14
Kennedy
Nash’s building was definitely nice, but not over the top. He had a great salary and some very well-paid endorsements, but after growing up with him, I knew he was realistic and not into glitz and glamour.
I checked in with the security guards in the lobby. Nash had already notified them that I was coming. Once I was cleared, the older security guard showed me to the elevator and pressed the thirty-second floor for me.
The ride up felt like forever. My nerves were a mix of excitement and anxiety, and my hands were clammy as I wiped them on my jeans, gripping the grocery bags tighter.
The elevator doors slid open, revealing the thirty-second floor.
There were only four apartments, but it was easy to spot which one was Nash’s since he was standing in the doorway, waiting for me.
My breath hitched at the sight of him, tall and muscular, casually dressed in joggers and a black T-shirt.
He looked effortlessly handsome, like he belonged on the cover of Men’s Advantage magazine.
“Hi,” I said as I made my way over to him, while the butterflies in my stomach made themselves known.
“Hi, beautiful,” Nash replied, his smile lighting up his face.
His eyes swept over my face, studying me for a brief moment before he bent down, taking the grocery bags from my hands and pressing a soft kiss to my lips. It was gentle, and not at all the awkward encounter I had been worried about.
“Come on in,” he said, stepping back.
I followed him into a wide hallway, noticing a coat closet to the right and a small half bath to the left.
I slipped off my shoes and hung up my jacket before continuing.
The hallway opened up into a stunning kitchen that flowed into an open living room, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows.
And the view. . . It was breathtaking. Central Park and the Manhattan skyline bathed in the warm pink hues of the setting sun.
“Wow,” I breathed, stepping closer to the windows, mesmerized by the sight.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Nash came up behind me, his arm sliding around my waist and pulling me into the warmth of his solid frame.
“Gorgeous,” I agreed, because it absolutely was, especially in the twilight.
His apartment was so quiet and peaceful that it felt like we were miles away from the bustle of Manhattan.
The lights twinkling from the distant skyscrapers were the only reminder of the city just outside.
I leaned back against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat, and let myself relax into him, savoring the quiet intimacy.
When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, Nash placed a soft kiss on the top of my head, gently breaking the spell.
“How was practice today?” I asked, enjoying the feel of his arms still around me.
“It was good,” he said, his voice low.
“Are you ready for the game?”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I hope so.”
I did too. For his sake.
“What did you do today?” he asked me.
“Nothing really. Hung out with Sammy for a while, worked for a couple of hours, went to the store. Nothing exciting,” I replied with a small shrug.
He tilted his head. “Speaking of stores, what are we cooking?”
I laughed and turned out of his embrace, facing him with a grin. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
Nash nodded, a shy smile playing on his lips.
“I figured you’d want something with a lot of carbs for energy, but not just that. So, I thought we’d make a meat and spinach lasagna. Is that okay?”
His smile widened, making my heart skip a beat. He was so damn beautiful when he looked like that, genuine and happy.
“That’s perfect,” he said.
Nash took me around his kitchen, showing me where everything was, and soon we were busy preparing the food. He cut and mixed the salad while I focused on the lasagna. It felt surprisingly easy, moving around together like this, as if we’d done it a hundred times before.
“Do you want a glass of wine?” Nash asked as I slid the tray into the oven. I straightened up and looked over at him, feeling a bit torn.
“You can’t have any, can you?” I asked, knowing he never used to drink the night before a game.
“No, but you can. I’ve got a bottle of white I think you’d like.”
I hesitated for a moment, feeling a little guilty about drinking when he couldn’t. But at the same time, I really did want a glass.
“Don’t feel obligated not to have one just because I can’t,” Nash said, reading my thoughts.
I smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. “Ah, okay, yes, please.”
Nash pulled a chilled bottle from the small wine fridge built into the island and set it on the counter. As he worked the corkscrew, I giggled, feeling a little silly.
“I felt guilty for a minute until I realized how much money you’re probably making at tomorrow’s game, and suddenly, I didn’t feel so guilty anymore.”
