Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Bailey
A sharp throbbing in my leg wakes me out of my deep slumber. Forcing myself to open my tired eyes, I abruptly sit up in bed, my clothing stuck to my sweat clad body as I recall the dream I just had. Not really a dream. It was another memory, a flashback of a moment with Nash from my youth I preferred to forget. It felt too real. Like his body was still pressed against mine, his words still echoing in my ear as he lowered his mouth so close to me, but then pulled away.
I’d never really experienced such vivid dreams, and as a child would usually always forget them soon after waking up. But lately, it’s as if I’m reliving these haunting memories through visions and daydreams. Though only when they’re about him.
Patting the bed in search of my phone, I freeze the moment my hand connects with something I was not at all expecting. Warm, taut muscle flexes beneath my touch as my fingers curl to get a better sense of what’s beneath them. I refuse to turn my head and look, afraid of what or who I might find lying in bed beside me, but my touch refuses to let go. My hand continues trailing over his skin of its own accord, reveling in its warmth—the beat of his pulse beneath mine beating in my palm.
A vivid flashback of last night comes barreling down on me, and I close my eyes to focus and tune out all the noise.
My fall, my injured ankle. How Nash carried me to his motorcycle, the two of us riding out to my parents' ranch. The look on my mama and daddy’s faces when I showed up at their anniversary party with Nash Bishop and how he dragged me to the hospital in Jase’s truck. How Dr. Dawson wrapped my sprained ankle in some tight bandage and instructed me to take pain medication as needed and remain off it for a few days.
But then, it all goes black. I knew Dr. Dawson had given me a potent dose of painkillers once I’d arrived, but how could I have forgotten everything that had happened after? How did I end up back home? How did I end up tucked in my bed?
I look down at the gray t-shirt I’m wearing and gasp when I realize I’m no longer in my dress from last night.
“Nice shirt,” Nash says from beside me, and the deep, throaty sound of his morning voice has me gasping once more. Nash is lying beside me, as in, in my fucking bed.
Realizing I’m still touching him as he looks up at me and down to my fingers digging into his skin, I jump to my feet, immediately regretting it as a sharp pain shoots from my foot up my leg.
“Oh fuck,” I shriek, almost falling to the floor. Nash jolts up and within seconds, he’s right beside me, cradling me in his muscular arms before gently setting me back down on my bed. Though he doesn’t immediately let go. “Holy fuck, that hurts.”
With his arms still wrapped around me, Nash leans forward, way too close to me and inhales. “Goddammit, woman,” he groans, but I don’t think he’s angry.
His touch on my leg lingers slightly too long, but I’m in no hurry to tell him to stop. Regardless of how I feel toward Nash, it feels good to be in this position. To be caressed by a man, by a man who looks, smells and sounds like him. It’s been so long for me and I think that’s clouding my judgment.
“Nash,” I warn, when I feel his hand creep up my thigh instead of down toward my ankle.
My tone of voice forces him to straighten. “You’re not supposed to apply any weight or pressure on it for an entire week, especially not jump on it.”
Annoyed, he’s berating me after he’s the one who forced me to jump in fear, since there was a strange man in my bed when I’m not used to having men in my bed. “Well, sorry for freaking the fuck out that you were lying in my bed while I was in it.”
“You mean you don’t remember?” he asks, looking almost hurt. Oh God, please God, tell me I did not fuck Nash Bishop last night while in a medicated induced haze. “Fuck, Bailey. You should see the look on your face. Relax, nothing happened.”
Nash straightens, and it’s the first time I take in his full appearance. Oh, it was the wrong thing to do. Nash is drop dead gorgeous when he’s dressed head to toe in black jeans and his leather jacket, but shirtless, in nothing but a pair of dark jeans, the same ones he was wearing last night, which hang low on his hips showcasing the perfect V-shape I love to see on a man, while he’s waking up next to me in bed, that’s a fucking sight to see.
His dark hair is disheveled, showing just how long it’s gotten since he’s come back, while his eyes are low and seductive from a long night of sleep after an even longer night spent in a hospital waiting room. Not that it was incredibly busy, but with Dr. Dawson being the only doctor on call last night, we had to wait quite a while for the x-ray results on my foot.
