Chapter 4
“Always?” If that was true, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss him or shake him.
His head cocked at her skeptical question, and something changed. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but it was as if the air got heavy and close. Physically the shift in his mood, his bearing, was visible only in small things—the slight angle changes of his brows and a tightening of the skin around his eyes and mouth.
Nathan sat forward, his back no longer making contact with the couch. His hand tightened on her thigh, and she stared down at where his fingers slightly indented her flesh.
“Tara, are you calling me a liar? Think very hard before you answer.” His voice was low and dark with warning, the threat of punishment implicit.
It had been years since she’d let herself think about this aspect of Nathan. Not Nathan her best friend but Master Nathan—sexually dominant and strict.
As her mind reeled, her body reacted to his dominance and the sweet promise of punishment. Her skin was hot and tight one second, pebbled with goose bumps the next.
He’d barely moved, and his words weren’t that shocking—the threat implicit not explicit. And yet she’d reacted as if he’d put one hand around her throat, the other on her pussy, and warned her to be a good girl. Until this moment with Nathan, the memory of a Dom doing exactly that had been a go-to memory for masturbating.
“Nathan,” she breathed, gaze searching his face. “Do you… Have you always?”
Some of the heat melted from his gaze and she mourned the loss. “Have I always thought you were gorgeous? Yes.”
“You can think something is objectively attractive, and still not be attracted to it.”
Nathan’s brows rose. “You’re not a piece of art I was admiring.”
“I am absolutely a work of art.”
He grinned, eyes bright. “Yes, you are. But to answer your question, again, yes. I’ve always thought you were good-looking and been attracted to you.”
“You never said anything.”
His head cocked to the side. “I wasn’t going to risk losing my best friend, especially when I don’t know if you were interested in me.”
Don’t. Present tense.
Shame heated her cheeks, because while Nathan had said he found her attractive, she hadn’t reciprocated. He didn’t know—because she’d never told him—what she did in the second year of their friendship.
“One of the reasons I introduced myself to you that day was because I thought you were cute,” she admitted. “Not just because we had a class together.”
He looked slightly alarmed. “Wait, were you hitting on me? I don’t…I mean, I was exceptionally stupid at twenty, but I think I’d remember if you hit on me.”
“No, I didn’t. I thought you were cute, and that made me nervous, and I was pissed at myself for being nervous, so I started the conversation instead of waiting and hoping you would.”
“Ah, that sounds like my Tara.”
The word “my” hit her like a punch in the stomach, but she ignored it. For now.
“I refused to let some frat boy—” she started.
“I wasn’t in a frat.” His lips twitched in an almost smile.
“—intimidate me. You seemed smart enough.”
“Thanks?”
“So, I introduced myself, and made sure we became friends,” she finished.
“Now hold on. I was the one who took us from classmates to friends. When I printed your paper and then ran across campus to turn it in. Before that, we were just people in the same class. After that, we were trauma bonded.”
It was Tara’s turn to laugh. “Trauma bonded?”
“Am I wrong?”
“No, that class was awful, and I would have failed without your help and sprinting abilities. I can’t believe the professor expected a hard copy.”
She’d been sick with the stomach flu, homesick since it was her first time being ill without family to care for her, and when she went to print her paper, her printer refused to connect.
Her roommate hadn’t been home, nor her friend next door. She’d banged on the off-campus RA’s door, desperate, but she too hadn’t been home. Near sobbing, Tara stumbled down the long hall and around the corner to Nathan’s apartment.
He’d listened wide-eyed to her panicked confession that she was going to miss the deadline for the paper. She hadn’t even gotten to the point of asking for help before he told her to run back to her room and email him the paper.
She had, and then stumbled back down the hall, headed to his room so she could pick up the printout. She’d had no idea how she’d magically get the hard copy turned in, since she didn’t have the energy to walk or bike the half mile to campus, let alone get there in the fifteen minutes left before the deadline. She’d exited her room in time to see him disappear as he slammed through the stairwell door at a run.
“I thanked you for that, right?” she said, smiling at the memory.
“Multiple times. And you carried me through that one unit in organic chemistry.” He grimaced, and she laughed.
A companionable silence fell.
Then Nathan’s thumb swiped over the skin at the top of her thigh. She’d been ignoring that he was touching her bare leg, the hem of the robe having ridden up to mid-thigh.
Awareness slithered through her, making her skin sensitive and her nipples tight.
“So, we both found the other attractive, but never said anything.” She tried to make the summary sound businesslike.
