Page 146 of One Wrong Move

Nate looks content, his eyes lazy. “You’re not the first. But he also instilled the value of hard work, education, perseverance.”

“You work a lot, that’s true.”

“I worked even more before you moved in.” He nods to my skirt, a smile on his face. “Off.”

I grumble about him being so needy but wiggle out of the skirt happily. Having him so close, so naked, so large, and so distinctly male is intoxicating. So is getting to touch him wherever I want and however I want.

“Jesus,” Nate says as I sink to my knees again beside the tub. “You’re so pretty. Always have been.”

“Always?” I ask. Find the loofah and start along his legs. “Even when we were just friends and I was Dean’s girlfriend?”

His voice is surprisingly serious when he replies. “Always.”

“Oh.” I try not to get ahead of myself. Had he always…? I didn’t know he’d been attracted to me before a few weeks ago.

Before we moved in together and became friends.

“Don’t worry,” he says, and his voice is light again. “You don’t need to confess that you found me devastatingly handsome on our first meeting.”

I chuckle and run the loofah up his knee. “You’re not fishing for compliments. Nope.”

“I would never.”

“Of course you were handsome. You’ve always been good-looking,” I say and let my loofah run up his thigh. To the only spot I haven’t washed, yet.

Nate exhales sharply. “Well. We got there in the end.”

“I have one more question,” I say, moving the loofah around his thighs, his hips, his lower abs.

Nate grits his teeth. “Then the bra is coming off.”

“Think you can focus if it’s off?”

“I’ll do my damndest,” he mutters.

I reach behind me and undo the clasp. Slide the straps down my shoulders and slowly, slowly, let the cups fall, leaving me bare.

Nate curses, his eyes turn dark and focused on my tits.

It makes me smile. “You’re looking like you’ve never seen me naked before.”

“I’ll never be done looking,” he says.

I let the loofah drop to the tiled floor and lean against the tub, pushing my breasts up against the edge. The bubbles have mostly disappeared now, and I clearly see his erection beneath the water, resting against his stomach.

I reach down and grip him.

His breathing catches, and his hands tighten on the rim of the tub. “You have the best fucking hands in the world.”

“I do?”

“Mm-hmm. Best fucking everything.” He leans his head against the rolled-up towel and looks at me with lust-filled eyes. “Ask the question, Harper. Whatever it is.”

He’s hard in my palm, and grows harder still as I stroke him. I love the feel of him in my hand—heavy, silky, and hot. Have since the very beginning.

And I love the way he looks when I hold him. Like I have his life in my hands. Like I’m the only thing he can think about.

“If you thought I was pretty since, well…”

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