Luckily no broken bones, only a mild sprain Nash exaggerated just now. My eyes fixate on the rise and fall of his bare, muscular and perfectly tan chest.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath, when I realize he’s caught me drooling.
I can’t help myself. The man was sculpted out of one of my favorite fantasies. This, all this muscle, Nash didn’t have when we were together. He had always been fit and athletic though he was never an athlete, only keeping in shape on the ranch with his brother’s, but now, Nash was a man and I wanted nothing more than to feel every inch of him on me, in me.
The way his lips quirk up into a sinful grin makes more than just my ankle ache. My entire body comes alive, an electric current zapping through me as he reaches a hand out to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. “Like something you see, B?”
If my face and body weren’t giving away my exact thoughts, I’d think the man could read minds, but it’s infuriating how I can’t help the way my entire being reacts to his presence, to a simple touch. I slap his hand away, shifting my gaze away from him and toward the open door of my bathroom.
“Why the hell are you in my room, sleeping in my bed, Nash?”
Nash’s hand cups my chin, forcing my gaze back to him when I try to look away as he leans in closer. His morning breath is just as captivating, and it frustrates me because I crave to kiss him to see if he tastes exactly as I remember.
“Because you asked me to,” he answers nonchalantly, and it snaps me out of the thoughts I shouldn’t have of him.
He teases me, his thumb skimming my bottom lip as his hand snakes around and cups the back of my neck to pull me in closer to him. Our lips touch, another surge of electricity sparking between us as his tongue slips out to lick his lip, grazing mine for just a second before he steps back and releases me.
Turning away from me with a deep groan, he shoves a hand through his hair, the other into his back pocket as if trying anything to keep them otherwise occupied. Contrary to what I might have believed, he wants me just as badly as I want him, and he’s hating it.
“I would never ask you to get into my bed,” I say, knowing it’s a damn lie but too proud to admit I can’t imagine having done so last night.
Everything about yesterday were things I’d never imagined would happen. The way he touched me when I fell, using the excuse of needing to carry me to have his arms and hands so close to me, to sitting on the back of his motorcycle with my arms wrapped tightly around him. Our quick, incredibly awkward stop at my parents’ house, the trip down to the hospital, all of Crossroads has surely heard about by now. All of it was completely out of character for both of us.
Yet none of it felt out of place.
“Well you did, Bailey. Though you can relax, nothing happened. I was a gentleman. All we did was sleep.”
His playful, almost mocking tone is equally annoying and infuriating. Looking down at the shirt I’m wearing, his shirt, I’m mortified by the thoughts that must have run through his mind when he found it in my drawer.
“Were you also a gentleman when you took my dress off and…”
“Changed you into my t-shirt?” he asks, interrupting me before I can finish. I didn’t think he’d recognized it, but who am I kidding? There’s no point in denying it and trying to claim I’m wearing Jase’s shirt. He’s already figured out how pathetic I must be to have kept the shirt he gave me for over ten years. Wait till he hears about how I cried myself to sleep with it in my arms after he left.
I can't handle the knowing smirk he gives me next. The cocky grin which appears when I remain silent and he realizes he’s right. I kept his shirt for a decade as I pined for the boy who broke my heart. The boy I thought I loved. Instead of hating him as I should have, I continued to keep the reminders of him that caused me pain. Anything to not forget him and the insignificant moment we had together. Insignificant to him, but to me, it had meant everything.
The silence between us becomes overwhelming as our gazes never stray from one another. My bedroom is dimly lit, just a sliver of light coming through the bottom of the window, under the blackout curtain that’s hung over a small table against the wall. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes as he continues to stare at me in this unruly state.
My hair’s a complete mess, my makeup surely smeared across my eyes, while my legs, though completely bare except for the bandage around my foot, aren’t making me look sexy in the slightest. As a young girl, I’d have been mortified if Nash ever saw me like this.
I never used to wear much makeup—nothing more than a bit of blush or mascara over my natural complexion, but you bet my hair was always perfectly combed and I was dressed to impress. Even the night I’d snuck out to see him, I’d made sure I looked my best.
