Page 89 of Finding Fate

Everything stills, tension hanging in the air as I wait for his response.

"Yes." The shake in his voice causes my heart to skip a beat.

Grabbing his face between my hands, I force those brown eyes to meet mine. "I'll tell you to stop if I can't take it, but right now?" Frustrated at the diminishing intensity from moments ago, I drop my head back to the pillow. "Don't stop."

Not missing a beat, he grips the hem of my T-shirt and tugs. As the cotton creeps up the plane of my stomach, my heart rate increases, nearly beating out of my chest. "Wait."

Those strong hands pause.

"I...." Damn, how do I say this. How in this moment do I articulate the way I see, the way I feel about myself? Accurate self-image has never been a strong point. From my small breasts to my narrow hips, I'm not the type of girl he's surely been with, or even prefers.

As if he's read every thought, he kisses my still-bare stomach and murmurs against my skin, "You're enough, Fate. Don't you ever fucking doubt that again. There, now I have two rules. Hopefully you'll be better at keeping this one than the former." The way his lips move across my fair skin tells me he's smiling.

Faking confidence, I grab the bottom of the T-shirt and pull it off, finishing the job he started. I’m ready to drop it to the floor when he unfastens the clasps of my bra before reaching to cup one breast, then the other. The shirt and bra both float to the floor as I focus on every flex of his fingers against my skin.

"Perfect. So damn perfect."

At his words, a light I thought was gone, or maybe never existent until him, glows and builds.

I am perfect. To him, I'm enough.

The deep thoughts are dashed as his teeth lightly clamp around the soft tissue of my breast. Lips wrap around my peaked nipple, sending a bolt of arousal to my already-damp center with every flick of his tongue.

A calloused hand skims down my side, brushing against the curve of my breast to the dip of my waist before gripping my hip. Flexing and tightening, his fingers inch lower and lower, pushing my pajama shorts farther down my thighs.

Again the uncertainty slips back in, wondering if what he finds will be what he expects, what he's built up in his mind. But I push it out, focusing on the way his tight grasp makes me feel cherished, like I might slip through his fingers to disappear into the night.

An animalistic growl vibrates between my breasts as his hand dips lower to grab my bare ass.

"I never want this to end," he whispers as he kisses his way up my neck. When his soft lips reconnect with mine, his devil tongue dips back in to tease my own as his hand slips forward. There's no hesitation as his fingers search for the exact spot I'm dying for him to touch.

Heat pours from his hand to me, making everything between my thighs hotter, and I’m desperate for more. I shift my hips back and forth, urging him faster and closer.

"Nash," I whisper against his lips, my breath pushing against his. "Please."

Everything stills. His lips. His fingers. His breathing.

"Pops," he says with twinkling brown eyes. "I like you begging."

The remaining covers are ripped from the bed, goose bumps sprouting down my legs, but I don't care. No, I'm too focused on his lips kissing from one hip bone to the other as my shorts slip farther and farther down my legs.

The room spins when he pulls the shorts from my feet and settles between my thighs, kissing up the inside and inching closer and closer to where I'm terrified and desperate for him to focus.

"Nash, you don't have to... I don't think I really like... this."

His teeth nip at my inner thigh, a surge of want pulsing through my veins.

"What's this?"

"You, uh, down there," I stammer. "I've never liked—"

"Oh, Pops. Just you wait."

End of discussion apparently, since he goes back to the slow ascent to the apex of my thighs.

Shit, do I fake it? Just so he doesn't get his feelings hurt? No guy has ever been able to—

The warmth of his mouth enveloping my tiny bundle of nerves ends all internal debate.

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