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His apartment is the same as the last time I was here. Exposed brick, big window overlooking a dark sky, grey couch. It's weird that my memories are all tainted by that tense moment where he pinned me down underneath him. Now that's all I want.
What's different than last time is his lips falling into mine two seconds after we walk through the door.
It's a dizzying kiss, one that sucks the air out of me immediately. His hands clasp firmly around my waist, resting possessively over my body as I'm forced slightly backwards. It takes me a moment to respond, my own tongue diving in to meet his hungry, devouring pace.
I drag my arms up over his shoulders, pulling his lips even closer as he tugs me between his teeth, sucking and nibbling on the skin as I swirl my tongue deeper around his mouth.
I only stop walking when my back hits the kitchen island.
I was so engrossed in his touch, the fire sparking down my whole body, that I hadn't realised we made it over here.
I pull away for a second, voice reduced to shallow breaths. His hands stay at my waist, lips still only inches away from mine.
"I'm dramatic?" I hum, studying every fleck of hazel, "But you touch me once and act like you'll never touch me again?"
He huffs a laugh, dragging me closer to his body, "With how much you worry about us being caught I think I should be scared I'll never touch you again."
It's a joke but I feel like I should be concerned that that idea, him never touching me, is much worse than anything else. I want to be consumed by him, want him to have me pinned up against his kitchen counter, eyes burning a hole through my skin.
He dives in again before I can say anything else, lips soft but thrumming with passion as he pushes them against me. The kiss is open-mouthed, probably desperate, and feels so insanely good. I wonder how I survived the day without wanting this as much as he clearly does.
When I suck on his tongue, a small, whiny moan slips out, causing him to slow, pull back and tilt his head at me like some sort of confused puppy. I should be embarrassed but my need has clouded my head, taking over rationality.
"You're always so needy," He whisper-groans, "Do you have any idea how fucking hot that is?"
The vibration of his voice shoots wet heat between my thighs, causing me to clench them tighter.
I drag one hand up to his face, touching the soft skin of his jaw before trailing it down, reaching the material of his shirt and pawing at it gently.
I can feel the outline of that chest so clearly, my brain spiking further at the memory.
"What?" He hums, kissing me sloppily between words, "Words."
"Off," I whisper into his mouth, "Take your shirt off."
I'm ready to see him again, feel him, watch that body fall over the top of me but, instead, he just pulls away again. This time properly, so that I can't chase his wet lips or lean into his hands still firmly planted against me.
I can feel myself fall into a pout. He likes teasing me, likes making me say exactly what things I want him to do to me - and I did? So why's he being such a dick?
He laughs softly at my expression, it feels mocking. Somehow that action only makes me wetter.
"Not yet," He says, referring to the shirt, then keeps talking when my eyes widen, "I'm dealing with you first, pretty girl."
Then, before I can react, he lifts me up by the waist, dragging me up onto the kitchen island like it's nothing.
It takes me a second to process that I'm up here, thighs against cold marble and eyes closer to being level with his.
My feet dangle off the edge as he walks closer, pushing himself into the space between them.
"What are you doing?" I whisper, but it's so quiet I don't even know if the words leave my mouth.
He moves in and places kisses beneath my ear, slowly, deliberately. When his lips move up a fraction his voice soaks into my brain, "I want to taste you."
Fuck.
The heat between my legs aches hotter, brain falling deeper into this hazy, sex-crazed mind fog that always seems to overtake me. My thighs twitch, attempting to clench at the heat burning all the way through me, but they only hit the sides of Nolan's own legs.
He notices, chuckling into my ear before kissing across the side of my face, my cheek, my chin, until he finds my lips again.
I'm so happy to feel his tongue back in my mouth, claiming me, that I barely notice the hand that's slipped upwards and under my skirt.
It dances on my upper thigh, brushing the sides of my underwear.
It's yesterday all over again, except this time not against a tree in someone else's garden. It's Nolan's apartment. And that becomes clear with his total lack of hesitation. He's confident, practically smirking into my mouth.This is his domain.
He asserts that by firmly wrapping his fingers underneath the side of my panties and tugging it upwards.
The fabric drags across my clit suddenly, smearing the slick mess further up against my pussy. It forces an unexpected moan out of me and straight onto his tongue. When my thighs move instinctively again he spreads his other palm across the left one, pinning me down.
"Keep still."
