Chapter 26 Belonging #2
He broke the kiss only to press his forehead to mine, breath coming in short, shaky bursts. “I’m scared too,” he admitted, so quietly I might have missed it if we hadn’t been pressed together, heart to heart, skin to skin. “I’m terrified. But I want you more than I’m afraid of losing you.”
My hands found his hips, holding him in place, not letting him run even if he wanted to. “You’re not going to lose me. Not tonight.”
“Then let me have you,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Let me take care of you for once.”
It was easier to fight than to accept care. Easier to be the strong one, to hold the line, to pretend I was built for this kind of pain. But I was so fucking tired. I wanted—needed—to let go, to be wanted, to be claimed.
I nodded, and he moved in for another kiss, slower this time, tasting me, learning me all over again. His hands were everywhere—my hair, my jaw, my throat, gentle but certain, as if memorizing every reaction, every tremor.
He sat up, hands sliding down my chest, making short work of my buttons, undoing them one by one.
He watched my face the entire time, as if looking for cracks, searching for all the places I might break.
I couldn’t look away from him, even when my breath hitched, even when I felt the sting of tears in my eyes.
He pushed my shirt from my shoulders and let it fall, then pressed his lips to the line of my collarbone, open-mouthed, warm and wet and desperate.
My hands found his waist, fingers slipping under the hem of his t-shirt. He stilled me with a look. “No. Let me.” There was something fierce in his voice—soft but unyielding. So I let him.
He peeled his own shirt off with a little tremor, tossing it to the floor, and I let my hands drift up his bare back, needing to touch, to anchor myself in the reality of him. We were both trembling. I pressed my face into his neck, breathing him in, holding him tighter than I meant to.
He worked at my belt next, his hands less steady now, not from hesitation but from too much want.
He undid it, slid it free, popped the button, pulled the zipper down in a motion so careful it made me ache.
He didn’t push my jeans down right away.
Instead, he ran his hands up the insides of my thighs, tracing the shape of me through my briefs, making me shiver.
“Nate,” I breathed, not sure if it was a plea or a warning.
He shushed me with another kiss, then shifted back, knees bracketing my hips.
He leaned down and mouthed at my chest, scraping his teeth over my nipple, sucking until it ached, making me groan and dig my fingers into his hips.
My cock throbbed, trapped in my underwear, aching for more, but he took his time, worshipping every inch of skin he uncovered.
He leaned up, eyes glassy with want. “Let me see you.”
I lifted my hips and let him tug my jeans down, slow and torturous, leaving me in nothing but my briefs.
He didn’t touch me right away, just stared, eyes hungry, lips parted, breathing hard.
He knelt between my knees and slid his hands up my thighs, not to tease, but to hold—fingers digging in just enough to remind me I was real, I was here, I was his.
Nate stood, stripped off his own jeans, then climbed onto the bed beside me, his skin fever-hot, chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. For a moment, all we did was stare at each other, memorizing every detail, cataloguing everything that might be gone by morning.
He rolled me onto my back, settled over me, and kissed me again, deep and wet and endless. Our legs tangled, our bodies pressed together, cocks straining against thin cotton, every movement making us both gasp, both desperate for more but refusing to rush.
He rocked against me, slow and steady, grinding our hips together, the friction enough to make me moan, to make my eyes flutter shut. His hands framed my face, his mouth moved down my neck, biting, licking, leaving marks I’d wear with pride.
Nate didn’t let up, just kept grinding against me, slow and relentless, hips rolling to a rhythm that had nothing to do with patience.
Our cocks strained against cotton, leaking, throbbing, soaking through until the wet heat smeared between us with every drag of his body over mine.
Each friction-laced pass set my nerves alight, every gasp and half-choked moan tangled with desperation and relief.
Nate’s hands never stopped moving, tracing my jaw, cupping my cheeks, then sliding down to my throat.
He squeezed gently, just enough to make my breath catch, his thumb stroking my pulse, claiming me without a word.
I tilted my head back, giving him more, wanting him to see how much I trusted him.
His mouth followed, biting a line from my jaw to the soft hollow just above my collarbone, tongue soothing the sting, lips worshipping the skin he’d just marked.
“Let me,” he whispered, voice rough with want.
