Page 52 of Sweet Oblivion

My belly warmed, and I smiled. Asher Smith cared about the musicians he worked with. Postponing Nash’s album was a blessing, all the more so because Nash wanted to push forward so badly. This gave us time.

Nash leaned in closer—so close our noses nearly bumped. “I know you’re upset about the girls flirting with me. But they don’t matter.”

I traced a pattern in the comforter next to my hip. “I’m sure one of them will be more than willing to keep you company once I’m gone.”

“I want…” He blew out a breath. “I want you, Aya. To be with you.”

Happiness exploded in my chest as I leaped forward in a tangle of limbs and sheets and tackled him to the bed. He laughed, his face so young and carefree, as he tucked my long hair back.

“You’re everything to me,” he said, his tone solemn. “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be here right now. Maybe I should have pushed you away. But I couldn’t. I can’t.”

I dropped my gaze.

He tipped my chin up, connecting us again. His gaze ignited nerve endings and sizzled down my spine, warming my belly.

“You’ve made me re-evaluate a lot of things, but mostly my stance on relationships. I kind of blindsided you at MIT, but I’m glad you went along with it—that you’ve stuck with me.”

“Nash,” I said on a sigh. “You have no idea what a beautiful guy you are. I’d choose you every time. I only want you.”

His smile blinded me. “Good. Because I want to be with someone who makes my pulse race, who makes me forget where I am when I’m kissing her. Who makes me smile as soon as I think about her.” His whiskey-brown eyes implored me. “That’s you.”

“I feel the same way,” I whispered. I leaned in a little, needing to feel his lips on mine.

He obliged, and they were warm, soft, as perfect as they’d been at that day under the oak trees. Except this time, he opened his mouth and tugged my hips even tighter to his. I slid my fingers into his hair and cupped his head, desperate to be as close to him as possible. I whimpered as need shot through me, causing my body to throb and feel hollow.

Our kisses morphed into hot, deep dances of tongue and teeth. He drugged me with pleasure, causing me to shiver and ache. His hand slid under my shirt, creeping to my chest, cupping my breast. I moaned into his mouth as he rubbed his thumb across my nipple.

“Your tits are my favorite thing,” he groaned against my mouth. “I need to see them.”

But he waited for me to reply. His face remained taut, his eyes luminous. Those luscious lips plumper than usual—because of passion, from wanting me.

“Yes, Nash. I want you to touch me.” I want you to love me like I love you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

But I bit those final words off, unwilling to say anything that might cause him to stop. Passion and foreboding drove me. I wasn’t sure what, exactly, this moment might become. Nash’s focus remained on my body, pushing away the pain of his reality. I wanted to keep him safe, in my arms, forever.

He buried his face in the valley between my breasts and held my back, his palms cupping my shoulder blades. His shoulders started to shake, but before I could offer comfort, he whipped up and took my lips in a punishing, drugging kiss.

His tongue penetrated my mouth even as his fingertips slid down my belly to the waistband of my leggings. He stripped me of those and my thong as he kneaded the supple flesh of my buttocks, pressing tiny kisses down my neck.

“Ay. God. Aya. You feel so good.”

I panted, trying to catch my breath. He laid me back on the bed before he yanked his shirt over his head. When the warmth of his chest settled over mine, I gasped, arching into him, into the feeling of rightness pervading the moment.

“Feel me, Ay. Hold me, touch me.” He nuzzled his nose against my ear.

Did he just ask me to love him?

Before I managed to process the words, his mouth covered mine again, his tongue tangling, dancing, dueling, leading mine.

“I want you,” he said. He pulled back enough to meet my eyes. The storms that lived there were tempered by his desire. For me.

I slid my palm over his cheek. “I’m always here for you, Nash. Whatever you need.”

“You,” he whispered, pressing closer. “I need you.”

I smiled. “You already have me.”

“I want to have sex. With you,” he clarified.

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