Despite everything his little commanding words still seem to annoy me. He likes being a cocky asshole even when he's already got me in the palm of his hand.
I push out two bratty words, "Fuck you."
He responds by tightening his grip and pulling my panties again, revelling in the way my breath responds in a shallow pant and my thighs, desperate to roll up against the touch, are forced down by his bruising touch.
"Do you want my tongue between your legs, helping clean up your little mess, or not?" He teases. His fingers move over to the damp patch soaking the fabric, circling with touch so light it's practically painful.
I don't say anything. I'm half exploding with pleasure, half wanting to be as stubborn as I can. His dark hair clouds his forehead, lip ring shiny and taunting against his kiss-swollen lips.
"Ava," He commands with a murmur, "Tell me you want this, you want me to fuck you with my mouth, and I'll drop to my knees right now."
It sounds like heaven. His hand pinning me down, hand circling my covered pussy, eyes burning through my skin, is all driving me insane. I need something, some pleasure relief before I loose my mind.
"I want you..." I say through gritted teeth, "I want you to fuck me with your mouth, please."
He wasn't lying.
He falls to his knees immediately, so quickly it completely breaks his whole nonchalant act. I don't think he cares about that right now, though.
He pushes my skirt up against my waist and I shuffle, letting it drift fully up over my thighs.
The marble beneath me is cool, my brain fizzing with the fact I'm naked from the waist down minus very soaked underwear Nolan is about two seconds away from peeling off.
His touch roams aggressively, smoothing over every inch of my skin before making good on his promise.
Somewhere between hungry and teasing he grips the sides of my panties and tugs them down my legs. The lacy pink reaches my ankles before they're pulled off completely. I watch him chuck them to the side. We don't need those.
"They were expensive," I murmur, jokey but breathless.
He just shushes me, squeezing my thighs harder as he prises them apart, kneeled body coming between them. In seconds his warm breath hovers over my skin, goosebumps trickling over every inch of me. I almost flinch at the first gentle kiss pressed to my inner thigh.
When he moves upwards with his affections, lips nipping carefully with every movement, his eyes meet mine, sharp and threaded with something dark. I watch him kiss my skin the way he's watching me. The world melts away, this, us, him, is the only thing left.
But I'm restless after two seconds, a whine slipping from my lips as he kisses so close to my pussy I feel like I might explode, "Nolan, please."
He falters, for a single second, gazing at me. Amused, probably turned on. I think he's going to say something again but he doesn't. He finally gives in to what I want.
His tongue drags up the length of my slit and I suck in a sharp breath. The pleasure is instant, rippling through my body. I can't remember the last time someone touched me like this, even less the last time I enjoyed it.
After he strokes up and down a few times he pushes his tongue inwards, fucking me gently, building an intoxicating rhythm.
My hips buck lightly, itching to meet his movements.
He still doesn't let me, strong hands pinning my thighs to the surface.
His buries his face even deeper, flattening his tongue as it glides in and out of my wetness.
When he moves his attention to my clit my hand is buried in his half-curls, threading through the soft hair.
I hadn't even realised I'd done it, I barely realise now, drowning in pleasure.
He flattens his tongue against the bud, circling every bundle of nerves and tightening that coil in my stomach.
He flicks across my core, then sucks my clit into his mouth, then alternates between both.
I press him closer against me, if that's even possible, as I hold his hair. My back arches as I let the feelings consume me, let my head float away from the real world. I don't seem to care that I'm letting Nolan Winters eat me out on his kitchen Island.
God, how did I get to this point?
He slides two fingers into me and I audibly moan, louder than every other whimpery noise that's left me so far.
With that and his tongue still pleasuring my needy clit I know I won't be able to last much longer.
My pussy clenches around his fingers fucking me and he makes a noise of approval that vibrates right into my core. It pushes me closer to the edge.
"Oh, fuck..." I groan, almost a whisper as my voice is knocked out of me.
I want to say something annoying, ask him how the fuck he got so good at this, but my mouth is pretty useless right now.
The pleasure in me tightens further, starts sparking beneath my skin, builds up to the deliciously overwhelming pressure I know will crash over me any second.
Nolan keeps working, adding his tongue alongside his fingers and using his thumb to rub more gentle circles across my clit. I feel myself pulsing, losing control.
"Go on," He says, a muffled noise at best, "Release for me, pretty girl."
