11 #3
“Go ahead,” I managed to reply, silently congratulating myself for keeping my voice steady and not squeaking like a fool.
My heart raced as he stood up, and a flood of nerves swept over me. What was I supposed to do when Nash lay down behind me shirtless?
What if I accidentally touched him? My love life had been practically nonexistent for months—years, actually—and Nash wasn’t just any guy. He was the guy, Nash freaking Reed, and I was dangerously close to losing it.
And just like that, I was worried for a whole other reason.
The blind over the small window was closed, but a thin sliver of light still managed to sneak through the edges.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as his shirt came off and landed on the floor.
The cologne ads were nothing compared to the real thing.
Then I heard it—the unmistakable sound of a zipper being opened.
My mouth fell open as the realization hit me.
Nash was taking off his pants and was about to lie behind me in nothing but his underwear.
The mattress dipped, and heat rolled off him as he settled in.
His abs flexed, his biceps brushed against the sheet, and I swore I could feel the warmth of his skin even before he touched me.
The scent of his cologne—clean, dark, familiar—wrapped around me until all I could do was close my eyes and pray I remembered how to breathe.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Sammy shouted from the living room, startling me enough that I jerked backward—right into Nash.
And oh my God.
His bare chest pressed against my back . . . and something else—very hard—pressed against my ass. For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
Nash let out a strained breath behind me. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice low and rough. “Just . . . ignore it.”
Ignore it? Was he kidding?
How the hell was I supposed to ignore that?
The heat from Nash radiated against my back, and his solid erection pressed heavily into me.
It felt like the beginning of one of those dreams I used to have as a teenager—the ones where he chose me over everyone else.
The ones where I was the one he held, the one he cherished, instead of the reality where I stood on the sideline and watched him pick a new girl each week.
He was the one I’d wanted for as long as I could remember. And now he was behind me, his breath hot against the back of my neck, sending shivers racing down my spine and raising goose bumps over every inch of my skin.
All I wanted was for him to take me into his arms. To be held tight against his massive chest, to have his mouth against mine, to feel the strength of his muscles as they rippled under my hands, the softness and heat of his bare skin up against mine.
God. I was so wet I was sure he could smell it.
When Nash moved his body away from mine, I knew he was trying to be a gentleman.
But from the way he was breathing, I could tell he wanted me.
His warm fingertips were the only part of him still touching me.
He traced them slowly up and down my bare arm in what I assumed was an attempt to soothe me, but it did anything but, because it was him.
So for once in my life I didn’t overthink.
I let go of my inhibitions and let all the logical reasons why we shouldn’t be together and all the visions I had of him with other women fly out the window.
All I wanted to do was feel and be touched by Nash.
Even if was only for a night. It might hurt like hell later, but right now, all I could think about was how close he was, how much I ached for him.
I closed my eyes, took a steadying breath, and arched my back, pressing myself firmly against him—right up against Nash’s very hard erection, making it unmistakably clear what I wanted.
A low, rough sound escaped his throat, and I felt him tense behind me.
“Kennedy,” he groaned, the sound strained, like he was fighting himself.
I didn’t know if it was a warning or something else entirely, but I no longer cared.
I was too far gone, too turned on to stop.
I wiggled against him, feeling his hand tighten around my arm, the warmth of his skin searing into mine.
Risking a glance over my shoulder, I saw his eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched, every muscle straining like he was barely keeping himself in check.
God, how I’d love to see him lose control.
Feeling brave, I moved my hand to his thigh. And what a thigh it was, big, warm, and hard. Holy shit, his entire body was just muscles upon muscles.
“Kennedy?” His voice was deeper now, rich and rough, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.
“Mmm. Nash . . . touch me,” I moaned, my voice dripping with need.
That was all it took. A guttural growl escaped his throat as he pushed himself even harder against me.
His large, rough hand slid under my shirt, traveling slowly up my bare stomach.
My breath hitched when his fingers grazed the sensitive skin beneath my breast, making my nipples harden even further.
