Chapter 16
The rest of the week passes in a blur.
James keeps me busy at work, but not as busy as before, and I can’t decide if I’m grateful or frustrated by the reprieve. We don’t talk about what happened in his office, but the tension is there. He watches me, and I watch him back, waiting to see if he’ll make another move.
I still haven’t figured out what he wants from me.
Maybe he hasn’t either.
By the time Saturday comes, I’m excited to focus all of my attention on Nash and our date. We meet in front of a small art house theater on the other side of town.
It was our safest choice, presumably far from the usual haunts of anyone we might know at the office.
“Hey,” he says, leaning in for a quick, casual kiss that sends a shiver through me.
For a moment, I stand there, feeling giddy and unsure of what to do with my hands, which he solves by taking one in his and leading me inside.
The lobby smells like popcorn and old carpet, and there’s a small crowd of hipsters and college students. I feel a rush of relief. The anonymity makes it easier to breathe, to let myself be in this moment with him.
We buy tickets, and Nash insists on buying snacks, his arms full of various candy as we make our way into the dim theater.
We find seats at the very back, far from an older couple and a pair of teenagers. The velvet seats creak as we sit down, and Nash passes me a box of Milk Duds.
“So, an indie film? Let me guess, you bring girls here to make them think you’re deep and intellectual?”
“You’re the only girl I’ve brought here, Avery. And no, I didn’t bring you here so you’d think I was an intellectual. I brought you here because I knew the theater would be mostly empty and dark.”
“That sounds ominous.”
He grins and lifts the armrest between us, placing his hand on my thigh furthest from him, pulling my body flush against his. I can feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt, and he smells good enough to lick. I relax against him, resting my head on his shoulder as the movie starts.
As the film plays on, I remove my gaze from the screen to watch the light dance across his face. It feels good being here with him. He turns suddenly, catching me staring, and grins.
“You’re not even watching the movie.”
“Maybe I’m not here for the movie,” I say, running my fingers teasingly along his chest, tracing the defined lines of his pectoral muscles, letting them drift down to the ripples of his stomach, and stopping just above the waistband of his pants.
I press my lips against his neck, eliciting a soft sigh.
He shifts in his seat, slackening just enough for me to slide my hand beneath the hem of his shirt and splay my fingers over his lower stomach. My hand slides lower, palming his erection over the top of his clothes.
“Avery,” he whispers.
It almost sounds like a warning, but I know he won’t stop me.
“Shhh,” I whisper back, undoing the button and zipper of his pants.
He shifts beneath my touch, and I know the exact moment he stops caring about the movie.
Pulling him out of his boxers, I stroke him slowly. His breath hitches, and I feel his hand find the back of my neck, dragging me toward his mouth.
We kiss, and it feels like fire.
Like we’re teenagers, reckless, groping in the dark.
I move my hand faster, letting the thrill of the moment take over. His hips lift slightly from the seat, and I break our kiss, moving my head towards his lap.
I trail my tongue along his shaft before swirling it around the sensitive tip, teasing him.
Finally, I take all of him into my mouth, delighting in every inch as he gasps softly above me. Nash’s hand finds my shoulder, then slides up to cradle the back of my head, his grip tightening as if he might lose himself entirely if he lets go.
The heat of his skin, the way his fingers tangle in my hair and tighten with each flick of my tongue. It all feels intoxicating and overwhelming.
I lose track of the movie playing in the background. There’s only Nash, and the way his body tenses and his breath falters and the low moan he can’t quite suppress as I move up and down his length.
With my free hand, I reach up, covering his mouth so he can’t be heard no matter how badly I want to hear those sounds myself.
I hollow my cheeks, working him with a mix of tongue and lips. His breathing quickens, and I feel him getting close, his body taut with tension.
When he comes, he lets out a ragged breath against my hand, trying to keep quiet. I swallow every last bit before leaning back and wiping the corners of my mouth with my finger.
He pulls me to him, breathless, eyes wild and almost disbelieving.
“Jesus, Avery,” he pants, his voice a rasp. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I laugh, feeling giddy and bold and a little bit wicked. I zip him back up, and he kisses me again, slower.
“Your turn,” he whispers.
I’m reaching for the button on my jeans when I feel Nash’s hand on mine, stopping me. Looking into his eyes, I furrow my brows.
“Not here. I want to hear you,” he says, his lips brushing my ear.
A shiver barely has time to make its way down my spine before Nash is yanking me out of my seat and down the aisle to leave the theater.
I follow his motorcycle until we pull up to his townhome, both of us hurrying toward the door with the building anticipation of ripping each other’s clothes off.
As soon as we get inside, his hands and lips are on me. He grips my waist with such a firmness that I’m half convinced his hands will leave a searing imprint there. He backs me into the door until my body closes it for him.
I can feel every part of him pressed against every part of me.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing kisses down my neck to my chest, pausing only to lift my shirt over my head. He tosses it to the side as I kick my shoes off. His fingers trail down my bare stomach, finding the button of my pants and then lowering my zipper.