The vibration of the words sends me over the edge and I lean forward, fingers tangled in his hair, letting my orgasm shatter through me.
The pleasure is explosive, my breath reduced to nothing, my legs twitching.
It somehow feels better than yesterday, better than anything else.
The waves roll over me, aggressive and white-hot.
Nolan keeps licking me through the aftershocks.
The pleasure keeps me frozen still until everything becomes sensitive and Nolan pulls away. He gentles his grip on my thighs and stands back up so that when I look at him properly, post-orgasm and face to face with his messy hair and glistening chin, I don't even know what to say.
"Good?" He murmurs, like it's nothing.
He's smirking, because he knows. That smug idiot knows.
"I...fuck," I garble out, chest still rising.
"That's the correct response," He nods, pressing his forehead against mine, "I don't expect you to form a sentence after my amazing work."
I snort a tired laugh, "Is this what you were doing while you were gone?"
"Priorities," Is all he murmurs back.
He kisses me then, slower, softer, none of the same urgency.
It's affectionate actually, like he's checking if I'm okay.
When his tongue slides against mine I can still taste my own release on him and embarrassingly, it only stirs the dying ache between my thighs again.
He pulls away very gently, like he doesn't want this to end.
"How are you feeling?" He asks, edgy tone all gone. It's like no matter how much he wants to tease me, part of him has to be serious, even if just for a second.
"Like jelly."
His eyebrow raises expectantly, like he wants a real answer.
"Good," I say with a conceding nod, "I'm really good."
He looks satisfied with that, placing one more kiss on my lips, then one on my forehead too. His hands find my waist and help me down from the counter, steadying me as my legs adjust to not floating in the air...that and the lingering effects of my orgasm.
Gaining some of my rationality back and having Nolan standing up straight again has made my brain turn to other ideas. My eyes graze down to his pants where an unmistakable bulge strains at the seam, clearly hard and uncomfortable.
I probably shouldn't leave him with a hard-on for a second time.
But as soon as my hand reaches forward Nolan catches my wrist. I frown at him.
"Not now," He says, firmly, "You need to eat something."
I roll my eyes immediately at his usual intenseness.
"I can eat afterwards..."
My hand snakes out his loose grip and brushes over his pants, palm pressing into the bulge gently.
It feels big, bigger than I'm used to. He lets out a tiny, gritted groan at the contact and the fire between my legs reignites even more.
I want to touch him the way he's touched me, want him to make the same desperate noises, want him to beg me.
I flutter my lashes as innocently as I can, flicking hair over my shoulder so it frames my face. My head tilts, eyes wide, hand pressing down harder.
"You don't want me to repay the favour?" My voice is so challenging I can barely believe it's coming from me, "You think I can't? That I'm too innocent?"
His eyes narrow, cautious, almost pained as he tries to read my game. He seems to have awoken that part of me I usually can't find. Molten confidence trickles through my veins.
"You are innocent," He replies, but hesitantly, like he doesn't really believe it. He's testing the waters.
I just flash a pure smile, "You're not the only one who can get down on their knees."
His cock twitches under my hand, so obviously responsive that there'd be no point in him denying he doesn't want this. I lean in closer, lips ghosting over his as I threaten to devour him whole again. I want to cover him in kisses, want to watch him fall apart completely.
"Looks like you're the quiet one now," I whisper into his mouth, all smile. It's playful but the ache between my legs isn't. His brooding expression, the picture of fire and restraint, isn't helping me.
With a stifled groan Nolan still shakes his head, breaking our contact like a second longer would shatter him, "I want to, fuck,I want to, but I also need you to eat a real meal."
My eyebrows drop, face losing that film of innocence I'd plastered over it a minute ago. I have him burning hot in my palm, eyes bearing into mine, hands grazing the sides of my waist, and he's still stopping this. I feel myself blink, almost dumbfounded.
Nolan, who's only personality trait was sleeping with girls for years, who didn't care about anything but himself and what he wanted, won't let me suck his dick because he's worried I didn't eat lunch?
It sounds insane.
His hands drift to my crumpled skirt, smoothing it back down to full length, "After, we can do whatever you want. Right now, I'm feeding you whether you like it or not."
I can't even open my mouth to protest before he places a kiss on my lips and moves away, stepping closer to the kitchen. Before he gets fully there, he stops, pausing to pick something up off the ground. I only realise what when he spins around to hand them to me. My panties.
