18. Nate
EIGHTEEN
NATE
The conversation before dinner last night has been playing on my mind. It’s unsettled me knowing that she could leave and want someone else instead…and the pulsing, irrational need to have her makes me want to claw at my skin, shred it, and let the beast within take over.
Fuck, and that kiss?
It’s done something to me. I’ve had a taste of her, and she’s let me in. Now it’s rewired my body and brain or some shit.
My thoughts have been consumed by her, and fuck if it isn’t driving me nuts. It’s building inside me, and I don’t know how to balance out that driving force to covet with the need to keep her happy too.
Because she sure as fuck won’t want me hounding her every move, her every breath.
Right?
Scowling, I shake out my arms, needing to expel the tension before I see her. It still feels delicate, this connection between us, and I don’t want her to see the ugly parts of me.
Bouncing on the balls of my feet, my shoulders roll back, and I pivot around the bag, leading with my left foot and falling into the familiar routine.
Jab. Jab. Cross. Squat. Move.
Repeat.
Awareness trickles down my spine, and it has me freezing. Dropping my aching arms to my sides, I turn. My eyes immediately lock on Rosy. She’s here and already on the treadmill for her walk.
I was so consumed with punching out my aggression, I missed the time. Glancing, I see she’s only ten minutes into her session. Good. Enough time for me to have her alone.
Ripping off the gloves, I grab the towel and scrub the sweat trailing down my face, and pick up the rest of my shit, dropping them on the bench next to the machines.
“Nate, hi. You looked…focused on punching things,” she says, watching me as I step onto the machine next to her. Her pace is brisk, the pulse in her neck thundering, and a slight sheen of sweat coats the base of her throat.
Just like that, the fucking jittery angst beneath my skin disappears. This is what they wouldn’t get: why I need her. She’s the balm that soothes my burns, the cool water to my parched mouth.
No longer can I survive without her.
“It helps to work out the day. Refocus my mind,” I reply, wanting to keep her talking so I can listen to the sound of her voice. It’s not overly loud or abrasive.
More soft, subtle.
But fuck, it’s hard to concentrate past the vision of her glistening skin.
“That’s usually the same for me with walking. Just helps to quiet my brain a little.” She shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“Is it loud?”
Her mouth opens, then snaps shut, and her brows furrow. I don’t want her to feel she has to filter her words with me; hopefully she’s just trying to pick the words that fit.
“No one's ever asked that,” she eventually says with a huff. Her exhale is so sharp that the hair curling around her face blows out. “It’s not…loud. More busy. Sometimes it’s just thoughts and feelings on repeat or moving around quickly.
Like trying to catch a fly flitting around too fast to be able to hold it.
When I’m more anxious, the thoughts are like being in a cafe.
All jumbled on top of each other, and I’m trying to listen to everything at once. ”
Her smile is self-deprecating. I know that look well and hate it on her.
“Sounds exhausting. Only walking helps?”
“No, there are other things. Kind of varies, really. Sometimes talking the thoughts out, getting enough sleep, quiet time by myself…loads of stuff, but it’s a bit boring for you to listen to.” Her laugh is unsure, and she looks down, watching the stats on her machine.
“I want to know. I want to help make life easier for you.” Feels vulnerable saying that. My heart pauses, waiting for her to shut me down and push me out. I glance sideways at her; she’s looking at me, a tiny crease between her eyebrows.
“That’s sweet…” She turns off her machine and steps off. Why the fuck does she look unsure, though?
She can’t be backing off; I’ll just take the words back.
“I’ve not had someone care enough to get to know me beyond anything surface level. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know what to say or not say. What are the boundaries? What if I say too much, and it puts you off? What if I don’t say enough, and you think I’m too blunt?”
Crowding her space, I grip her chin, lifting it so our eyes meet.
“Nothing is too much. No boundaries. I want to know everything.”
At my declaration, her lower lip slips in between her teeth, and I have to dig deep to not let it distract me.
Teasing little minx.
“This is new to me too. I don’t know what I’m doing either.”
Her lip pops free, and her eyes widen.
Is that what she’ll look like taking my cock for the first time? The feel of me sliding into her wet heat…
“You’ve never been with anyone before?” Her soft breath caresses my lips, pulling me back from my thoughts of us.
“Not a relationship, no. Never cared to before.” Not an outright lie, but it’s not the whole truth either. But I don’t want to taint what’s growing between us with her.
Unable to stop myself, my thumb strokes across her lip. It’s so fucking soft. A little give too, pillowy, but not too plump. Perfect for having her mouth on me.
“Oh.” Her tongue darts out and tastes me. “What changed?”
“You.”
I fucking ache with the need for my lips to be pressed against hers, to have my tongue swipe through her mouth, to devour her completely.
But we’re in the middle of the gym.
Don’t want other people watching her melt for me, to see her open and let me in. So I cover her mouth with mine, keeping it chaste but still needing a taste to keep me satiated.
“Did you want to walk more, or are you ready to go?”
She blinks up at me, all cute and flustered. “Um, we can go. I think I’m finished.”
Fuck, I want to lick the words from her mouth.
Placing another kiss on her lips, my arm loops across her shoulders once I’ve picked up my shit.
“This okay?” I gesture, hoping like fuck she will let me keep touching her.
That lip disappears back between her teeth for a moment. “Definitely.”
After the short walk home, we reach her door, and I realise I have to let go, not that I want to. Turning, I crowd her against the wall, inhaling her sweet scent.
“Take your time. Come over when you’re ready,” I grunt, not wanting to be away from her.
Does she have to work? Yes.
Does she have to do life shit that doesn’t include me? Also, yes.
Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.
Is it too soon to ask her to move in?
“Thank you,” she whispers, her hands landing on my chest and easing the ache.
Wanting to leave her with thoughts of me, I tangle my hands through her hair and lower my mouth to hers. The kiss starts languidly, my tongue parting her lips and slipping inside.
I taste her, consume her, and she fucking lets me, moulding her body to mine.
My teeth nip at her lower lip, then catch it and suck it in between mine. She turns hungry and needy, little mewling sounds escaping her mouth. Drinking them down, my hands cup her face and tilt it, needing more access.
This feels like fucking everything.
Pulling away from her mouth, a satisfied smirk hits me at her breathy, “Not yet.” She mewls and tries to tug me back.
My greedy girl.
Trailing my nose down the soft column of her neck, my tongue darts out, swiping at her salty skin. Her head falls back as a gasp leaves her, giving me unfettered fucking access.
I groan in approval against her skin, and her fingers dig into my chest as she presses closer into me.
“Nate,” she pants, and I lunge in, needing to feel how my name tastes as she moans for me.
“Say that again,” I bite out, almost feral, but she doesn’t shy away.
“Nate—”
I drink it down. Fucking right, it’s perfect.
Her mouth. Her tongue. Her taste.
She’s it for me. I know it.