7. Dex
Chapter 7
I barely have time to process what just happened before a line forms at my checkout. Whatever the fates have planned for me, it’s clear they want me to suffer during the process. Of all the supermarkets in LA, he walks into mine, and now, like a lion toying with its prey before ripping out the poor, unfortunate animal’s throat, Nate O’Reilly has decided it’s playtime.
In a daze, I serve my customers, making small talk and sharing the odd smile, but it’s as though my brain is on autopilot. All I can think about is whether Nate really will be waiting outside, and what I’ll do if he is.
He’s been a part of my dreams—and my deepest, darkest fantasies—for months, but now he’s finally noticed me, I'm not sure whether to leap for joy or run and hide. At twenty-two, and six years younger than Nate, I’m wholly unequipped to deal with a man like him. A worldly-wise, experienced man who rubs shoulders with the rich and famous, who probably consumes champagne and strawberries for breakfast, whereas I only recently stopped buying Lucky Charms to upgrade to bran flakes.
“Shift’s over, darlin’. Time to go home.”
I glance up at Eric, one of the night crew, and the nicest man anyone could hope to know. I grin. “Don’t know how you stay awake through the night.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Works for me. Means I can be there to take my little ones to school and pick them up at the end of the day.”
“True.” I sign out of the checkout so Eric will be able to log in, and give the waiting customer an apologetic smile. “You have a good night, Eric.”
“I will. Stay safe.”
I pat his arm and head to the staff area to pick up my jacket and purse. As the exit doors open, my heartrate skyrockets, and I step outside to look around, but there’s no sign of Nate. I lower my head and hunch my shoulders. I should have known he was toying with me for his own amusement. After reaching into my purse for my keys, I walk over to my car, unlock it, and open the door, but before I get in, a hand reaches around me and pushes the door closed.
“You’re coming with me,” Nate whispers in my ear, his breath warm, and his throaty voice sinfully wicked yet full of promise. The promise of what, I’m not quite sure.
I freeze on the spot. So he hadn’t left after all. “But my car…”
“Will be safe here overnight. I’ll bring you back in the morning.”
My belly does a double backflip. The morning. Does that mean Nate O’Reilly intends to stay the night with me? Every drop of saliva decides now is a good time to exit stage left. My mouth is so dry, I can’t even swallow, and my sharp tongue deserts me at the moment I need it the most.
“Turn around, Dex.”
On stiff legs, I obey him. He’s so tall, I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. Nate is no longer wearing the baseball cap or the shades. His lips are pulled to the side in a crooked grin as he braces his arms on the roof of my car, with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing strong, muscular forearms.
All the air rushes out of my lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe. He stands there quietly assessing me. I blink once, twice, a third time, my heart pounding while I wait for him to make a move.
His arms fall to his sides, and he cocks his head. “Coming?”
It’s decision time. If I go, my life will never be the same again. Nate O’Reilly will chew me up and toss me aside like trash as soon as he’s done with me. But the devil on my shoulder can’t help commenting that one night with Nate is worth a thousand nights with anyone else. If I take this chance, this risk, at least I’ll have a fabulous anecdote to tell my grandkids about the one time in my life I grabbed something for me and got down and dirty with a famous Hollywood actor.
Nate doesn’t even wait to see if I follow. Instead, he strolls across the car lot with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans. He walks with supreme confidence: broad shoulders pushed back, spine straight as a steel pole, the hint of a swagger in the way his hips move. My breathing grows erratic, and my pulse stutters the closer I get to Nate’s car. He opens the passenger side door, the silent invitation roaring inside my head.
“Get in.”
There is no “please”, no “only if you’re sure”. Nate orders and expects compliance. I almost tell him to go screw himself, but the words stick in my throat. The thing is, I want him, and he knows it.
With my knees virtually knocking together, I move closer. Nate’s hand curves around my neck, his thumb caressing my earlobe, and a quiver rushes through me. Christ. Barely a touch, and already I’m a hot mess. I keep my gaze fixed on the ground. I can’t think of a single thing to say that will make any sense. The words are all jumbled inside my head like a jigsaw puzzle without a picture to follow.
“Look at me, Dex.”