His face is all smirk again, "I don't care how expensive these are, I'm going to buy you more of them."
Despite everything I just let this man do to me my cheek still bloom, face flushed with subtle embarrassment as I take the lacy pink back between my fingertips. They're still damp, a very harsh reminder of everything that's still crackling through me like lightning.
The Island itself is a reminder too, especially when Nolan begins to wipe it down with a cloth, extremely casually. Less than five minutes ago I was sat up there with my legs spread, letting him devour me like he owned me. Now he's digging in his fridge for vegetables to chop on it.
I slide my underwear back on, taking a moment to recompose myself. I take a quick trip to the bathroom, smoothening my messy hair and smudged makeup as best I can. I let my breaths settle down in my chest.
When I return the air has changed, not charged in the same way it just was, not burning and suffocating and exploding with undeniable tension.
It's fallen back to that gentle domestic-ness that befell us the last time I was here.
There's still an undercurrent, a flame that's not quite gone out.
I catch it when our gazes linger too long or his words replay in my head.
But it's been made abundantly clear that's for later. Right now I should be comfortable in Nolan's presence, let him take care of me in that way he always wants to.
"Pizza again?" I mutter, hovering around him. It's obviously not that with the mushrooms he's slicing up in front of me.
"No, I'm making you something proper."
I watch the rhythm of his flexing hands with the knife, "You cook?"
"Sorta," He nods, eyes meeting mine for a fraction, "Definitely for you."
He ends up making pasta, coated in a creamy sauce with chicken and delicious fried vegetables. I watch him whilst he cooks, half enamoured by his quiet demeanour, half focused on how good he looks. Messy hair, veins trickled down his arms, yellow-light creating hot shadows over his face.
At one point he asks me to come over and test the sauce, offering me up a wooden spoon.
Before I can even try to take it in my mouth he wraps one arm possessively around the side of my waist, holding me close to him.
Our hips touch in gentle warmth, my body stirring with something unexpected. Stability.
Here, with him, I feel more secure than ever.
I'm not obsessing over my appearance or worrying about money.
I don't think about Riley as much as usual, I don't think about my job or those photos that still linger.
I become engrossed in the rhythm of our existence, watching every movement he makes as our lives blur even closer.
As he finishes up the food he lets me ramble about Cole, his issues, our attempt to confront them earlier this morning.
When I face palm into my hands, cringing at the memory and how bad the whole altercation was, Nolan appears in front of me.
He pushes loose strands of hair out of my face, slides a hand down my cheek and tells me to stop worrying about things I can't change.
When I try and explain myself further he plants steadying kisses on my forehead.
Dinner is calm in the same way. We eat, make little comments that occasionally trickle into the flirting territory but are reeled back every time he gets too confident and playfully annoys me.
The food is good, too good and by the time we've finished and I'm on the couch, I'm completely full.
"Put something on," Nolan murmurs from behind me as water runs among the dishes he's washing, "Maybe I can survive another one of your rom-coms."
I laugh gently, grabbing the remote and letting the screen flicker to life.
"What else do you suggest?"
"A documentary."
I frown, tilting my head around just enough to catch his broad shoulders and the back of his brown hair, "You watch documentaries?"
He turns too, eyes meeting mine, "Sometimes...what?"
I can't stop the smile spreading over my lips and up into my cheeks. It's silly, but the thought is amusing to me.
"What do you think I watch?"
"I don't know..." I blink at him, "Action movies, or something?"
He scoffs, grabbing a cloth beside the sink and drying his hands straight away. My eyes fixate on the movement, the strength of his wrists, the way he tosses it aside when he's done. For one scandalous moment my brain wants that touch on me again, wants to be melting under his flaming grip.
I'd managed to bury my lingering horniness from earlier, I guess it's back now...and much harder to ignore. As he makes it over to the back of the couch in two long strides I swivel to face the TV, not wanting to face him with steadily blushing cheeks.
He leans over, head beside mine, frame enveloping my shoulders, fingers prising the remote from my fingertips with no resistance. Even when he takes it he stays pressed to me, breath hot against my neck. My chest tightens desperately.
"What's this?" I ask when he brings up something I've never heard of.
"A documentary," He asserts, "Like I said."
"About what?"