Nash’s gaze darkens the longer it lingers on me and I almost mistake it for desire, but there’s just no way I look desirable in the slightest right at this moment. Though, maybe it's the fact I’m wearing something of his?
This version of Nash seems he’d see that as staking his claim on something he believes belongs to him. In this case—me. Of course, that’s what he thinks—that I’ve pined for him. It might have been true, but I promised myself I would move on and forget him, and just because he’s back, doesn't mean I’ve forgotten.
Curious, I decide to test my theory, telling Nash something I’m sure he’d never have guessed. “What, are you surprised I kept it for ten years? Wait till I tell you about how I wore it to bed for an entire year after you left.” I can’t believe I just admitted that, but by the utter shock on his face, I know there’s no way he ever thought it was something I would say.
“Bailey…”
Panic floods me all at once when the look Nash gives me isn’t desire, nor regret—it’s pity. Here I am, the most vulnerable I’ve probably ever been in front of him, and I can’t stand the look of pity he’s giving me, like I’m some sad little girl who’s still living in some fantasy with a boy who never promised her anything. Not with a man who forgot about her the moment he left.
I rush to my feet, careful not to step with my injured foot, which luckily is my left foot. “I need to shower and get dressed…” Nash doesn’t stop me, though I don’t give him much of a chance, practically sprinting on one leg to the bathroom and slamming the door shut. I don’t lock it—a precaution in case I fall and crack my head against the tiled shower wall as I attempt to shower on one foot. No need to die just to prove a point.
I didn’t think through my plan of bolting out of the room, though I’m sure I’ll be able to manage on my own for the few minutes he takes to leave. Without undressing, I step into the shower and open the faucet, letting the frigid water cascade over me. The temperature is ice cold, but I can’t feel it. The heat inside me nearly evaporates the water as it hits my skin.
Leaning my head back against the shower wall, I don’t hold back the tears that spill out of my eyes as I recall how foolish I just felt as Nash stared at me with such pity. Just as he had in the dream I was having. In the memory of a near perfect night we spent together and how foolish I’d felt after he didn’t kiss me. How I wanted to leave, run away and pretend it never happened.
I was embarrassed, ashamed, and felt like a complete idiot. But when he wrapped his arms around me and asked me to stay, I couldn’t refuse. I could never refuse him. We’d stayed until the sun rose on the horizon, watching it cascade over the water. My head resting on his bare chest as we lay on his shirt. If someone, my daddy, had found us in that position, well, let's just say someone would have ended up with a bullet in them and it wouldn’t have been me.
I panicked and jumped to my feet as we awakened and tried to immediately take off, but Nash didn’t let me. Not in that state of near undress. I begged him not to drive me or walk me back. That I would have an easier time sneaking back in if I were alone. It was only five in the morning. No one would be up until at least seven, but he didn’t let me leave without a parting gift.
His shirt. The one I kept all these years. The one he’d put on me last night. The one I was still wearing only now was stuck to my body like a second layer of skin.
Moments later, I hear Nash enter the bathroom, an immediate chill running down my spine. I can hear his footsteps, the soft tap against the marbled floors as he slowly approaches. I look up and find his eyes glued to mine from the moment he enters and they never once stray. There's a hint of remorse in them, but nothing compared to the burning desire that takes over as he looks from my head down to my feet and back up again.
Nash doesn’t speak. Not a damn sound leaves him as he pulls the curtain further open and steps inside the shower, the icy stream of water hitting him as he inches closer to me. The shower isn’t small by any means, but with Nash’s tall, muscular body hovering over me, we barely fit. He rests his forehead against mine and I close my eyes, unable to look directly at him, in fear of what I might do if I get lost in them again.
The earlier feelings of shame and embarrassment rushed me like a wild torrent crashing against me, drowning me, and making me feel helpless. But that all fades to pure, carnal desire as his rough palm snakes under my thigh, lifting my leg to wrap around him so that my injured ankle doesn’t touch the floor. I’m sure if he weren’t pressed up against me, holding me up, I wouldn’t be able to stand on my own.
Soft, heated lips trail up my neck, peppering kissing as they trace along my skin. From my chin to my check, until he uses his teeth to tug on the lobe of my ear. I whimper in his grasp, the sensation much more arousing than it should have been.
