Page 46 of Love Me, I Dare You

“Breathe, Angel,” he whispered so low I barely heard him, but it made an impact‌.Angel. I’d never get used to hearing him call me that. At first it used to bother me, annoy me and I’d call him devil right back, but soon I realized it wasn’t meant as an insult. It was just the way he saw me. It’s what everyone assumed I was.

Would an angel sneak out in the middle of the night to ride on a motorcycle with a boy she was obsessed with? Would an angel plan to seduce said boy?

It took us five minutes to get where he wanted. We were still on my family’s land, out toward the edge of the small river that separated our home from the neighboring town of Rivers Bend.

I kept quiet during the short drive. On one hand, I was terrified of falling off the motorcycle, while on the other, I was too determined to hold on to him as long as I could. The moment we parked, I jumped off the bike, feeling it burn against my skin. I was a bundle of nerves that could spark a fire in the dry grass I stepped through.

But before I could run off, Nash reached for me, grabbed me by the hand, and spun me around to face him. Our chests crashed into one another, his hands wrapping around me until he had me exactly in the position he wanted me. I could feel the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, which matched mine, and I knew for a fact he could feel my hardened peaks pressing into him. He proved me right when he looked down and smirked. Letting go for a moment, he reached a hand over his shoulder and grabbed the collar of his t-shirt, tugging it over his head in the most captivating way.

His tanned skin gleaming under the moonlight above had me in a trance. Nash was immaculate. I’d seen guys shirtless before, had even caught Nash without one on a handful of times over the years, specifically when we’d spend time out here by the river bed over the summer. But it was nothing like seeing him up close. Nothing like feeling his muscles under my fingertips.

On instinct, I flattened my palms against him, giving him a slight push, which only drew him in closer.

“You cold, B?” he asked, grinning at me like he knew exactly why I was “cold”. I didn’t answer, didn't have to. Nash took my silence as confirmation and slipped the shirt over my head.I released him just long enough to slip my arms through the sleeves, but pressed them back against his chest the moment I was done.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. There I was, leaning against Nash Bishop’s motorcycle. Both his hands were on either side of me, caging me in as he pressed his bare chest against me. His lips were so close to mine, just a mere centimeter, and I’d have known what they tasted like. How they felt wrapped around mine.

Were they soft or rough? Gentle or needy? Would his hands wrap around my waist or tangle in my hair?

I wanted to know the sounds he made as he kissed me. I wanted to feel the ardent need pooling between my legs as he claimed my mouth. I needed something, anything, that proved I wasn’t alone in this. That my attraction wasn’t one-sided. That, my love, wasn’t unrequited. Even if he could never give me what I truly wanted—I prayed he’d at least give me this.

But dreams never came true. Prayers never answered. And hopes, they made even the most clever into fools.

Nash slipped his hand under the hem of my t-shirt, under the thin fabric of my camisole until his fingers grazed the skin right above my belly button and trailed down to my lower back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His lips pressed against me for no more than a second, but they didn't move. My eyes closed, a single tear streaming down my cheek as he spoke.

“You don’t need to go out looking for trouble, Angel. You are trouble.”

Chapter Nineteen

Bailey

Asharp throbbing in my leg wakes me out of my deep slumber. Forcing myself to open my tired eyes, I abruptly sit up in bed, my clothing stuck to my sweat clad body as I recall the dream I just had. Not really a dream. It was another memory, a flashback of a moment with Nash from my youth I preferred to forget. It felt too real. Like his body was still pressed against mine, his words still echoing in my ear as he lowered his mouth so close to me, but then pulled away.

I’d never really experienced such vivid dreams, and as a child would usually always forget them soon after waking up. But lately, it’s as if I’m reliving these haunting memories through visions and daydreams. Though only when they’re about him.

Patting the bed in search of my phone, I freeze the moment my hand connects with something I was not at all expecting. Warm, taut muscle flexes beneath my touch as my fingers curl to get a better sense of what’s beneath them. I refuse to turn my head and look, afraid of what or who I might find lying in bed beside me, but my touch refuses to let go. My hand continuestrailing over his skin of its own accord, reveling in its warmth—the beat of his pulse beneath mine beating in my palm.

A vivid flashback of last night comes barreling down on me, and I close my eyes to focus and tune out all the noise.

My fall, my injured ankle. How Nash carried me to his motorcycle, the two of us riding out to my parents' ranch. The look on my mama and daddy’s faces when I showed up at their anniversary party with Nash Bishop and how he dragged me to the hospital in Jase’s truck. How Dr. Dawson wrapped my sprained ankle in some tight bandage and instructed me to take pain medication as needed and remain off it for a few days.

But then, it all goes black. I knew Dr. Dawson had given me a potent dose of painkillers once I’d arrived, but how could I have forgotten everything that had happened after?How did I end up back home? How did I end up tucked in my bed?

I look down at the gray t-shirt I’m wearing and gasp when I realize I’m no longer in my dress from last night.

“Nice shirt,” Nash says from beside me, and the deep, throaty sound of his morning voice has me gasping once more. Nash is lying beside me, as in, in my fucking bed.

Realizing I’m still touching him as he looks up at me and down to my fingers digging into his skin, I jump to my feet, immediately regretting it as a sharp pain shoots from my foot up my leg.

“Oh fuck,” I shriek, almost falling to the floor. Nash jolts up and within seconds, he’s right beside me, cradling me in his muscular arms before gently setting me back down on my bed. Though he doesn’t immediately let go. “Holy fuck, that hurts.”

With his arms still wrapped around me, Nash leans forward, way too close to me and inhales. “Goddammit, woman,” he groans, but I don’t think he’s angry.

His touch on my leg lingers slightly too long, but I’m in no hurry to tell him to stop. Regardless of how I feel toward Nash,it feels good to be in this position. To be caressed by a man, by a man who looks, smells and sounds like him. It’s been so long for me and I think that’s clouding my judgment.

“Nash,” I warn, when I feel his hand creep up my thigh instead of down toward my ankle.

My tone of voice forces him to straighten. “You’re not supposed to apply any weight or pressure on it for an entire week, especially not jump on it.”

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