Page 67 of Fragments of You

It’s hard because I’m so happy and in love that I feel like I’m going to burst at the seams, but I’m also terrified to come across as clingy or desperate.

“Not at all.” He shakes his head, his messy hair swaying from side to side. “In fact, I often feel the same way when I’m with you.” The hand that touched my hair moves gently down the side of my face.

“You do?”

“Why do you seem surprised by this?” He chuckles, his fingers reaching my jaw before trailing lower to my neck, pin prickles peppering my skin.

“Because you’re a guy,” I state the obvious.

“And? Does me being a guy mean that I can’t feel love?” He arches a brow, my breath catching when his hand finds its way to my chest, his fingers toying with the hard bud of my nipple through my shirt.

While we’ve done some things, we’ve yet to do the thing. It’s not because I don’t want to, though. I think Nash is just afraid to push me too fast. If only he knew how desperate I am to explore everything with him, he wouldn’t have such hesitation.

“No.”

“Being a guy doesn’t mean I can’t lie in bed at night and not be able to think of a single thing but you?”

I’m at a loss for words here.

“Being a guy doesn’t mean I don’t wish I could be with you every second of every day or that I feel so happy sometimes like I might explode?” He rolls further inward, pressing his weight into my side. “I love you so much, P, sometimes I can’t breathe.” His face is close now, his breath warm on my face.

“Me too.” It’s all I can muster at his close proximity. He hardens and swells against my leg, and it’s almost too much for me to take.

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” His lips find mine, his tongue teasing the entrance of my mouth.

“I want to,” I abruptly blurt, my skin seconds away from bursting into flames.

“You want to what?” He pulls back just enough that I can see the wide smile playing on his lips.

“You know what.”

“Oh no, P. I’m not letting you off that easy.” He’s teasing me now, the ass. “If you want something, you’re going to have to ask for it.”

“You know what I want.”

“Say the words and I promise, I’ll do anything you ask.”

“I want you to... make love to me.” My cheeks heat again as I wish I could pull the word vomit back in.

Make love—Jesus, how much of a pathetic girl can I be right now? Guys don’t use terms like make love. They say sex or bone or whatever other lame term they come up with for getting in a girl’s pants.

Nash, however, doesn’t laugh or tease me for my words. The exact opposite, actually. He looks me dead in the eye and says something I will commit to memory for the rest of my life.

“I have been dreaming about making love to you for far longer than you know.” He kisses me slow and deep, awakening the hunger that consumes me every time he touches me. “And I would be more than happy to do as you ask,” he murmurs against my mouth, his hand finding the apex of my thigh.

I swear I forget how to breathe. Every sense is overwhelmed, misfiring on all cylinders. And when his fingers dip further, grazing my aching skin through my thin shorts, I might literally explode.

I know with complete certainty that Nash has never done this before, and yet, somehow, he seems to know exactly what to do. Where to touch me. How to touch me. One brush against my bare flesh and I feel like I’m in an inferno, the heat burning me up from the inside out. Another touch, this one more purposeful, and the fire intensifies. He’s touched me before, of course, but not like this. With such intention.

I’m so desperate to feel him inside me by the time he finally climbs on top of me, I’m basically begging for it, whimpering like a damn animal in heat.

“Are you ready?” He sheathes himself with a condom he pulled from his wallet before positioning himself at my entrance.

I’ve never been more scared and yet more ready for anything in my entire life.

“Yes.” I pant, bracing myself for the moment of impact.

He goes slow, entering me inch by inch, and while it’s painful, pain is most certainly not the only thing I feel.

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