“Bailey,” he groans, and fuck does my name on his lips do some wild things to me.
“Mhmm,” I moan breathlessly, unable to form a simple sentence, but he doesn’t call me out. He’s just as equally desperate for whatever this is between us.
“I was a fucking idiot for not kissing you that night, B,” he whispers into my ear at the same time his fingers dig into my thigh. “I knew if I had, I’d never be able to stop.” My heart nearly stops at his words. I’d dreamt of this moment, waited ages to hear him say those words to me, but it never happened. Now that it has, it shouldn't still make the butterflies which have spent the last decade dormant in my stomach come to life. “But I won’t make the same mistake twice. Even if it’s the only chance I get Bailey King, I’m going to fucking kiss you.”
I want to argue, but Nash doesn’t give me a chance. Fierce lips come crashing down hard against mine and take with them every ounce of courage I have to fight back. Every argument, every curse I want to throw his way, vanishes with the caress of his lips on mine. It’s electrifying, enigmatic and all-consuming. More than I remember, all I want to know.
Though his kisses don’t render me completely helpless, no, I meet each one of his kisses just as hard, gasping for air as his tongue invades me and dances along with mine. Teeth clatter, hands squeeze and my body writhes against him, trying to find the least bit of friction it can manage.
I throw my arms around his neck and I moan into his mouth as his hand grips my ass, digging in so hard I’m sure he’s made me bleed.
“Nash,” I whimper against his lips, but he swallows whatever stupid thing I was about to complain about. Instead, he releases me for a second, just enough time to effortlessly take my shirt by the hem and tug it up and over my head, exposing my sensitive breasts and achingly hard nipples. I’m completely bare in front of him except for the thin red lace thong that does nothing to cover the arousal currently slicking it to my? pussy. “Aahh,” I groan as my back hits the cold tile.
“Fuck, Angel.” He exhales, shaking his head as he leans his forehead up against mine. Nash usually towers over me, but my feet are no longer touching the ground, both legs now wrapped around his. “You’re perfect.”
His eyes turn the darkest shade of blue, taking in my naked torso. I’ve never felt so aroused by just the mere gaze of a man. There hadn’t been many men over the years who could make me feel as desirable and wanted as I was currently feeling, but absolutely no one had ever made me wish I could.
Nash’s eyes continue to trail over my naked body. Only the small piece of red lace left between us, though that too is completely soaked and it isn’t because of the water. “How were you planning on showering on one leg, B?”
I’m panting, his hands keeping me in place as I try to grind myself against the hardening erection between his legs. “I was going to figure it out before you came barging in.”
“It’s a good thing you don’t have to.”
Reaching for my bottle of shampoo, he squirts a decent amount into his hands, lathering it before his fingers tangle in my hair. “Nash, what are you…”
The question dies on my lips as he massages my scalp, gentle enough as to not tug on the ends too hard as his fingers coat every strand. He shifts me so that my back is no longer against the wall, my legs still wrapped around his waist and my arms crossed behind his neck, holding onto him. Throwing my head back, I let the now slightly warmer water rinse off every bit of shampoo from my hair.
Though Nash doesn’t stop there. He reaches behind me and grabs a bottle of my body wash, bringing it to his nose and taking a sharp whiff of the thing before doing the same as he did with the shampoo and squirting it into his palms.
“Nash, you can’t…” I want to argue, trust me I do, but the moment he rubs the vanilla and citrus scented soap on my skin, starting off of course with my sensitive, swollen breasts I can’t remember what I was going to say.
Nash takes his time, rubbing the soap all over my chest, giving extra attention to my breasts as if it’s necessary. I’m not complaining, allowing him to take full advantage of them, and hoping he’ll do a lot more than just tease them. I reach for my loofa hanging on the shower caddy and hand it to him, but he shakes his head in refusal.
“No, I don’t want anything other than my fingers touching every inch of your skin. And maybe my tongue if you’re a good girl for me, Angel.”
Shifting us so my back is against the shower wall, he uses the cold tile as leverage to take my breasts in his palms, squeezing before tugging on my achingly hard nipple. “This right here. Fuck, I want these in my mouth.”