“Yes,” he agreed. “And I think… I think that was a good thing. I was a shit at twenty. And you were only eighteen.”
She’d graduated high school a year early, starting college at seventeen, while he’d taken a gap year between high school and college.
“You thought I was too young for you?”
“Yea, a bit. I already knew at that point that I had some deviant sexual preferences.” He looked uncomfortable.
“I know.”
His gaze snapped up. “You know? Or you knew?”
Oops. “I mean, I understand your concern. And that’s sweet that you didn’t want to corrupt me.”
It was getting harder and harder to ignore the waves of pleasure caused by the slow arc of his thumb. His touch distracted her to the point she wasn’t as careful with her expression as she should have been.
“Answer me, please. You know, as in you now realize, or you knew, even when we were in college, that I was kinky?”
Tara blew out a breath, annoyed that he’d caught that.
“Tara.” The warning rumble that sneaked into his voice reached right into her, gripped the core of her submission, and demanded obedience.
“I knew,” she whispered. “I saw you, your senior year. I went to your apartment to give you the copy of my notes you’d asked for, and I saw you with a redhead. She was in rope bondage and you put her on her knees and,” Tara paused, trying to be as matter-of-fact as possible. “And you face-fucked her.”
“Shit, I remember that night. How did you get in?”
“You gave me your door code, and your bedroom door was open, just a bit. I didn’t see much, and I left as quick as I could.” She cleared her throat. “I was shocked, so I stood there for several seconds.”
“Shit,” he said again, squeezing her. “I’m sorry you saw that. I didn’t know.” He grimaced. “Had you…were you interested in anything like that?”
“Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it. I’d had sex before, of course,” she said. “But as far as BDSM, I knew as much as anyone knows from pop culture.”
She sensed he wanted to keep asking about this, and shifted unhappily on his lap. Nathan took a breath, let it out, and then leaned back, posture much more relaxed now than it had been half a minute ago.
“We both found one another attractive, but for our own reasons never said or did anything about it,” he summarized, echoing her words.
“And that brings us to now. To…this.”
“To this,” he echoed, but he was no longer looking at her face. He stared at her legs as his hand retreated back to her knee. She sighed in disappointment, but wasn’t wholly surprised that their reminiscing had killed the mood for him.
Oddly, it hadn’t for her. There was no awkwardness in sitting on his lap, growing slowly more aroused as he stroked her, while they talked about their past. Objectively, there should have been some level of disconnect, yet the combination of physical action and conversation proved not to be antithetical.
The silence, however, was awkward. And though she normally had no problem sitting in the hush of a long silence, his touch had her feeling just off base enough that she couldn’t.
“To be clear,” she said, trying to sound businesslike, “I’m only proposing that we play the game together.”
“Only. You’re only proposing that we engage in a power exchange and kinky sex.”
“Sex is involved in our letter?”
“Oh yeah.” A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“Oh…kay. New information.” She stopped, thinking it through. Sex was never a given in BDSM.
“Change your mind?”
“No,” she said slowly, because her primary emotion was excitement. She would have been disappointed if all they had was impact play. “I don’t think so.”
“Good.” Slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away, Nathan slid his hand under the crook of her knee.
And then Nathan did something that caused a seismic shift, the very foundations of the earth sliding and rocking against one another to reform the world as she knew it. He jerked her knee up, putting a more acute bend in her limb, and then gently forced her knee wide.
Tara took slow breaths, her toes digging into the cushion as she let her leg fall open. One side of her robe—the side he’d flipped up—fell away, exposing her all the way to her belly button, where the tie of the robe held the fabric closed. The glossy black latex gusset that covered her sex was exposed.
He pressed against the inside of her knee, forcing her thigh to spread wider. She felt her pussy lips part, and sucked in air as latex slid and rubbed against her sensitive labia.
His hand spanned her thigh, fingers spread. Experimentally, she tried to close her leg, and watched as the muscles in his forearm flexed as he countered the pressure.
“If we do this,” Nathan rumbled, “I’m not going to hold back, and no matter how hard we compartmentalize, it will change something between us.”
The intensity radiating off Nathan wasn’t new. He was generally mild-mannered and easygoing, but when he was focused in on something, he got like this.
The idea of being what, who, he focused on was thrilling.
“I’m respecting the fact that you don’t want to talk about why you’re leaving Las Palmas. But the fact that you won’t tell me makes me worry that our friendship is already in danger, should we risk destroying it completely?” The question was more a rumination than an actual inquiry.