Nash’s hand, still holding the corkscrew, dropped to his side as he started to laugh—really laugh. The kind of laugh I hadn’t heard from him since we were kids. It was deep and infectious, and I found myself laughing along with him.
“Only you . . . only you’d say something like that.”
I smiled, shaking my head. “I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one. Mitch and Sammy would say the same thing. They have no filter whatsoever.”
Nash set the wine on the counter and closed the distance between us, his eyes locking on to mine. “I’m so happy you’re here,” he murmured, wrapping his strong arms around me.
Before I could respond, he tilted my head back and captured my mouth with his.
I melted into him instantly, letting him take his time, savoring every second.
There was no rush, just slow, sensual kisses that had my heart racing. I could taste mint, warmth, and just Nash . . . it was so, so good.
I felt myself go weak in the knees as he used his wonderful mouth to stir the things inside of me that had been kept under lock and key for years.
When his hands started to drift down my sides, I had to grab his arms in order to stay upright.
I was panting from just his kisses, but it was the knowledge of what else he could do that sent shivers down my spine.
Nash moaned into my mouth as our movements became more demanding. They were no longer slow and lazy but urgent and a bit sloppy. Needy. Maybe almost frantic.
My hands slid up his strong forearms, over the solid lines of his biceps, and across his broad shoulders, feeling the power coiled beneath his skin.
His grip on me tightened, fingers splayed wide across my back as if he couldn’t pull me close enough.
I rose onto my tiptoes, pressing myself fully against him as I looped my arms around his neck, refusing to let the kiss break. Nash responded by drawing me in even tighter, his body a wall of heat against mine—and there was no mistaking the hard length straining between us.
“Can you feel what you’re doing to me already?” he asked huskily while pushing his hips against me.
“Yes. I like it.”
“Me too.”
He grabbed me by the waist and effortlessly hoisted me up onto the kitchen island, where he proceeded to step in between my legs, all while continuing to kiss me like it was his favorite thing to do—and I really hoped it was, because this was a dream come true.
Nash’s large hands skimmed up my sides, over my back, and down over my hips, all while his crotch, with its very impressive erection, was right up against the spot where I needed him the most. He was slowly torturing me, and memories from the previous night appeared in my mind while Nash continued to kiss and caress me, flashing images of him over me in my bed, kissing, touching, moving . . .
It all started to blur, and I was losing focus, but it felt so good, so intense .
. . so right. Like this was where I was supposed to be, wrapped in Nash’s arms. It was as wonderful a thought as it was frightening, because it made me realize that Nash had the ability to completely obliterate my heart.
“Nash?” I moaned. I needed to do something to lighten the intensity I was feeling or I’d get emotional and start crying.
“Yes, baby?”
“Are you trying to seduce me before dinner?”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” He chuckled. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No, not really,” I mumbled in response, because there was no way I wanted him to stop what he was doing to me. Not the way he was making my body tingle.
“You just feel so good. I can’t help myself.”
He grabbed hold of the bottom of my cardigan and, after getting my unspoken permission, started to pull it up ever so slowly, like he was unwrapping an exquisite gift. My heart rate increased at the sight of the hunger in his eyes. The way he licked his lips made it hard to breathe.
Maybe it should’ve felt weird to sit in his kitchen without a shirt on, and maybe I should’ve felt a bit vulnerable, because it definitely wasn’t something I’d ever done before, but I didn’t. The look in Nash’s eyes as he traced them over me made me feel desirable instead of nervous.
“Damn,” he groaned when his eyes landed on my lacy black bra, and I knew I’d made the right choice. Thank you, Sammy.
Nash leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the top of my breast. His tongue traced slowly along the bra line, down into the cleavage.
My chest heaved, and I moaned loudly as his tongue dipped below the fabric of the bra and flicked over my hardened nipple.
I reached for his shirt, wanting to touch his bare body the way he touched mine.
He realized what I was after, and with a quick swoop of his hands, he had his shirt off and dropped it onto the floor.
“Wow.”