Chapter Seventeen
Jess
Fuck me, I’m going to regret this.
Somewhere between the wine and the whiskey and the even more intoxicating sound of Nick’s voice, I completely lost the plot. This was supposed to be about closure, putting the final nail in the coffin of a relationship that’s been haunting me for years.
Instead, I’m too close to a man I’m still deadly attracted to. His dick is hard, my panties are wet, and I’m practically daring him to talk dirty to me.
Note to self: No more whiskey. Like ever.
Nick hesitates for so long I start to think he’s going to refuse to answer. That would be the smart thing to do.
Apparently, we’re both idiots.
Nick’s voice is low and rumbly, and when he begins to speak, I have to shake off a shiver. “If you took off that shirt right now, Jess, I think at first I would have to just sit here and look at you.”
Goddamn it. Why is that the hottest thing he could possibly say?
“You’re gorgeous, always, but when you’re aroused, Jess. I can barely stand it. Your chest flushes the same bright red as your cheeks. Even your nipples flush, a perfect rosy pink. I’d lick along the edge of that lace before letting my tongue trail down. I want to tease you, torture you a bit”—he gives me a wicked grin—“and I want to take my time. It’s been so long, and I’ve missed the feel of your soft skin under my lips.”
Holy hell. I am the stupidest person alive because this is so not what I expected, and I am not prepared. Nick already demonstrated earlier today just how deftly he can write a sex scene, why didn’t I realize those talents would extend to narrating? We’re only a few sentences in and my nipples are hard as diamonds.
“Do you want me to stop?”
I know I should say yes.
Instead, I shake my head.
He takes a deep breath. “Once you’re writhing underneath me, grinding against me and searching for relief, I would kiss my way down your stomach, unbuttoning your jeans, pulling them down just enough so I could lick along the dip of your hip bone.”
Of course he remembers my secret sensitive spot, the one no man since him has even come close to discovering.
“Are you wearing the red lace panties, Jess?”
I nod, unsure what might come spilling out of me if I open my mouth. I’d probably beg him to stop talking and fuck me already, and we can’t have that.
He lets out a little groan and his hand moves to his crotch, tugging at his jeans. I can see the outline of him through the fabric and I have to look away so I don’t fling myself across the room and onto his lap.
“I’d kiss you through the lace of your panties, see how ready you are for me.”
So ready. I’m so fucking ready.
“Dammit, Jess, you can’t say shit like that right now.”
Oops.
Nick rises from the bed and strides to the far corner of the room, putting the maximum amount of space between us. It breaks some kind of trance, the spell both of us have been under.
“I’m sorry,” I say after a weighted silence. “I should never have asked that of you. You can stop.”
“I don’t want to stop,” he grumbles. “I just…” He scrubs a hand over his face. “This was a bad idea. You don’t really want me. Not the way I want you. This can only end with more hurt feelings, and there’s been enough of those already.”
“You’re right.” I don’t clarify as to what he’s right about, because I’m not totally sure myself, other than one of us is likely to get hurt if we continue down this path.
“I’m going to take a cold shower. And then I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”
I nod, though I can think of nothing I want less. I stay frozen in the chair.
Nick brushes by me on the way to the bathroom. He pauses in front of me, then drops a kiss on my forehead. “I wish I could tell you everything, Jess, but if you only take away one thing from this week, I hope it’s that I never stopped loving you. And I never will.”
Nick has made it clear he has no intention of explaining what went wrong between us five years ago. But I’m honestly starting to not really care.
Of course, that could be the whiskey talking. And my libido.
But he’s been so open about everything else. I mean, the man straight up told me he’s still in love with me. I don’t know that I can say I feel the same, but I’m a hell of a lot less opposed to the idea than I was just a week ago. Maybe it’s time to open myself up to the possibility of us, the possibility that it doesn’t really matter what happened the first time.
Maybe the only thing that matters now is what happens tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after that. A possible future.