I inch my head upward until our eyes meet again. Even in the dim light of the car lot, his glacier-blue irises are beyond beautiful, enchanting, captivating. I’m so screwed. I’ll do anything he asks. Anything, as long as he keeps looking at me as if I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
His thumb brushes over my lips, and I part them. Time stands still. I swear the birds stop tweeting and the wind drops, silencing the rustling leaves of the nearby sycamore trees.
“I’m not sure whether I prefer quiet Dex or loud and obnoxious Dex.”
“Why are you doing this?”
A brief frown draws his brows low. “Doing what?”
I swing my hand between us. “This.”
His lips twitch, and he lowers his head several inches until his mouth is tantalizingly close to mine. “I haven’t done anything, or rather done anyone yet.”
I blush…again. Elva might have nicknamed me Mouth Almighty when we were kids, but when it comes to men, my experience is limited, especially with men like Nate.
“And I haven’t agreed to anything, either.”
Nate nods. “True.” He keeps his hand on the nape of my neck while he settles the other one in the small of my back. A thrilling shiver courses through me when I find myself pressed against his lithe body.
I open my mouth to ask him what he’s playing at—and that’s when he kisses me.
Actually, that’s wrong. He doesn’t just kiss me. As his lips move slowly over mine, and his tongue explores my mouth, he ruins me for any other man. One kiss from Nate O’Reilly awakens a desperate need within me only he can quench. I don’t need heaps of experience to know I’m well and truly screwed.
A soft moan leaks from the back of my throat, and my arms snake around his neck. Nate responds by tightening his grip and kissing me harder. A thrill speeds through my veins as his erection nudges against my stomach, hard, thick, and full of promise.
Without warning, he releases me. I try to catch my breath, my chest rising and falling as if I’ve crossed the finish line after a sprint race. Nate’s hooded eyes stare down at me, his face a mixture of wonder and puzzlement.
“Well, that was unexpected,” he murmurs, more to himself than me. Then a little louder, he asks, “Has that persuaded you, Titch?”
Without waiting for my answer, he leaves the passenger door wide open and saunters around the hood, his trademark swagger on show before he gets in the driver’s side and fires up the engine.
On legs that feel as if they belong to someone else, I climb into the car, fasten my seat belt, and risk a glance at Nate out of the corner of my eye. His smile is victorious. It should annoy me that he’s so certain of himself. Instead, I find my own lips curving upward. My chest burns with utter joy, and tingles spread through my arms to the tips of my fingers.
“You’re a cocky bastard.”
Nate laughs. “If that’s your way of saying I knew you’d get in the car, then yes, I’m a cocky bastard.”
“Do you always get your own way?”
Nate shifts the stick into drive. “Always,” he says, confirming it with a wink.
He presses the gas pedal, and the car shoots forward with a throaty growl. I’m not sure whether the churning in my stomach is due to Nate’s response or the powerful engine beneath the hood, but it feels like I’ve just ridden the first dip on a roller coaster.
We travel in silence, but when he misses the turn leading to my apartment, I frown.
“You’re going in the wrong direction.”
“Depends on the destination,” he answers cryptically.
“But my apartment…”
“…isn’t where we’re heading.”
I swallow. That could only mean one thing. “We’re going to your place?”
He nods. “It’s closer, and I need to be inside you.”
I bite down on my lip and close my eyes, excitement and adrenaline curling my toes. My heart rate hasn’t dropped below one eighty since he kissed me. Nate O’Reilly, the Nate O’Reilly, is taking me to his home, and he can’t wait to get me into bed.
Niggling at the back of my mind, though, through a haze of longing, is one question: what changed? For six months, Nate barely gave me a second glance, and yet one screaming banshee moment from me, as well as a desire to get one over on Bernard from him, and now he’s hounding me like a dog chasing a bitch in heat.
It doesn’t matter what Nate says to the contrary. His determination to get my job back had nothing to do with benevolence, and everything to do with gaining superiority in an unbalanced relationship with his agent.
So, where does that leave me? Until I have some answers, I can’t do this.
“Can you stop the car?”
“It’s not much farther.”
“Nate, stop the car.”
He gives me a quick side-eye. “You sick?”
I shake my head, even though he’s already turned his attention back to the road and can’t see me. “I need a minute.”
Still, the car eats up the miles, the powerful engine making it easy for Nate to weave in and out of the busy Los Angeles traffic.
“A minute for what? I can’t pull over here, Titch.”
“Stop the fucking car!”