He’s not necessarily asking my permission, but I give him a slight nod. He immediately takes it, sucking my nipple into his mouth as he continues to knead with his hand.
“Nash, please. I need you too…” My pleas die on my lips as his tongue swirls around my nipple and groans as he sucks it into his mouth. A loud rumbling sound leaves his throat as he works quicker, pinching my other nipple in between his fingers and tugs, making me nearly scream.
I should be embarrassed, getting so turned on by just some simple nipple play, but I’ve always been sensitive to a man’s touch—not to mention that man being Nash. I let him continue washing me, mesmerized by the gentle way he’s touching as I watch him, my gaze never straying from him as he moves.
He looks up at me, and I can see the hunger that reflects mine. Smirking at me, he rocks his hips, the zipper of his jeans rubbing against my clit. It feels too fucking good and I grind my hips against it, dry-humping him as his mouth continues to tease my nipples. He applies the perfect amount of pressure as his tongue and teeth continue to devour me, making me incredibly aroused. It would be embarrassing if it didn’t feel so good.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt another man's touch, and even then, none of it ever felt this way. I thought I was fooling myself into believing Nash had ruined me for every other man, but this right here proves it.
I’m ready to explode and come for him after the slightest of touches.
“Fuck Nash, I’m going to…Oh god, I’m going to...”
“Come,” he demands, and I fucking do. I fall apart in his arms, my hips relentlessly rubbing over his erection as I ride out the waves of my orgasm. It had been so long since anyone had gotten me to orgasm, though no one had made it ever feel like this.
He flicks my nipple again and bites down before his lips trail back up my chest and collarbone, sucking on my neck before they meet my lips. Nash smiles against my lips as he peppers soft kisses along my jaw.
“You’ve always been fucking beautiful, Bailey. But as you cried out my name just now, getting yourself off on me, fuck, baby. It was fucking electric.” I should yell at him, tell him to leave, but instead of satiating me, this orgasm only made me more desperate for more of him. For all of him.
It feels like hours until he finally lowers his fingers to the place I need him to roam. Grabbing my thong at the waistband, he allows me to stand only long enough for him to slip it off me, leaving me completely naked while he is still wearing his jeans.
Slowly, he slides his fingers through my folds, the pleasure so intense I’m nearly ready to come again. “Fuck, Angel. Fuck, you’re so wet. And it has nothing to do with the fact you're in a shower. Is all this for me, baby? Will you be a good girl for me? Cause I know you're not anymore, but for me, B.” He kisses me, his hands roaming all over me as he kneels before me in the shower. His feet are sticking out, water splashing everywhere and out of the shower, but I’m in no position to call him out on the mess he’s making. “I need you to be a good girl for me.”
In a swift motion that has me nearly falling, he lifts my leg over his shoulder so that my injured foot rests against him and I’m balancing on my good leg. His palms continue to explore, pushing my thighs further apart as his mouth teases my center. I push forward off the wall, needily trying to rub against his beard, looking for any bit of friction before I collapse from the pure desperate need coursing through me. I need him to touch me there, need him to lick between my lips and fuck me with his tongue.
“I can see the desire growing in those beautiful blue eyes, pretty girl. At the thought of what I’m going to do to you, of what you want me to do. But don’t just think about it, Bailey. Say it. Claim it. Tell me what you need from me.”
“I need you to touch me, Nash. I need you to lick between my lips and fuck me with your tongue. I need to scream your name, if only to forget how much I used to do it when you left. But this time it won’t be because I want you back, it’ll be because I need you to make me come and nothing more.”
His wide smile fades, in its place a dazed and slightly annoyed expression as he understands what I’m saying. I know this won’t be anything more than our desperate need for one another, but once we leave this room, it’ll be as if nothing’s changed.
Nash kisses circles around my stomach and down to my pussy, but he doesn’t put his mouth where I need it. “Nash, don’t fuck around. Give me what I want.”
A deep rumble leaves his chest as he chuckles at my brazen need for him to do what I demanded. But he doesn’t respond with words. No, Nash responds by doing exactly what I asked. Every part of me, every nerve, is firing off as his lips tease my center. He blows softly, and it’s almost enough to make me collapse into his arms.
“Nash. Please don’t tease me. I need you, I need this.”