I squirmed, desperate for more friction, more of him.
The heat, the pressure, the sensation of him against me—it was intoxicating.
I was lost in him, in this moment, and there was no turning back.
Nash pressed his lips against my neck, and I sighed at the feeling of finally having what I’d always wanted.
He continued to plant soft, wet kisses down the length of my neck.
They turned into slow, agonizing licks when his hands cupped my breasts and his thumbs flicked over the tight peaks.
I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from moaning.
Nash clearly knew what he was doing because I was already putty in his hands.
He turned me in his arms, his gaze locking with mine, eyes darkened by something fierce and hungry.
The world narrowed to just us. The hum of the city outside, the faint light filtering through the blinds, the noise from whatever was happening in the living room—all of it faded away until there was nothing left but the two of us and the heavy tension filling the air.
When he leaned in, I didn’t hesitate. The first touch of his lips was slow, tentative, but then it deepened, and the years of restraint between us unraveled.
He tasted like beer and mint and everything I’d ever dreamed about.
His hand cupped the back of my neck, anchoring me as the kiss grew more urgent, more desperate.
It wasn’t a surprise that Nash was the kind of guy who took control and liked to be in charge.
He had a dominant personality, which was evident in his profession.
I should’ve expected him to be the same in bed, and maybe I had, but every move he made had my temperature soaring.
His hands were everywhere at once. Large, warm, and confident, they caressed and squeezed, leaving a scorching need in their wake. I lay there panting, anxiously awaiting his next move.
It didn’t take long. Nash grabbed hold of my waist and lifted me up like I weighed nothing, setting me astride him. A helpless moan escaped my lips as his rigid length pressed up against my sex for the first time.
“Damn, I love that sound,” he murmured, voice husky in a way I’d never heard before. It sent shivers down my spine.
My pulse pounded as I took him in. Despite the dark, I could tell that his upper body was ridiculous. I tilted my head back and found his eyes, dark with desire.
He pulled at my shirt, and I lifted my arms, no longer worried about how I looked or whether my body would measure up to the supermodels he’d been with. I just wanted him. Skin to skin. My T-shirt was gone in an instant, and for a moment, the world stilled as we took each other in.
“Damn, you’re gorgeous, Kennedy.”
The words wrapped around me, warming me from the inside out. I’d wanted to be beautiful in his eyes for as long as I could remember.
“Kiss me,” he demanded, and I did.
The kiss was slow and sultry. Nash’s velvety soft tongue stroked lazily against mine.
My fingers wandered as I took full advantage of having his incredible body splayed out beneath me.
He was tanned, built, and gorgeous. My hands stroked through the hair on his chest, over the large pecs and darkened nipples, down the peaks and valleys of his incredible abs.
I tried to keep my breathing under control, but I couldn’t mask the way he had me panting. And he knew how turned on I was anyway. The way my arousal soaked into the cotton of his boxers was a dead giveaway.
I traced the very visible V-line over to the coarse, dark happy trail that led from his navel down into his boxers, which were straining to confine him.
I’d known he was big. It was obvious from the bulge he carried around in his pants and from the rumors, but as I ran my fingers along the head and down the side of him, it seemed unreal.
Part of me hesitated. I’d imagined this moment so many times, but now that it was here, the reality felt heavier.
Nash lifted his hips, giving me the permission I’d silently asked for to pull down his tight-fitting boxer briefs.
My breath caught when his erection sprang free, smacking against his stomach.
God. He was huge. Long, thick, veined, the head so dark it bordered on purple.
I’d never seen anything like it.
Nash’s low chuckle rumbled between us, his eyes glittering as he caught me staring. “It won’t bite, you know. You can touch, Kenny,” he teased.
I swallowed, my hand trembling slightly.
I shifted back onto his thighs and wrapped my fingers around him, feeling the warm, soft skin over the rigid hardness beneath.
My thumb swept over the slick tip, and Nash’s head fell back against the pillows, the tendons in his neck straining.
The groan he let out was the most erotic thing I’d ever heard.