Page 15 of Nathan

“You’re going in the wrong direction.”

“Depends on the destination,” he answers cryptically.

“But my apartment…”

“…isn’t where we’re heading.”

I swallow. That could only mean one thing. “We’re going to your place?”

He nods. “It’s closer, and I need to be inside you.”

I bite down on my lip and close my eyes, excitement and adrenaline curling my toes. My heart rate hasn’t dropped below one eighty since he kissed me. Nate O’Reilly, the Nate O’Reilly, is taking me to his home, and he can’t wait to get me into bed.

Niggling at the back of my mind, though, through a haze of longing, is one question: what changed? For six months, Nate barely gave me a second glance, and yet one screaming banshee moment from me, as well as a desire to get one over on Bernard from him, and now he’s hounding me like a dog chasing a bitch in heat.

It doesn’t matter what Nate says to the contrary. His determination to get my job back had nothing to do with benevolence, and everything to do with gaining superiority in an unbalanced relationship with his agent.

So, where does that leave me? Until I have some answers, I can’t do this.

“Can you stop the car?”

“It’s not much farther.”

“Nate, stop the car.”

He gives me a quick side-eye. “You sick?”

I shake my head, even though he’s already turned his attention back to the road and can’t see me. “I need a minute.”

Still, the car eats up the miles, the powerful engine making it easy for Nate to weave in and out of the busy Los Angeles traffic.

“A minute for what? I can’t pull over here, Titch.”

“Stop the fucking car!”

That gets his attention, although his compliance is accompanied by a heavy, irritated sigh, and an exasperated twist to his lips. “Okay, okay. Hang on.”

He checks the side-view mirror, maneuvers to the inside lane, and takes the next exit off the highway. He turns left at the traffic signal, then right, before finally pulling in front of a liquor store. How apt. I could do with a drink, because now he’s done as I asked, I don’t know what to say. God, he’ll think I’m such a child, an innocent, or worse, a cock tease.

He cuts the engine and twists toward me. His arm rests across my seat, close enough that if I move my head back a couple of inches, I’ll be leaning on his forearm.

“Floor’s yours, Dexter.”

The full use of my name isn’t lost on me. He’s making his point with a giant sledgehammer slamming into my skull.

“I-I just need a minute. You’re going too fast. I want…” My face burns. “I mean… I don’t get it.”

Nate scratches his cheek, his confusion evident. “Get what?”

I let out a quiet sigh. “Why you’re interested in me all of a sudden. All those months you came to see Bernard, you barely even looked at me. I might as well have been a desk, a chair, or a picture hanging on the wall for all the notice you took. Yet now… now you want to take me back to your home and… and…”

“Fuck you,” Nate helpfully interjects. “That’s what I want to do, Dex. Fuck you until you can’t see straight. Until the smell of me, the feel of me, is etched on your body. Until it doesn’t matter who else comes afterward, you’ll never forget the feel of my cock in your pussy.”

No one has ever spoken to me like that. A swell of heat fills my core, and… oh, God, my panties are wet. I squirm in my seat—a movement not lost on the much more experienced man sitting beside me.

“Don’t over think it, Titch. We’re both consenting adults. Both over twenty-one.” He pauses, a brief frown flickering across his face as though he hadn’t thought about my age before this moment. “Yes?”

“I’m twenty-two,” I say, my hoarse voice scratching my throat.

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