Page 18 of Nathan

Shock at his refusal jolts me to life. “Excuse me? Are you saying I can’t leave?”

“No. I’m saying I want you to stay. Just stay.”

My stomach somersaults. He still wants me.

“Why? I can’t do what you want me to. That. I can’t do… that.” I duck my head, but he isn’t letting me off so easily. His palm skims along my jaw, and he tips my chin up, his lips twisted into a crooked smile.

“I am going to look at your pussy, Dex. In fact, I can’t wait to see it, to taste it. To taste you. And trust me, you’ll want me to. You’ll beg me to.” He lowers his lips to mine in an all-too-brief kiss. “But don’t worry. We’ll work up to that, as you so eloquently put it. Tonight, I’ll show you that sex can be memorable, but great sex is unforgettable.”

I try to take in what he’s saying, because it sounds like he’s implying this won’t be our only hookup. That can’t be right. I’ll never keep a man like Nate interested for longer than one night.

“Turn around.”

Nate’s quiet instruction brings my mind back to the present. Without hesitation, I do as he asks. The button on my skirt pops, followed by the telltale sound of a zipper, and my skirt falls in a heap at my feet. Nate’s fingers, firm yet light, flutter over my hips as he grips the hem of my top before he lifts it over my head, leaving me standing there in my mismatched bra and panties, with my body trembling and my mind racing over what his next move will be. Thank God I trimmed this morning.

I jump when he kisses the back of my thigh at the crease where it meets my ass.

“Easy,” he murmurs.

I glance over my shoulder to find Nate on his knees, his eyes roving over my body, his cheeks tinged with a hint of redness. He’s staring at me as though I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever seen.

It’s intoxicating.

His thumbs hook into my panties, and he peels them down my legs as an unmistakable sigh of appreciation tumbles from his lips.

“That’s a mighty fine ass, Titch.”

He bites my left buttock. I yelp, the pain mingling with pleasure turning my thigh muscles to jelly, making my legs quiver with the effort of holding me upright.

“Put your hands on the dresser. It’ll help support you.”

I plant them, palms down, and Nate bites my other butt cheek. My head falls forward, a moan spilling from my lips. His hand slips between my thighs, and he pushes a finger inside me. A second one soon follows.

“Jesus, you feel good.” He taps me on the ankle. “Spread your legs. Wider. Yeah, that’s it.”

He removes his fingers, leaving me feeling empty, until he laps at me with his tongue. A strangled “Oh,” falls from my lips—a weird noise because I utter it on an inhale.

“Okay?” Nate asks, his voice rough and husky.

I dip my head. Oh, God, he’s inside me. His tongue is inside me, sliding back and forth, slick and hot and wet, and just when I think the waves of pleasure can’t get any greater, he reaches between my legs. One pinch of my clit, and I’m coming—coming so goddamn hard, flashes of white, gold, and silver blur my vision.

I close my eyes and lean over the dresser, the top half of my body sprawled across the cool wood while Nate’s velvet tongue and talented fingers continue to prolong an orgasm that feels like nothing I’ve ever managed to create at my own hands. So fast. That can’t have been more than a minute. He’ll think I’m so lame.

“Jesus Christ, so responsive,” he mutters in my ear.

My bra snaps open, and he slips the straps down my arms, then cups my breasts. I arch my back, pushing forward into his hands as he plays with my nipples. They harden and elongate beneath his attention.

Quickly, he spins me in his arms, his mouth crashing down on mine, our tongues fighting for the upper hand. He tastes sweet and musky. He tastes of me. The decadence and depravity of it should gross me out, but instead, I shiver with desire. I can’t get enough of his touch, his body, his lips.

I slide my hands over his chest, then down his muscled biceps and tight forearms that hold me so closely.

He lifts me so effortlessly, and lays me down on the bed. I blink up at him, watching him strip off his shirt and jeans before he carelessly tosses them into the corner of the room.

Oh, dear God. I think my eyes just orgasmed.

Nate O’Reilly is carved muscle and sinew, and so beautiful he steals the breath from my lungs. The outline of his erection is visible through his boxers, and he’s hard enough that the tip has broken free of the waistband. My stomach vaults. This is going to hurt. I might not be a virgin in the technical sense of the word, but the two occasions I’ve had sex haven’t prepared me for someone of Nate’s size.

He lies down beside me, his body so lean, tall, and perfect, and his fingertips float over my skin. Goosebumps spring to life, pebbling my naked body, and his eyes heat as they rove over me. I can’t breathe, can’t think. I’m nothing but a puddle of yearning. I’m here, with Nate O’Reilly, in his house. In his bed. How did this happen? Am I dreaming? I must be because fantasies like this don’t exist in the real world.

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