Chapter 6
Chapter six
Amber
Nick brushes past me as he walks through the doorway, and the smallest thing happens; his arm grazes mine. It’s barely a touch, a whisper of contact, but heat blooms under my skin like I stepped too close to a live flame.
I freeze, my breath catching.
Nick freezes too, one foot out the door and one still in.
His eyes lift to mine, slow and deliberate, and suddenly the entire room narrows to that single point where our bodies touch.
“Vixen,” he murmurs, voice low like he’s confessing a sin, “is this the part where I’m supposed to pretend I don’t feel that?”
My pulse flutters so hard it’s almost painful. “Maybe,” I whisper back, my voice wavering. “Maybe I feel it too.”
His jaw flexes, just once, but the tension in it sends a shock straight through me. He looks at my mouth. Then away. Drags in one tight breath. Then his gaze snaps back to mine, darker now.
“Fuck this.”
He kicks the door closed behind him with a decisive thud.
I barely have time to gasp before his mouth crashes onto mine.
The kiss doesn’t just cause a spark, it lights a whole goddamn wildfire.
Heat surges through me so fiercely my knees almost buckle.
I moan, small and involuntary, and that single sound undoes him.
His hands clamp onto my waist, strong and certain, guiding me until my back hits the wall in one smooth, controlled movement.
His body presses into mine, pinning me with just enough pressure to steal my breath but not enough to startle me.
One hand braces above my head, caging me in. The other grips my hip, fingers digging in like his body is saying, stay right here. I revel in it, in how firm he is, how in control. I crave this kind of intensity. I always have, even though I never admit it.
Nick kisses me like a man starved, hungry, urgent, as if he’s been holding himself back all night and finally snapped. I meet him with everything I have, kissing him with my own pent-up want, letting him taste every bit of the longing I’ve been choking down.
“Jesus, Amber,” he mutters against my mouth, voice raw, like he’s losing every ounce of restraint he fought so hard to keep. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
I do actually.
Because I feel it too.
His chest crashes against mine with every breath, rough and uneven. His lips claim mine again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine.
My hands slip up his chest instinctively, fisting in his shirt, dragging him closer even though there’s no space left. He’s all heat and muscle and intent pressed along every inch of me, but I want more.
All of him.
He breaks from my mouth only long enough to drag his lips along my cheek to my jawline, kissing me there, slow, deliberate.
I tilt my head, let him linger, soaking up the sensation of his lips on my skin.
It’s been a long time since I felt a man touch me like this, since I got pleasure from anyone besides myself.
“Nick…,” I breathe, his name falling out of me. It’s a plea, though I’m not sure what I’m asking for. More? Closer? Everything?
He groans, a low, tortured sound, like hearing his name on my lips is the one thing he can’t survive.
He kisses me again, slower this time, and something in me softens, melts, opens. My fingers slip into his hair. He moans softly in response, pressing closer, his body fitting against mine like he was made for it.
When his lips trail from my jaw to the base of my throat, I gasp, a quiet, helpless sound. He freezes and lifts his head, eyes searching mine, pupils blown wide.
“You okay?” he whispers, voice husky, almost desperate. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
I melt even more, from how gently he says it and from knowing that he’s sincere. He’ll let me take the lead, will walk away if I ask.
“How could you think I don’t want this?” I ask, then prove my words with my own hard, heated kiss. I move my mouth up to his ear and whisper, “Come to my bedroom.”
Something inside him breaks in the most beautiful way. His forehead drops against mine, and he exhales like I just gave him oxygen.
His hand finds mine. He laces our fingers together.
Without breaking eye contact, not for a single heartbeat, I guide him away from the wall.
We move like gravity is doing the work for us, slow, magnetic, inevitable.
Each step backward, my body pulls him with me.
We pass the Christmas tree with its lights still twinkling, the bike in two separate pieces, the empty wine glasses on the table.
In the corner of the room, a pile of torn wrapping paper and ribbon waits to be put away tomorrow.
Down the hall and into my bedroom, I guide him until we reach the edge of my bed.
He pauses there, eyes dark, breath uneven. I know he’s going to ask if I’m sure, so I answer before he can speak, kissing him hard and sliding my hand down to stroke him through his pants.
His fingertips skim down my arms, feather-light, until they reach the hem of my shirt. He waits there, one second, two. “Can I?” he asks, voice low.
I lift my arms.
