Page 44 of Bordeaux Bombshell
But somewhere between the second and third rounds, when he had his tongue deep inside my pussy and his finger grazing the rim of my ass, I forgot my mission in driving out here.
I forgot I came here to prove once and for all that the Nate we all loved wasn’t the Nate who came home from France. That not only did he leave all of us, but he leftherand his son in France—proving that holding my grudge all this time was justified. He wasn’t trustworthy, so I could finally walk away and not feel guilty.
I needed him to tell me to my face that I was right. That there was no going back. So I could leave with the giant “what if?” that’s been banging in my brain for years finally answered.
That my actions tonight were justified and necessary instead of cruel.
I’ve been shoving that tiny voice in the back of my mind—the one that won’t shut up—into a shoebox, taping it shut and locking it inside the deepest recesses of my mind so I can stay the course. There’s no turning back now. He’ll never forgive me for this, just like I’ll never forgive him.
The voice keeps saying that I really am as childish as I know they all think I am.
Except he didn’t do the unforgivable. He did come back the same man who left. And the realization that maybe I was the problem the whole time has been buzzing in my mind ever since I walked away from the dinner table.
But as my third orgasm comes barreling at me and Nate rolls me beneath his arms, caging me in as he slows his hips to a deliberate pace, all of that threatens to leave my mind.
There’s only space left for the rightness of his body against mine. The safety of his strong chest that would never let anyone hurt me.
“All I’ve ever wanted was you,” Nate lies, his eyes soft before he dips down for a languid kiss. He’s not fucking me anymore. Instead, he’s rolling into me with a depth and sweetness that screams a giant L-word that I refuse to name.
Except I know deep down he’s wrong. Because if he really wanted me more than the Ridge, he wouldn’t have walked away. The truth is that I’ve known since I opened my eyes and found him gone, he’d never want me more than his legacy.
Instead of answering, I pull his bottom lip between my teeth, the prickles of his beard rough against my sensitive skin. I don’t want to lie, so I don’t use words. Humming and moaning as he works me higher and higher, without making promises I won’t keep.
“You’re so beautiful. I want to remember you like this forever, baby.” Hooking my leg over his shoulder, Nate changes pace, driving harder into me. My hands free, I brush along his cheek, catching my thumb on the corner of his mouth. He turns into my palm to nip at my fingers, never slowing.
My pussy is enjoying this a little too much, betraying me by dripping for him, the beginning flutters of another orgasm distracting me again. He fills me perfectly, reaching all the parts inside me that have missed him for all these years.
Head still turned away, Nate glances sideways to meet my gaze, as if he can tell my mind is in two places. “Stay with me. Stay right. Here. With. Me.” Each word is punctuated by a snap of his hips, dragging his cock against my inner walls and corralling the chaos in my mind.
“I’m here,” I gasp out, my impending release building higher and higher. My hands scrabble at his waist, pulling him deeper as I spiral upward. “Don’t stop.”
“Never.” Somehow, he plows even harder into me, adding a little dig against my clit with each thrust. The movement calls my orgasm closer and closer until it’s filling the spaces between my cells, like I’m going to explode in a puff of smoke when I finally come.
Still reading my mind, or maybe just my body, Nate locks into me, his shoulders rocking beneath my hands. “Say you’re close. God, I need you to come. Come for me, Syd.” He thrusts a few more times before gasping out, as if he’s also about to disintegrate. “Please, baby, please.”
He swells even bigger inside me, legs shaking and unable to hold back any longer. His orgasm triggers my own, and I cry out. Am I imploding or exploding? Inhaling or exhaling? I have no idea.
But as I settle back into a Sydney-shaped being, I realize I was horrifically wrong about something.
There’s no getting him out from under my skin.
Heismy skin. He’s not merely embedded into my cells—he’s the atoms that form them, and there’s no escaping that Nate Ridgefield will never let me go unless I force him to.
And I have to.
I can’t live like this anymore. I was telling the truth when I said I was tired of being angry all the time. But I thought the answer was to fuck it out of my system one last time, when in truth, I have to amputate my heart and cauterize the wound.
If I can’t love the man who’s perfectly shaped to my soul, then I can’t love anyone.
I’ll come back for the wedding for Kel and Maggie’s sake, but I have to get away from here.
Guess he won’t be the only one who ends up running away.
All these thoughts race through my mind in the time it takes Nate to roll off me and pull me into him. My back presses into his chest, and I’m grateful he can’t see my face or the tears dripping off the end of my nose.
We lie like that for a few moments, Nate running his fingers through my hair as I breathe carefully through my nose to hide the sniffles while I count in my head. Eventually, the feeling passes, and I thank god for the TikTok I saw that said you can only really feel an emotion for ninety-seconds before it passes.
It fades just in time as Nate releases me to roll off the bed. “Don’t run away.” He points at me with a happy grin, twisting the guilt in my stomach. “I’ll be right back.”
