Page 93 of Fighting Words

“It’s cold,” I protest as he heads for the stairs.

He doesn’t listen to my complaint. He has a goal to get me up to his room, and his long strides eat up the stairs and the hallway until we’re there. Instead of laying me down like a shining white knight, he tosses me and comes up and over me like an evil villain. He nips my jaw, my neck. He draws up my shirt and peels down my bra and bites methere,just on the tip of each of my breasts until I arch up off the bed.

Oh my god. I want him.

I weave my fingers through his hair and tug until he looks up at me, and then I kiss him frantically—teeth clashing, tongues melding, lips swollen and red. His hands are everywhere, covering my skin and sliding under my clothes. He takes control of me like I’m on strings.

He tugs my shirt off then unclasps my bra and drops it off the side of the bed, and my nakedness takes possession of him. I see the way his eyes hood as he looks down at me, his hands reach down to touch me. His eyes flit up to mine, and his expression sobers. His hands go still on my body, and I feel the way they shake as his nerves bleed out of him.

“I’m in love with you, Summer. Tell me you feel the same way. Say it and put me out of my misery.”

I can’t help but smile, drawing a lazy circle down his chest. “And if I loved you?”

Relief washes over him as he captures my hand and brings it up to his lips. “It’s almost too much to hope.”

I release an unsteady breath, trying so hard to contain everything he’s pouring into me, and then this need becomes insatiable. Our bodies take over as clothes slip away, my panties, his briefs—and finally it’s heated skin against heated skin. We’re so hot I’m surprised we don’t fog up the glass windows.

Thisis chemistry.

Thisis how it should feel.

We’re in such a rush. Everything has moved so fast up until this point, but now that I’m lying naked on Nate’s bed, he pulls away from me, leaving me without his weight to pin me in place. I worry, for a moment, that I’ll float away. As he slides away, my hands reach for him instinctively, but he takes them and drops them back by my sides. He holds them until he’s sure I understand what he wants. Any trace of boyishness has left his features. He looks so serious, so deeply reverent as he spreads his body out beside mine.

I hold my breath as his gaze dips. I bite my lip and fight against the urge to move and cover myself. It’s faintly mortifying to have him look over every inch of me. A part of me wants him to hurry up and take me, and yet I lie still as his fingers start to trail lightly up my leg, starting at my knee. I close my eyes and shiver, concentrating on his touch. My breath hitches as he reaches my inner thigh and I hope with everything inside me that he’ll go farther, but then he moves his hand away, starting over again near my ribs, skimming higher until he strokes the underside of my breasts. He lowers his mouth and presses small kisses against my quivering stomach.

I lie so still, as if I hope he’ll reward me for my compliance.

His fingers move again, drawing down the curve of my hip, skimming over my thighs and leaving me bereft. Instead of picking up steam, he goes in reverse, slowing down to the point of agony. He dips his head and kisses along the swell of my breasts, pointedly keeping it chaste. His touches are featherlight, and yet they overwhelm me.

His mouth moves teasingly close to my breasts, and I moan and arch up, begging. Still, his fingertips and mouth only taunt me until I feel so tense I’m nearly vibrating. He pays close attention, noting where I seem to be most sensitive. I shiver when his hands draw down the center of my abdomen, and when he does it again, my fingers fist against the bedsheets.

He stokes a fire in me, pushing me further and further toward the edge.

“Nate.Please.”

I don’t recognize the desperation in my voice. The hitch. The plea. The wantonness.

Finally, Nate’s left hand catches my hip, holding me in place while his right hand slips between my legs, parting them as he touches me so expertly, watching for every reaction, listening to every gasp. It’s too easy for him now that he’s dragged this out. I could come apart from nothing at all, the shifting of air. Yet still, he draws out my pleasure until my nails are dragging down his arms, until my mouth finds his and I beg him with urgent, soul-searing kisses.

When my skin is slick and I’m hot and aching—when I think I can’t take this agony for one more moment—he comes up and over me. I hold my breath, watching every inch he sinks inside me. Too much, too tight, too deep—that’s the way it feels until he kisses me into acceptance, rolling his hips gently until I relax down into the sheets, languid and hot.

His mouth is near my ear when he says, “You asked me why I left out the relationship between Amelia and Julian in the summary.” I gasp as he pulls out and thrusts back into me. “You want to know what it feels like when he finally has her? When she’s underneath him for the first time?” He kisses my neck, scraping his teeth against my skin, and I arch up to give him better access. “How can I possibly put this on the page, Summer?” he asks as he hits a new, deep part of me that makes me suck in a sharp breath. “How can I convey what he feels for her?”

He sounds utterly incensed.

Sparks travel down my skin when his hands find my breasts, palming them possessively, and then he’s thrusting into me, maintaining a relentless pace as my legs wrap around his hips. Every piece fits. It’s no less overwhelming than the first time, but I don’t cry. I spread open for him, my heart his for the taking.

I’ve been hanging on by a thread since he began to touch me, and now it’s too hard to stave off the inevitable. He pulls his lips away from me and slides his hand between our bodies, swirling his fingers, and all at once, everything comes alive as I shatter. I squeeze him tightly as I cry out, and he groans into my neck. On and on. I think I barely remember to breathe. His name slips past my lips and then I feel him coming too, feeding off our shared pleasure.

For a long time after, we breathe together, his chest expanding as mine contracts, and when I open my eyes, I see him already watching me, his gaze soft and hopeful.

I smile, and he leans down to kiss me. Short and sweet.

Then he slips off to the side of me, but when I make to get up, he holds me against him.

“Not yet,” he says, when what I think he means is,Not ever.

We lie in his bed as a tangle of limbs. For a little while we’re quiet, gathering thoughts.

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