“Our friendship isn’t in danger.” She sounded breathy, in a way that wasn’t like her. The desire and arousal building inside her crowded her lungs, leaving her no choice but to take small, quick breaths. “It will just look different. We’ve remained friends through a lot of things.”
“True.” His gaze drifted to her lips.
Tara tucked in her lower lip, wetting it with her tongue. Nathan inhaled sharply through his nose.
“I want you to agree to something,” he said.
“What?”
“When we’re done with our letter, and have finished the game, you tell me what’s going on with you. What’s about to change.”
She nodded. “That’s fair. And I know it’s going to sound like I’m backtracking, but I was planning to ask you for help with one part of it.”
“Okay.” He kneaded her thigh. “I’m going to manfully not beg you to tell me because I’m dying of curiosity.”
She laughed softly.
His hand tightened, a soft warning. “There’s one more thing I want to check before we do this.”
Tara held her breath, wondering, hoping, that his hand might cup her pussy through the lace. That what he wanted to check was if she was aroused. She was, and was sure he’d be able to feel how wet she was even through the lace.
“I’m going to put my hands on the seat and keep them there.” His gaze tracked up to her eyes. “And you’re going to kiss me.”
The idea made her insides sparkle, as if she were filled with champagne. The hand that had been pressing against her back fell away, and he wedged between his hip and the corner of the couch. Then he removed the hand from her thigh, the loss of heat creating a cold imprint of his palm and fingers.
Tara sat up, twisting, but the position was awkward. Taking a risk, she slid off his lap, turned to face him, and straddled his thighs, one hand braced on the back of the couch beside his shoulder.
Nathan was taking slow, deep breaths and he looked her up and down. The robe was still tied, but the front pieces no longer overlapped, revealing a strip from neck to pussy that showed glimpses of the black latex, vinyl, and lace fetware she wore.
Tara leaned down, lips hovering over his, as she slid her free hand into his hair. This moment had a dreamlike quality. It felt like she’d stepped outside reality and into a place where there was no tomorrow to worry about.
Only now.
Only him.
And a desire she’d repressed for years.
The first moment of the kiss was a shock, as if she’d grabbed a live wire. They both froze. Kissing Nathan was more powerful, and more intimate, than sex.
Oh, this was a bad idea. A wonderfully bad idea.
He groaned, and where her forearm rested against his shoulder, she felt his muscles tense.
Tara sat back, breaking the kiss. She felt this odd need to cry, though she wasn’t sad. Her pussy pulsed in time with her heartbeat, her labia already plump as her body prepared to take his cock. It was a base physiological response.
All because of a kiss.
Except it wasn’t just the kiss. It was who she was kissing that made her body react, even as doubts and alarms were spiraling around the back of her mind.
She was waiting for his hands to slide over her, for him to take control of both her body and the moment.
But Nathan didn’t move. His bare arms meant she could see the flexed muscles, could see how hard he was fighting to stay still.
“I kissed you,” she said. “You don’t have to keep your hands down.”
“That wasn’t a kiss,” he rumbled. “Kiss me like you mean it, Tara.”
The deep voice, the command, his self-control…each was delicious and arousing.
Tara kissed him again, this time touching his lower lip with her tongue. His mouth opened under hers, and she tasted the inside of his lower lip, running her tongue along his teeth.
With a growl, Nathan surged up, doing what she’d been waiting for and taking control of the kiss. His tongue slipped into her mouth, and he tasted cool and a little sweet from the cider. He pulled back, only to tip his head the other way and kiss her again.
Tara’s toes curled, and she grabbed his shoulders with both hands. His own hands were still firmly planted on the cushions. The leather of his vest was warm and smooth under her fingers, but she wanted more.
She slid her palms down the hot, bare flesh of his upper arms. He groaned into her mouth, so she kept going. Hands kneading their way down to his elbows and along his forearms, until she pressed her palms to the back of his braced hands.
Nathan broke the kiss, and they were both breathing hard.
“Kiss over.”
His voice was harsh and for a moment, she thought he’d changed his mind. Maybe the kiss hadn’t affected him the way it had affected her.
“Which means I can touch you.”
Nathan’s hands flipped palms up, his fingers lacing with hers.
Then he wrapped one arm across her back, without releasing her, their joined hands at her opposite hip. Holding her tight to his chest, Nathan flipped their position, until she was seated on the couch, legs spread on either side of his body as he knelt on the floor.
They were staring at one another, both breathing hard.
“Last chance,” he warned her.
“What’s our letter?”
“T.”
Tara couldn’t think of a single kinky toy or activity that began with T. Then again, thinking in general was a little difficult.
“I want to do this,” she said, “with you.”