“Patience, Bailey,” he says, sliding a finger through my lips. The sensation is electrifying, every nerve in my pussy so incredibly sensitive to his touch. I try to spread my legs wider, but the leg thrown over his shoulder nearly cramps as I move. “Always so responsive, pretty girl.”
“Fuck, hurry, Nash. I don’t think I can stay standing much longer.”
Shaking his head, Nash grabs my right leg and also tugs it over his shoulder, forcing me to sit on his shoulders and use the wall at my back as leverage.
“I need to taste all of you, Angel. Let me taste you on my tongue. Show me how much you’ve missed me, baby. Cause I want to show you what being near you again is doing to me.”
His tongue expertly licks through my arousal, lapping and sucking every bit, yet eliciting more from me with each touch. I’m so fucking wet for him, I can hear the sounds he makes as he licks me over my heavy pants and the running water. I can hear him sucking as he teases my clit and takes it between his lips. The scruff on his jaw scratches the insides of my thighs and adds to my already building orgasm.
“Nash, please. I don’t need dirty talk. I just need you to shut up and make me come.” The smug bastard laughs and does just that. Inserting two fingers into my pussy, he flicks my clit, thrusting his fingers inside me at a rhythmic yet rapid pace. With my hands in his hair, I steady myself as I grind myself against his mouth, aching to be as close to him as possible. He curves his fingers upward, hitting the spot I’ve been begging him to find.
“Aahh, fuck. I’m coming Nash…” That’s it. I can’t hold off any longer and completely explode on his tongue, my body convulsing as my pussy clenches around him and his fingers. I can feel the pulsing in my core. “Oh, God.”
The heaviness of my breath is weighing down on me, but most of all, I can feel him in me. His tongue moves faster, sucks harder as he removes his fingers. He swallows every last bit of cum from me, his beard coated in my arousal.
Without letting my feet touch the ground, he stands and wraps my legs back around his waist to keep me up. I’m sore, my stomach contracting as I tighten to keep myself from falling. He dots a path of kisses up my stomach, chest, and around my neck. He shoves a hand in my hair, cradling my head as his lips crash against mine once more. This time he’s more gentle, softly searching, appreciating the way they collide at a beautiful, rhythmic pace. With his forehead up against mine, he says,
“Everything about you, Bailey. Fuck, I thought I remembered the way you taste, but this baby…” He pauses, letting me taste myself on his tongue. “This is so much better than I could have ever expected.”
I want to agree. I want to admit that this moment here with him, his mouth, his lips, his touch, it’s so much better than I ever could have expected it to feel again, but it’s not the truth. Because I thought of this moment for years. I hoped for this exact thing to happen for a decade, dreaming of him once again inside of me, only this time with an apology and declaration of love.
But that is not what this is. No, this is his need to prove that he could make me come. That I wanted him so fucking badly, I begged him to stay in my bed. I couldn’t refuse him when he walked into the shower and touched me. This proves that after everything I warned him not to do when I agreed to let him stay, it took not two weeks to break my resolve.
Shame comes barreling down, regret mocking me for what I’ve done.
“Nash, please,” I beg, only he doesn’t understand my plea. I’m not begging him to keep kissing me, to continue caressing my body with his rough hands. To bring me to another climax with his tongue. I’m pleading with him to stop, because I don’t think I’ll survive another moment with him. “I can’t. Please stop.”
Nash freezes, releasing my lips, and he takes a step back, dumbfounded. He sets me down on my feet, one hand remains on my lower back, the other on my stomach right under my breast, his thumb slightly grazing my heated skin. I open my eyes to look at him and find a look of complete bewilderment flash in his eyes.
“Bailey, I…” he stutters, but I can’t let him say whatever he’s about to say. Because I know whatever it is will surely make me fall right back under his spell.
“Ten years, Nash. I gave you everything, every part of me. I trusted you, and I know I didn’t ask for anything in return. I know you didn’t owe me anything, but you left the next day without so much as a goodbye. Ten years…” My voice cracks as all the memories, all the pain, the grief, everything threatens to once again swallow me into the endless darkness I lived in for almost a decade. “You can’t waltz back into my life and pretend like nothing ever happened.”