He slipped down my body, fingers digging into my shoulders, then my ribs, then finally my hips, pinning me in place.
I felt him press a kiss to the trail of hair below my navel, then mouth at the edge of my briefs, nosing at the shape of my cock, breathing in the scent of us.
I groaned, fisted my hands in the sheets, tried not to beg.
He took his time, worshipping every inch with lips and teeth and tongue.
He mouthed at my cock through the fabric, letting his breath ghost hot and damp over the wet patch already spreading across the cotton.
He licked a broad stripe from base to tip, not caring that he wasn’t skin to skin yet, making me rut up helplessly, desperate for more friction, more heat, more of him.
“Fuck, Nate,” I panted, my voice shaking. “You’re killing me.”
He just grinned, that feral flash of teeth that told me he was enjoying every second of my unraveling.
He pulled back just enough to slide his palms under my thighs, spreading me wider, dragging his mouth down to suck at the soft skin inside my leg, right where it met my briefs.
His teeth sank in, not hard enough to break skin but enough to bruise, and I gasped, my whole body bowing off the bed.
He didn’t let up, shifting down further, licking the sweat from the crease of my hip, biting at the waistband, tugging just enough to tease but not enough to take it off. My cock throbbed, leaking precome that made a mess of the fabric, slick and filthy and perfect.
Nate crawled up my body, settling between my legs, his own cock grinding against mine, both of us straining for any scrap of sensation.
He pressed his forehead to mine, eyes wild, breath ragged.
“You feel so fucking good like this,” he said, grinding harder, faster, making me whimper, helpless to do anything but hold on.
He rolled his hips, the wet cotton slipping, sticking, dragging every nerve raw.
His hand slid between us, pressing the heel of his palm right against my cock, grinding it down until I was shaking, every muscle tight with restraint.
I hooked my ankles behind his knees, pulling him closer, needing every inch of contact, needing him to know he could take whatever he wanted from me.
He bit my bottom lip, sucked it into his mouth, then kissed me hard, tongue fucking my mouth in time with his hips. It was messy, needy, everything I’d been holding back. When he finally pulled away, I chased him, refusing to lose the connection for even a second.
His hand moved down, tracing the seam of my briefs, teasing the head of my cock with light, almost maddening touches. Then he cupped my balls, rolling them between his fingers, squeezing just enough to make me moan, to make my hips jerk up into his grip.
I dragged my hands down his back, nails digging in, needing to mark him, to prove to both of us that this was real. That this was happening, that I was his, that he was mine. He rocked against me, faster now, our cocks sliding together, the wet heat making everything more desperate, more frantic.
He pulled back just enough to drop his head and bite at my chest, sucking another bruise over my heart, leaving his mark where I’d feel it every time I moved. “You’re everything,” he said, words muffled against my skin, voice raw with feeling.
I grabbed his hair, pulled him up to kiss me again, tasting myself on his tongue, tasting us both, spit slick and filthy. I let him see everything, let him see how close I was, how much I needed him. “Don’t stop,” I begged, voice wrecked, desperate.
He pressed his face into my neck, teeth grazing my pulse. “Never,” he promised, and then he bit down, hard enough to make me see stars.
We rutted like that, underwear soaked, every movement a promise, a plea, a goodbye and an I love you tangled together. It was filthy and it was perfect, both of us letting go of everything except the need to be close, to be known, to be wanted.
Muscles tensed under my skin, every inch of me straining for his hands, his mouth, his hunger.
I needed him to see me, to remember me not as the careful, controlled alpha but as the man who wanted—needed—to be wanted, to be devoured.
My abs tightened as I pulled him closer, sweat-slick and wild, letting him feel just how strong I was, how ready to be undone.
“Nate,” I rasped, flexing for him, rolling my shoulders and arching my back so he could trace every line with his gaze, every contour with his hands. “Show me. I want to feel you—want to feel you lose yourself in me.”
His eyes went hot, greedy, pupils blown wide with something halfway between worship and hunger.
Nails skimmed down my ribs, tracing the planes of muscle, pausing at my waist before skimming up again.
Fingers pressed into my sides, thumb tracing along the cut of my obliques, making me shiver.
A low groan broke from my throat, the sound guttural and raw, ripped free by the heat of his attention.