That gets his attention, although his compliance is accompanied by a heavy, irritated sigh, and an exasperated twist to his lips. “Okay, okay. Hang on.”
He checks the side-view mirror, maneuvers to the inside lane, and takes the next exit off the highway. He turns left at the traffic signal, then right, before finally pulling in front of a liquor store. How apt. I could do with a drink, because now he’s done as I asked, I don’t know what to say. God, he’ll think I’m such a child, an innocent, or worse, a cock tease.
He cuts the engine and twists toward me. His arm rests across my seat, close enough that if I move my head back a couple of inches, I’ll be leaning on his forearm.
“Floor’s yours, Dexter.”
The full use of my name isn’t lost on me. He’s making his point with a giant sledgehammer slamming into my skull.
“I-I just need a minute. You’re going too fast. I want…” My face burns. “I mean… I don’t get it.”
Nate scratches his cheek, his confusion evident. “Get what?”
I let out a quiet sigh. “Why you’re interested in me all of a sudden. All those months you came to see Bernard, you barely even looked at me. I might as well have been a desk, a chair, or a picture hanging on the wall for all the notice you took. Yet now… now you want to take me back to your home and… and…”
“Fuck you,” Nate helpfully interjects. “That’s what I want to do, Dex. Fuck you until you can’t see straight. Until the smell of me, the feel of me, is etched on your body. Until it doesn’t matter who else comes afterward, you’ll never forget the feel of my cock in your pussy.”
No one has ever spoken to me like that. A swell of heat fills my core, and… oh, God, my panties are wet. I squirm in my seat—a movement not lost on the much more experienced man sitting beside me.
“Don’t over think it, Titch. We’re both consenting adults. Both over twenty-one.” He pauses, a brief frown flickering across his face as though he hadn’t thought about my age before this moment. “Yes?”
“I’m twenty-two,” I say, my hoarse voice scratching my throat.
He gives me another of those panty-melting, crooked smiles, and his eyes soften with an emotion I can’t read. It makes him look younger somehow. Less brittle and hardened by Hollywood life.
He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “I will accept a no, Dex, but you’ll have to convince me you really mean it, and I don’t think you do. I think you want me as much as I want you. I don’t know why I didn’t make a move earlier. Probably because I’m a self-absorbed prick who’s selfish through and through. But here are a few facts. One, you’ve been on my mind far too often these last few days. Two, I can’t remember the last time I woke up thinking about a woman and went to sleep thinking about the same one. And three, the other night I jacked off in the shower while imagining you writhing naked beneath me.”
I widen my eyes and force a swallow past my narrowed throat.
But Nate hasn’t finished. “Sex comes easy in this town. I’ve lost count of the amount of pussy I can help myself to any time I choose. But like most things in life, if you don’t have to work for it, the boredom kicks in pretty damn fast. It’s been a long time since I wanted someone as much as I want you. You’re… different.”
I suppress a wince at how many women Nate must have taken back to his home. How many lovers he must have had. Instead, I go with a teasing grin, and a light, “Good, different?”
He unclips his belt and shuffles closer. His slender fingers curve around the back of my neck again, and I hold my breath, anticipating his kiss. Nate doesn’t disappoint. His lips, warm, firm, and demanding, close over mine. I knit my hands into his thick hair, a sound easing from the back of my throat—a raw, rasping moan filled with hunger.
Nate draws back, his chest swelling as he catches his breath. “Jesus Christ. Yes, good fucking different. Can we go now, please?”
An awareness of the power I wield over this man, this superstar so many would sell their firstborn to spend an hour with, rushes through me. All of my doubts fade away. I may only get to spend one night in the bed of the man who’s consumed my dreams for months on end, ever since I started working for Bernard, but I also know if I walk away right this second, he will curse the missed opportunity as much as I will.
I’ve barely moved my head in agreement before he fires up the engine. Within two minutes, we’re back on the highway. Except this time, he drives with one hand on the wheel and one hand on my thigh, his thumb brushing back and forth, the action both soothing and hot as hell.
No sooner have we rejoined the highway than Nate pulls off once more. He rolls the car to a stop in front of a set of gates, and flashes a card at the barrier, waving to the guard sitting in the booth. A minute or so later, he parks in the driveway of a sprawling, one-story property, with a neatly tended front lawn, colorful flowers in the borders, and a wind chime hanging from a hook over the three-car garage.