"Just watch it," The words end with a kiss to my cheeks before his smothering warmth is pulled away and back to the sink. The water runs again, melting in my ears.
The movie, it turns out, is about photography. One photographer in general, a man who pioneered a whole experimental genre I'd never even heard about. It's interesting, watching his story as a young boy, discovering his passion and not being recognised for his work until he got older.
I become engrossed in the storytelling, the quiet emotion of his photos, the story behind every shot shown on screen. While his old teacher describes him as an amazing talent, my phone buzzes in my lap, catching me off guard.
The notification makes me freeze entirely.
Unknown number: Hey, this is Ava, right?
Sorry to text out of nowhere, Honey gave me your number.
My name is Jason, I run a monthly magazine and we're super interested in meeting you.
You'd be perfect for a shoot in our next issue.
Let me know if you're thinking of taking up the offer, you have my details if you want to chat elsewhere. Thanks.
I'd completely forgotten about that. I haven't thought about Honey or that offer in weeks, it was hard to when everything else around me seemed to be unravelling.
My brain starts to run slower, draws me out of this comfort I've been stewing in for the last few hours. Photos. Do I want to do that again? I still don't know. And it feels stupid, that I've done it twice but what feels like forever at this point and I'm still unsure.
I scroll back to the number I wrote down that day and sure enough, it matches Jason's. It's legit, a real person who saw photos of me and thought I would be of use. It still feels weird, still consumes me in a confusing way.
I gently flinch when Nolan snakes an arm around my shoulder and drops himself onto the couch next to me.
He sits so close, without hesitation, without needing to be careful.
The natural fall of my thigh against his and hair brushing his arms is normal.
It just is. For the first time in a while I'm suddenly very aware of how comfortable we've gotten.
"You okay?" He asks, noticing me stiffening.
I nod dismissively, "Yeah, all good."
He eyes the phone tightly clutched in my hands, "Are you sure?"
My brain is bouncing with the question of whether to do these photos, whether to push myself further. If I can get to this point with my best friend's very off-limits brother, a few more photos cannot be that difficult, right?
"Stop worrying about me," I murmur, not wanting to burden him with a decision I haven't even made yet.
But his eyes flash a little darker, playfulness gone and replaced by a serious look. Not intimidating, just concerned in a soft way. He's still focused on the phone.
"It's not...?"
He doesn't need to say the word. I get it, immediately.
It's not your dad.
I shake my head vehemently, probably too much. Maybe I'm just trying to get rid of any thoughts that might be snaking their way through. I don't have time to think about him.
Nolan doesn't push, doesn't say anything more. He trusts me, like that, or just knows that I have a boundary there I don't want him to rupture. It makes my belly uncoil, clears my head, puts me at ease. The spike of pressure is gone, replaced by that temporary comfort once again.
His body relaxes, arm across my back and shoulder pulling tighter suddenly until my head rests softly against his chest. The touch is firm, possessive, grounding. It's like I'm meant to be here, resting on him. Like we're puzzle pieces meant to slot together.
I refocus my attention on the documentary again, trying to get engrossed in the cool photos flashing across the screen. I don't concentrate for very long before Nolan's whispered voice hits my ear.
"You look beautiful today," He murmurs, "Such a pretty girl. You drive me insane."
The words flip my stomach, make me weak in the knees. It feels so intimate like this, when we're strewn across his couch. His fingers have begun circling my shoulder on the other side, gentle touch that sends sparks through me. I could crumble into pieces right here.
"You're not so bad yourself," I mutter into his chest.
"Yeah?"
I tilt up to meet his eyes, his expression caught between teasing and vulnerability, or whatever his version of vulnerability looks like. It's still raw, still hangs heavy in the air.
"Yeah," I say, and it's true. His eyes are beautiful in this light, strong jaw and handsome hair making him look even hotter than usual. "I could stare at you forever, you know. Might have to start calling you my pretty boy."
He shakes his head so gently it's barely a movement, "Pretty is reserved for you, baby. Only you. No one else comes close."
I smile, pushing my face back around to see the screen, the flashes of colour. I don't really register what's happening because I'm still drunk on Nolan's affection.
I'm safe here, comfortable. There's no threat of anything in our tiny bubble, there's just touch, butterflies hammering in my chest and words that melt me fully.
A few seconds later I catch his voice again, deep and whispered but unmistakable.
"My pretty girl."
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