“Angel, I can’t…” He looks defeated, like I’ve just sucker punched him in the gut and kicked him while he was down just for shits and giggles.
“This won't mean anything. I may not hate you anymore. I might move on one day, but I can never forget how much it hurt.”
“I didn’t…”
“Nash, please. Just go.” He shakes his head and refuses to walk away, further caging me in against the wall as his lips yet again crash into mine. This time, the kiss is once again urgent, like he can’t kiss me fast enough. As if he’s relying on my mouth to breathe. His hands continue to ascend, caressing every inch of my torso with his warmth. The water continues to trickle down on us, the waterfall nearly sizzling as it hits our heated flesh.
His movements grow more desperate as he groans, heady and wanting. “This is what you’re trying to say, means nothing.”
“Fuck you, Bishop.” His hot tongue sweeps in my mouth, surely to shut me up, as he nudges my legs open further.
“Not a second after coming on my tongue and we’re back to Bishop?” I can hear the sheer sarcasm in his tone, the mocking nature of his question like he knows how desperate I was for him.
It’s infuriating that he’s right. I was desperate. Pathetically desperate for his touch, mouth, and tongue. But I’m not desperate enough to allow myself to be humiliated a second longer. But he continues his torture.
“Tell me, pretty girl, is that what you thought about for ten years? The way my tongue slipped inside of you, licked every inch of this gorgeous, pink pussy, and drank in every last drop of cum as you screamed my name. Because the way you taste hasn’t left my mind. It’s all I thought about for a decade.”
I let out a sharp cry as my palm slams against his cheek. His hand rubs against the raw, heated skin of his face, turning red from the force of my hand, and I gasp in horror, realizing what I just did. I just slapped Nash.
“Nash, get out,” my voice breaks as tears threaten to fall as quickly as the water that rains down on us.
How dare he lie so blatantly and pretend he thought about me at all?
If he had, he wouldn’t have stayed gone for so long. He would have come back to me, called me, wrote me a goddamn letter, anything. But he didn’t. Nash stayed away and went on with his life like I didn’t exist.
His arrogant smirk fades as his lips form a straight line. “Angel, please.”
I’m overcome with so many emotions all at once—rage, sorrow, regret. But I’m only angry with myself for becoming such a fool whenever Nash Bishop is around.
The room suddenly feels too small for the both of us, walls closing in and suffocating me. All I see, feel, and smell is him. He’s everywhere, his presence swallowing me up and enveloping me in a blanket of flames that threaten to consume me. It’s all too much, my past and present clashing together as the high of how incredible it felt to be with him again, to have his hands on my body, his lips on mine, combined with the pain and sorrow I felt crying myself to sleep after he left.
It’s all too much and I feel as if I’m going to explode if I don’t get some distance from him so I push him away. “Get out.”
This time my voice doesn’t quaver in the slightest. Nash surprises me when he doesn't argue or try to cut the tension with humor. Lowering his head in defeat, he steps out of the shower, right into the puddle of water that’s formed outside the door we left open. He doesn’t give me a second glance or says a damn thing as he turns and strides out of the bathroom, slamming the door shut as he disappears into my bedroom.
With a sharp inhale, I fall to the floor, sliding down the tiled wall until my bare ass is flat on the cold marble. A heavy knot forms in the pit of my stomach, though I can barely register the pain throbbing in my ankle. My entire body is tense, mirroring the struggle inside me, my limbs heavy with the weight of embarrassment that burdens my thoughts.
Though as the pain medication wears off, the ache serves as a reminder of the consequences of my actions, and what awaits recklessly falling into Nash’s arms last night.
Crouching forward, I’m in a near fetal position, cradling my face in trembling hands, weeping until my tears run dry. Until the powerful category five hurricane that ravaged through me settles into a dry desert storm. I sit in silence when there’s nothing left in me, enduring the physical effects of my emotions, an aching reminder of the vulnerability I just showed him and what awaits me if I fall into his trap again.
My heart aches, but not for his departure. It hurts because I’ve yet again put it in peril by falling for the devil’s charm. Because my mama was right all along. Nash Bishop is the devil and I tremble at the thought that I have fallen too deep into his clutches and am far beyond saving.