It’s nothing like I expected. I thought Nate would live in one of those sleek, contemporary apartments, full of steel, glass, and hard marble flooring. Definitely not this family-type neighborhood where the house across the street has an abandoned bike with training wheels and a skateboard on the front lawn.
We get out of the car, and Nate takes my hand, then opens the front door. I find myself in an open-plan living, dining, and kitchen area, which is modern and spacious, but also homely. Dominating the room is a huge corner sofa with cushions mimicking the colors of fall, a seventy-five-inch TV on one wall, and an enormous painting of Santa Monica pier dominating another.
“Drink?” he asks, opening the large fridge and shoving his shopping bag inside.
“Whatever you’re having is fine,” I say, hoping he produces some kind of alcohol. I desperately need the calming buzz I’d get from it. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
He gives me a lecherous smile. “I sure hope so, sweetheart.”
My cheeks burn for the hundredth time this evening. If I continue blushing at this rate, I’ll faint from lack of blood to the rest of my body.
“I-I meant the steak,” I stammer.
Nate unscrews the top off a couple of beers and hands me one. I take a sip, glad for something to soothe my dry mouth and throat.
“I’m not hungry for food right now.” He clasps my hand once more. “Let’s go to bed.”
My whole body shudders with nerves, excitement, a tinge of fear, or maybe apprehension. Regardless, I meekly follow him into his bedroom, my usual sass scattering in the face of what’s about to happen.
The room is sparsely furnished. Pushed beneath the window is a king-sized bed, with navy blue sheets and a mountain of pillows, bookended by a couple of nightstands. Opposite the bed sits a five-drawer mahogany dresser, with brushed steel handles, three large drawers, then two smaller ones at the top. A couple of closed doors lead off the bedroom. One, I guess, is a closet, and the other a bathroom.
Nate lets go of my hand and wanders over to the window to close the blinds. The light from the streetlamps outside his house disappears, casting the room into darkness. I hover by the door, chewing on a thumbnail while I wait for my eyes to adjust, only to blink when Nate flicks on a lamp beside the bed.
His gaze falls on me, and he crooks a finger, beckoning me. I move toward him, and he meets me halfway.
“Don’t be nervous,” he says, as if he can read my mind.
Gently lifting my hair away from my neck, he eases my head to one side, and presses an open-mouthed kiss to my skin. His lips are hot and soft, and when he sucks on the tender skin, it almost feels like a branding. I groan loudly, clasping his biceps for support, my breasts pushed flat to his firm chest as he moves into me. The man is hard everywhere, especially the thick erection flush against my belly.
He grasps my waist and lifts me, settling my ass on top of his dresser, so now I’m the one looking down on him. His eyes are hooded, those ice-blue irises almost eclipsed by enlarged pupils filled with lust, want, and need.
I’m sure mine look the same. My lungs flatten, and breathing normally feels impossible. I’m too hyped, too excited, too anxious. He’s so much more experienced than me. What if I do this wrong, or I don’t turn him on, or?—
Stop.
Nate slips off my teal flats and drops them on the floor before his hand slips around the back of my calf, and he slowly massages the muscle. His fingertips feel like silk on my skin, his touch gentle, almost ticklish. Once satisfied, he moves upwards and caresses the back of my knee, his hands slipping between my thighs as he pushes my legs apart. My skirt shifts upward, and I suppress the urge to smooth it back down, to cover my knees, to give myself a few more seconds to prepare for the invasion of Nate’s hot gaze.
Deft fingers travel up my legs, bunching my skirt around my hips. His gaze falls to the part where my legs meet. I curse my practical underwear, wishing, for the first time ever, I was one of those girls who never left the house without wearing coordinating undergarments. A lacy bra and matching thong in a dusky pink or vibrant blue would do a lot more for my confidence than white cotton panties and a black T-shirt bra. Then again, I hardly knew when I set off for work twelve hours ago that my night would end like this, with my legs spread and my most intimate parts almost on display for one of Hollywood’s hottest properties. Things like this don’t happen to girls like me.
Nate pushes my legs together and opens the top two drawers. Encasing my ankles with elegant fingers, he places each of my feet into one of the drawers. The position leaves me laid bare and vulnerable, and I automatically try to cover myself with my skirt.