His breath shudders. He lifts my shirt slowly, knuckles brushing my stomach as it rises inch by inch. The movement is so careful I swear I could cry. When the fabric clears my head and drops to the floor, he just…looks at me.
Not at my body.
At me.
His hands come to my hips, warmer now, surer, and he leans down, kissing the place right beneath my collarbone, like he’s giving thanks.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin.
My fingers find the hem of his shirt in return, and when I push it up, he lifts his arms without hesitation. The fabric catches on his hair before falling behind him, and suddenly he’s there, solid, breathtaking.
I run my palms lightly over his chest, following the line of muscle, the curve of his shoulders. His eyes close, his jaw clenching.
“Vixen,” he breathes, voice trembling, “if you keep that up…”
I quiet him with a kiss and pull him down onto the bed with me.
He comes with his hands supporting my back like he’s afraid I’ll break.
I shimmy up higher until my head hits the pillow, and Nick crawls over me with controlled, deliberate movements, keeping his weight off me until I tug him down and whisper, “I want you.”
He groans and then confesses, “I’ve wanted you since the first morning I saw you jog by with your ponytail swinging.
” A languid stroke of his tongue down my neck has me panting.
Nick presses his face into my shoulder and whispers, “I wasn’t sure if it was you on the walkie-talkie, but I hoped it was. ”
I freeze. “You knew? You thought it was me?”
Brown eyes peek up at me, then away. “I wondered, but I didn’t want to say anything. What if I was wrong?”
I think he’s scared I’ll be offended or feel tricked, but all I feel is awe. All these months, feeling like a failure, feeling rejected, unattractive, unlovable, and there was this guy, this amazing man, watching me from three houses down.
“You liked me? Back then?”
“I didn’t know you,” he answers, peering up again, “But I thought you were beautiful. I felt this—this pull toward you.” He lets out a soft, nervous laugh. “I thought up different ways to talk to you, but you always went by so fast.”
I huff a laugh at that.
“I thought it would be weird. Me jumping out in front of you. To try to stop you.” He chuckles and says, “You seemed like a woman on a mission.”
Now I really laugh, because he’s right. I was focused on getting that part of my day done. One thing to check off my very long to-do list.
“I noticed you too,” I admit as he moves up and puts his head on the pillow next to mine. I roll over on my side to face him. We’re eye to eye now. I can’t stop my smile when I say, “I thought you were cute.”
“Cute?” His nose wrinkles, and I giggle.
“Cute’s a good thing,” I reassure him.
He mock-rolls his eyes. “I guess, but I was kinda hoping for hot, sexy man-god.”
Now I’m laughing, half-naked in bed and not even feeling self-conscious about it. “I think you’re the funniest person I’ve ever met,” I tell him.
“Great,” he says with a hint of sarcasm. “Cute and funny. I sound like a bunny.”
“Well,” I rise onto my knees next to him, noting how Nick’s eyes track me like he can’t look away.
“That was before I saw you with your shirt off.” I take in his chest, shoulders, arms, and my core heats because this man…
he’s in very good shape. I couldn’t tell on those frosty mornings with his baggy sweatshirts, but he obviously takes care of himself.
I bite my lip, warmth pooling between my legs.
“Oh,” he says and arches a brow. “And now that you’ve seen all this.” He gestures to himself. “What do you think now?”
I run my hand over the hard plane of his abs, and he sucks air in through his teeth. I can see how his erection tents his pants, how it twitches at my touch. Breathless, I tell him, “Now I think you’re a sexy man-god.”
He grins, growls, yanks me down onto my back, and moves to straddle me. “Damn right.” His mouth meets mine, hungry and demanding, and I whimper at the intensity of it.
His hand goes to my bra, swipes over the fabric once, then slides under the cup to tease my bare nipple. My back arches off the bed from the sensation. Nick uses that moment to reach beneath me. Skilled fingers unhook the clasp in one smooth motion. My bra loosens and slides away.
He pulls back, staring down at my naked chest with his lips parted and eyes dark. Nick whispers an awed, “Merry Christmas to me.” Then his lips close over my breast, and he sucks my nipple into his mouth, nipping lightly with his teeth.
A sharp cry rips out of me. My hips jerk up.
He moves to the other breast, sucking harder until I’m gasping.
I slip my hands lower, to the waistband of his jeans, and he lets out a ragged groan.
Soon we’re both moving, urgent, frantic, undoing buttons, shoving denim down, tangled in fabric and need and shaking hands. His jeans hit the floor. Mine follow. We’re only in our underwear now.