by a generous number of pillows. He tucks his arms behind his head with his elbows splayed wide, watching every move I make from hooded eyes.
I unbutton my jeans, slowly pulling down the zipper and never taking my eyes off him. I shimmy out of my jeans and stand in front of Nate in nothing but my bra and underwear. I obviously wasn’t planning on anyone seeing what was beneath my clothes, so I’m not in a cute matching set or anything. But by the way his chest rises and falls faster and faster and his fists curl in the comforter, he doesn’t seem to mind the lacy-bra-cotton-undies combo.
My body has always been something I lived with. I never wanted to be a model or anything, but I didn’t hate it with the same venom other women I know hated theirs. My modest breasts are the perfect size for me. Big enough to fill in a dress, but small enough that I can wear bralettes with zero support and not think twice. I don’t love to work out and I do love pasta, so I gave up a long time ago on caring if my stomach was perfectly flat. And when thick thighs and a generous backside were something to be envious of, the issues I had from my teens began to fade away.
But right now? Standing in front of Nate and witnessing his undoing just by looking at me? I’ve never felt sexier. I’m sure that’s anti-feminist or something and I should just love myself without the need for validation, which I do.
This is just icing on top of a very sexy cake.
I try to notice everything, from the way my skin is tingling to the feel of his rug beneath my feet, and hope that I never forget a single detail of this moment. A moment where Nathanial Adams no longer looks at me with contempt, but as if I’m the most beautiful person he’s ever set eyes on, and I do the same.
I climb on the bed, crawling up the comforter and between his legs. My hands skim the tops of his legs, feeling the way his body tightens beneath my touch. I look up at Nate, holding his gaze as I drop my head and use my tongue to start drawing a line up the inside of his thighs, stopping on occasion to nip at the sensitive skin and then kiss away the hurt.
I watch as his eyes squeeze shut the higher I go. His legs tremble under my touch and his breathing is so frantic, I worry he might pass out. Even though part of me wants to torture him a little longer, my kinder （hornier） side takes over.
Without hesitation, I move my mouth to his cock. My hands work in tandem with my mouth as I lick from the bottom to the top of his impressive manhood, circling the tip. Every hiss of breath, every moan, spurs me on. I start to move faster as I feel him growing in my mouth, but before I can do any more, he scissors off the bed and the room flips upside down.
“Oh my god!” I try to reorient myself. “What did you just do?”
“If this is happening,” he whispers in my ear, his raspy voice sending chills down my spine, “there’s no way I’m coming before you.”
I can’t help the way my legs clench together when his teeth graze across the shell of my ear. His lips move down my throat, stopping to suck and bite the sensitive point above my collarbone that I love so much. It’s almost unnerving how well he can read my body. It’s like we’ve been doing this for years instead of mere minutes.