Page 38 of No Greater Love
"Tasha," he murmured, his breath brushing my jaw. "You're sure?"
I answered by sliding my hands beneath his shirt, dragging my palms up over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the thud of his heart.
"I've never been more sure."
He pulled back slightly, and the look in his eyes—raw, vulnerable, fiercely determined—nearly undid me completely.
"I've wanted this for so long," he confessed quietly, his voice rough with honesty. "Wanted you. But I couldn't let myself... not with Paige to think about."
I reached up, cupping his face in my hands. "I'm here. We're here. And she's safe."
Something shifted in his expression then—relief, gratitude, pure want—and that was all it took.
He kissed me harder then—hungry, unguarded, no longer holding back. The kind of kiss that made my knees buckle and my pulse race. The kind that made me forget everything but his name.
We undressed each other in fits and starts, half-drunk on adrenaline and anticipation. I tugged his shirt over his head and ran my hands across his bare chest, memorizing the curve of muscle, the scars I wanted to learn by heart. He stripped off my blouse with reverence and heat in equal measure, his eyes drinking me in like I was something he wasn’t sure he deserved but had decided to worship anyway.
When he leaned down to kiss the curve of my shoulder, I shivered. When his mouth trailed lower, I gasped.
He caught my eye. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“Don’t you dare,” I whispered.
We tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, skin against skin, every inch of him driving me wild with want. He kissed down my body slowly, savoring, teasing, making me arch and moan and beg for more. And then he moved lower, tasting me with a thoroughness that left me breathless.
By the time he came back up, I was shaking. He kissed me again, and I could taste myself on his lips.
“Nathan,” I said, voice wrecked. “Please. I need you.”
The look he gave me was pure fire. “You have me.”
He moved over me, strong and careful and completely overwhelming, and when he finally entered me, I swore the earth shifted. I clutched at him, anchoring myself to the solid, burning reality of us.
He set a rhythm that was slow but deep, every thrust deliberate, like he needed to memorize how we fit together. I matched him beat for beat, every movement a promise, every gasp a surrender.
“God,” he whispered into my neck. “You feel like—like coming home.”
I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to get closer still. The pressure built fast, relentless, curling in my belly like a fuse about to blow.
“Nathan,” I gasped. “I’m?—”
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, Tasha.”
And then I shattered.
Pleasure slammed through me, wild and blinding. I cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, body arched into his. He followed a heartbeat later, groaning my name as he buried himself deep, his control finally breaking.
We clung to each other, shaking, kissing like we were still trying to catch up with what we’d just done. I couldn’t stop touching him—his back, his jaw, the sweat-slick strands of hair at his temple. He kissed the curve of my breast, my collarbone, the corner of my mouth, like he was afraid I might vanish if he let me go.
“I should’ve done that a long time ago,” he said hoarsely.
“No,” I said, smiling up at him. “It was right now. It had to be now.”
He held me tighter, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head. "Thank you. For tonight, for everything."
"Don't thank me yet," I teased lightly, hoping to ease the tension that had returned to his shoulders. "I'm not done with you."
He chuckled softly, pressing another kiss to my forehead. "Good."