Nate stops me and, with a cautionary shake of his head, bunches my skirt around my hips once more. I find myself panting, breathless. He’s barely touched me, and I’m a hot mess.
He stands back, as though examining his handiwork and, with a nod of satisfaction, meets my wide-eyed gaze.
“Do you feel exposed, Dex?”
The honest answer comes easily. “Yes.”
He runs his tongue along the underside of his top teeth. “When you lie in bed at night, do you think of me? Do you touch yourself?”
Holy shit. How does he know?
My chin drops to my chest. This time, the words won’t come. I hadn’t expected him to… talk. I’d envisaged him undressing me, discarding his own clothes, and for the act itself to be over rather quickly. Even if it wasn’t, I assumed we’d be writhing on his bed right this second, our sweaty bodies colliding, twisting around one another, the sheets becoming damp beneath us as he ruined me. But this… conversation…
It’s unsettling.
“Pull your panties to the side. I want to see.”
I snap my head up. “Wh-what?”
“Your panties. Pull them to the side, Dex.”
I shake my head. This isn’t me. If Nate O’Reilly is into some weird, voyeuristic shit, I’m not the girl for him. Not even for one night.
“I-I can’t.”
Confusion flickers across his face. “Why not?”
My face burns yet again. “I just can’t. It’s not… it doesn’t feel right.”
His bewilderment deepens before his eyebrows rise up, wrinkling his forehead. “Please tell me you’re not a virgin.”
“No, I’m not,” I snap. Something about his attitude toward innocence irks me, spiking my anger, bringing me back for a moment. “What’s wrong with virgins, anyway?”
He ignores my question. “How many sexual partners have you had, Dex?”
I motion to jump down from the dresser, but he stops me, holding my knees in that wide-open position, pushing down on them so my feet remain inside the drawers.
“What business is that of yours?”
“Because if you were more experienced, me asking to see your pussy wouldn’t have brought on this reaction.”
When I chew on my lip instead of responding to him, he lets out a soft sigh. In an instant, I find myself standing in front of him, and he brushes his thumb over my lips, then slips it into my mouth. The unexpected invasion should shock me. Instead, I suck, drawing a deep groan from Nate that thrills me, but at the same time, I have a horrible feeling I’ve already ruined my one chance. A man like Nate won’t want a woman who balks at the idea of him looking at her most intimate parts.
But how do I explain the bone-crushing tiredness of trying to keep up with my schoolwork while I worked two jobs after my father died, leaving my mother penniless? How do I tell him that boys were always the last thing on my mind? How do I share that, since coming to Los Angeles, my every waking thought has been consumed with earning enough money to keep my mother in a nursing home, where she has a chance of living out her last days in comfort? The idea of having a man in my life is a luxury I can’t afford. That’s what’s so perfect about this thing with Nate. I can have this one night—a night for me and me alone. Something to keep me warm when I lie alone in the dark, trying to swallow my panic because another bill has arrived that I can’t pay.
He removes his thumb. “How many?” I make a growl at the back of my throat, drawing a bark of laughter from him. “Good to see my Dex is still in there somewhere.”
My Dex? Oh. My. God.
“Twice,” I mumble. “I’ve had sex twice. A guy in high school. It wasn’t memorable.”
His forehead creases again. “Only twice?” He chuckles, and whereas I usually find the rare appearance of his dimples cute, this time, I want to punch him.
“Can you take me back to my car?” I say, determined to leave with at least a shred of my dignity intact.
Nate’s smile falls, and he scratches his cheek, his short, neat fingernails grazing against his stubble. “No.”
Shock at his refusal jolts me to life. “Excuse me? Are you saying I can’t leave?”
“No. I’m saying I want you to stay. Just stay.”
My stomach somersaults. He still wants me.
“Why? I can’t do what you want me to. That. I can’t do… that.” I duck my head, but he isn’t letting me off so easily. His palm skims along my jaw, and he tips my chin up, his lips twisted into a crooked smile.
“I am going to look at your pussy, Dex. In fact, I can’t wait to see it, to taste it. To taste you. And trust me, you’ll want me to. You’ll beg me to.” He lowers his lips to mine in an all-too-brief kiss. “But don’t worry. We’ll work up to that, as you so eloquently put it. Tonight, I’ll show you that sex can be memorable, but great sex is unforgettable.”