Grabbing my hips, he spins me around to face the door. He sinks to his knees, tucks his fingers in the top of my pants, and peels them over my ass and down my legs.
I step out of them one foot at a time.
He runs his hands back up my legs until he reaches my ass, squeezing and biting my cheeks until I let out a little yelp.
He spins me back around and places his hands behind my knees, guiding me to rest my legs on his shoulders as he situates himself underneath me.
He plants kisses on the insides of my thighs before looking up at me and placing one final kiss over my lace panties, the heat of his breath making me quiver.
With two fingers, he hooks my panties and slides them to the side, exposing me.
He moves his mouth over me, and I feel his tongue dart and flick, a shock of warmth and wetness that makes every muscle in my body tighten.
A gasp escapes my lips before I can stop it, and he responds with a muffled groan, shifting his focus to the exact spot that makes me grind against him, desperate and wild.
The door is cold against my back, a stark contrast to the heat building inside me. I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer and urging him on. He moves faster, his hands gripping my thighs, holding me in place as I shudder and writhe above him.
I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on.
My legs start to shake as I come undone against his tongue.
I cry out, my voice echoing through the empty house, and I feel him smile against me, triumphant and relentless as he keeps going until I’m twitching and gasping.
He finally slows and gives me one last lingering kiss.
“I love the way you taste,” he says, letting my legs fall to the ground.
I wobble, unsteady on my still shaky legs, but only for a moment before Nash stands, lifting me in his arms and carrying me up the stairs.
I kiss his neck, his jaw, tasting the salt on his skin. He carries me through the darkened hallway, kicking open his bedroom door. Both of us tumble onto the bed.
We scramble to get his shirt off before he tears it over his head and pushes me down onto the mattress. He pulls my bra straps down, biting my shoulder.
I arch my back, and he reaches underneath me, unhooking my bra and pulling it from my body. The moment my breasts are free, his mouth is on me, tongue flicking over one nipple while his hand cups and squeezes the other.
I grind my hips against him, feeling him hard against my center. He sits back on his heels, looking me over before standing and removing his pants and boxers. I keep my eyes on his as I slide my panties down my legs and lay back again, spreading my legs for him.
“Fuck. Look at you,” he says, climbing back onto the bed and settling in between my legs.
He grinds against me, teasing me. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“Nash,” I moan, urging him to give me more. “Please,” I whisper as he slides into me, slow and torturous.
The fullness of him makes me gasp, and he bites his lip, thrusting gently at first, then harder, deeper, until we’re both panting and slick with sweat.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, matching his movements with my own. He kisses me, swallowing my moans, his pace quickening.
He shifts, hitting that perfect spot that makes me forget my own name.
The tension inside me builds until I can’t hold on any longer. I cry out, my body exploding around him.
“That’s my girl,” he says.
I feel him follow me over the edge, spilling into me with a final, ragged moan.
He kisses me and then rolls over, resting on his arm and keeping his eyes on me.
I stand, searching for my bra and panties, and take in the details of his room I hadn’t noticed before.
The space feels warm, like him. There’s a dim glow from a small lamp by the bed, casting shadows across the room.
In the low light, I can see the mismatched frames lining the walls are filled with band posters, from The Rolling Stones to some local acts I don’t recognize.
A guitar leans in the corner, and stacks of records lie scattered across the hardwood floor.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Getting dressed.”
“Why?”
“Well, I can’t drive home naked.”
“You’re leaving?” There are those puppy dog eyes.
“I told you, Nash. A physical relationship is all I can give you. Staying here tonight feels like more than that.”
“And the last time you said that, you fell asleep in my arms,” he says, getting off the bed and walking across the room to me.
He runs his hands down my arms until he reaches my fingers, intertwining his with mine. “How is this any different? I know what you said about keeping things casual, but I never said I wouldn’t stop trying. I want you to stay here with me.”
He backs toward the bed, pulling me with him. He sits on the edge of the bed, and I stand between his legs, looking down at his still-naked body.
How can I think straight at all when I’m looking at him like this? When his hands touch me so lovingly?
He waits, and I can see the hope in his eyes. I’m not sure if it’s hope of me staying the night or hope for something bigger, something more.
“You know you want to,” he sing-songs.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t have anything with me. No charger, no change of clothes, no toothbrush…”
“Are you worried I won’t want to kiss you with your morning breath?”
I playfully smack his chest. His tanned, chiseled, lickable chest. God, I want to stay.
“Or were you just throwing out every excuse you could think of and hoping one would stick?”
“The latter,” I shrug.
“Well, my charger is by the nightstand. My plans for you the rest of the night don’t involve clothes, but if you insist, my t-shirts and boxers are in that dresser over there. And your morning breath won’t bother me one bit, doll. Did I miss anything?”
He smiles widely at me, dimples on full display.
I sigh and drop the panties and bra in my hand to the floor.
“Fine. I’ll stay.”