I try to take in what he’s saying, because it sounds like he’s implying this won’t be our only hookup. That can’t be right. I’ll never keep a man like Nate interested for longer than one night.
“Turn around.”
Nate’s quiet instruction brings my mind back to the present. Without hesitation, I do as he asks. The button on my skirt pops, followed by the telltale sound of a zipper, and my skirt falls in a heap at my feet. Nate’s fingers, firm yet light, flutter over my hips as he grips the hem of my top before he lifts it over my head, leaving me standing there in my mismatched bra and panties, with my body trembling and my mind racing over what his next move will be. Thank God I trimmed this morning.
I jump when he kisses the back of my thigh at the crease where it meets my ass.
“Easy,” he murmurs.
I glance over my shoulder to find Nate on his knees, his eyes roving over my body, his cheeks tinged with a hint of redness. He’s staring at me as though I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever seen.
It’s intoxicating.
His thumbs hook into my panties, and he peels them down my legs as an unmistakable sigh of appreciation tumbles from his lips.
“That’s a mighty fine ass, Titch.”
He bites my left buttock. I yelp, the pain mingling with pleasure turning my thigh muscles to jelly, making my legs quiver with the effort of holding me upright.
“Put your hands on the dresser. It’ll help support you.”
I plant them, palms down, and Nate bites my other butt cheek. My head falls forward, a moan spilling from my lips. His hand slips between my thighs, and he pushes a finger inside me. A second one soon follows.
“Jesus, you feel good.” He taps me on the ankle. “Spread your legs. Wider. Yeah, that’s it.”
He removes his fingers, leaving me feeling empty, until he laps at me with his tongue. A strangled “Oh,” falls from my lips—a weird noise because I utter it on an inhale.
“Okay?” Nate asks, his voice rough and husky.
I dip my head. Oh, God, he’s inside me. His tongue is inside me, sliding back and forth, slick and hot and wet, and just when I think the waves of pleasure can’t get any greater, he reaches between my legs. One pinch of my clit, and I’m coming—coming so goddamn hard, flashes of white, gold, and silver blur my vision.
I close my eyes and lean over the dresser, the top half of my body sprawled across the cool wood while Nate’s velvet tongue and talented fingers continue to prolong an orgasm that feels like nothing I’ve ever managed to create at my own hands. So fast. That can’t have been more than a minute. He’ll think I’m so lame.
“Jesus Christ, so responsive,” he mutters in my ear.
My bra snaps open, and he slips the straps down my arms, then cups my breasts. I arch my back, pushing forward into his hands as he plays with my nipples. They harden and elongate beneath his attention.
Quickly, he spins me in his arms, his mouth crashing down on mine, our tongues fighting for the upper hand. He tastes sweet and musky. He tastes of me. The decadence and depravity of it should gross me out, but instead, I shiver with desire. I can’t get enough of his touch, his body, his lips.
I slide my hands over his chest, then down his muscled biceps and tight forearms that hold me so closely.
He lifts me so effortlessly, and lays me down on the bed. I blink up at him, watching him strip off his shirt and jeans before he carelessly tosses them into the corner of the room.
Oh, dear God. I think my eyes just orgasmed.
Nate O’Reilly is carved muscle and sinew, and so beautiful he steals the breath from my lungs. The outline of his erection is visible through his boxers, and he’s hard enough that the tip has broken free of the waistband. My stomach vaults. This is going to hurt. I might not be a virgin in the technical sense of the word, but the two occasions I’ve had sex haven’t prepared me for someone of Nate’s size.
He lies down beside me, his body so lean, tall, and perfect, and his fingertips float over my skin. Goosebumps spring to life, pebbling my naked body, and his eyes heat as they rove over me. I can’t breathe, can’t think. I’m nothing but a puddle of yearning. I’m here, with Nate O’Reilly, in his house. In his bed. How did this happen? Am I dreaming? I must be because fantasies like this don’t exist in the real world.
“Touch me.” He guides my hand to his erection, a low moan falling from his lips as my tentative fingers wrap around him. With Nate guiding the pace and pressure, I rub him through his underwear, but it isn’t enough.
I roll onto my side, and with my free hand, tug down his boxers. I take him in my hand, flying solo this time. Nate braces both hands behind his head, his eyes falling closed.
“Yeah, oh, yeah. Harder, Titch. Grip me harder.”
I do as he asks, but when I look down at that blunt head, the skin pulled tight, his slit weeping, an overwhelming urge to taste him hits me. I’ve never gone down on a guy. I don’t even know what I’m doing. All I know is that, with every fiber of my body, I want him in my mouth.
I bend my head and, flattening my tongue, lick the head. His cock jerks, and he rewards me with a loud hiss, followed by, “God, yeah. Just like that, baby.”
I draw him into my mouth, hollowing my cheeks as I suck. I can’t take all of him, but it doesn’t seem to matter to Nate. He threads his fingers through my hair, holding me steady, controlling the angle and the pace but, I notice, careful not to push me harder than I’m ready for.
His grunts and groans become louder, and his breathing shallows as he moves his hips. My excitement builds. It hadn’t occurred to me how pleasurable it is to give pleasure to someone else. Did it feel like this for him when he made me come? I hope so because it’s incredible. I’m doing this. I’m making him moan, writhe, and mutter incoherent words. I’m making his skin flush, and his body sweat. It’s intoxicating.
“Jesus,” he hisses, flipping me onto my back. His knees part my thighs, his enormous erection jutting from between his hips.
Nate reaches into the nightstand drawer and grabs a condom before rolling it onto himself with the practiced ease of someone who’s done it a million times before. I try not to think too hard about how many women Nate has done this with. It’ll take away a piece of the magic.
“This might sting a bit.” He guides the tip to my entrance. “Try to relax for me.”
He shoves forward with one forceful thrust, and my breath leaves my lungs on a gasp. My muscles contract. It burns. God, it burns.
“You weren’t… kidding,” I pant.
He chuckles and rests his forearms on either side of my head. “Wrap your legs around my waist, Titch. I’m gonna move.”
He wasn’t kidding about that, either. He pounds into me, and what began as pain evolves into a pleasure so intense, I think I might lose my mind from sheer hedonism. The beginnings of a deep ache grow in my core, as addictive as any drug. Nate looks down at me, his face flushed and dark eyelashes gracing his cheeks every time he blinks, momentarily hiding those stunning blue irises. My stomach tightens. Dear God, he’s so beautiful that, for a moment, the sight of him brings a rush of hot tears to my eyes.
He reaches between our damp bodies and flicks my clit, and still he pummels my insides. The tip of his cock and the angle of his hips make sure he’s on target to hit that deep spot within me every single time.
I get no warning of my orgasm. I shatter, my muscles rippling and my clit burning as Nate pinches the knot of nerves tightly between his thumb and finger.
His head falls to my shoulder, and after a couple more thrusts, he stills, mumbling words into my neck, unfathomable, yet raw enough that I understand, because I feel the same way. I can’t describe what he’s done to me, but I know I’ll never be the same again.
He rolls to the side, and I squeeze my eyes closed. I don’t know why my emotions are so close to the surface, but having sex with Nate has wrung me out, as well as gnarled and tangled my insides as if he’s torn me apart then put me back together different than I was before, yet somehow a better version of myself.
He sits up and removes the condom. Tying a knot in the end, he drops it beside the bed. For some reason, it makes me chuckle. When he frowns, I laugh harder. I feel free, as if a great weight has lifted from my shoulders.
“What’s so funny, Titch?” he asks, his lips curving upward, even though confusion swims in his eyes.
“Aren’t you going to put that in the trash?” Still giggling like a thirteen-year-old watching my first porn movie with my friends, knowing I’m doing something bad, I ask, “And are you ever going to tell me why you call me ‘Titch’?”
Nate tucks me into his side and pulls a throw over our naked bodies. “Titch is British slang for someone small in stature. Fits you perfectly.”
I’m stunned, not because of the explanation, but from the realization that Nate O’Reilly has given me a nickname.
“And,” he continues, “as there’ll be a few more condoms joining that one tonight, I’ll clear up once we’re finished.”
His meaning isn’t lost on me. I tilt my head back and look at him with wide eyes and a slack mouth. Nate grins, then drops a quick kiss on my forehead.
“I wouldn’t keep that gorgeous mouth of yours hanging open too long, Titch, otherwise I’ll be tempted to put something in it.”
His crudeness stuns me into silence, but as my gaze meets his twinkling eyes, I laugh again, until Nate silences me with a toe-curling kiss.
It’s going to be a long night, and quite possibly the most exciting one of my life.