Chapter 29
chapter
twenty-nine
MAREN
Nate drags my hands down his shirt and steps backward, breaking our contact.
My breath leaves me like a sound of a storm, rough and untamed.
Especially when he grips the hem of his shirt and slips it up and over his head, inch by inch until he’s standing shirtless a mere two feet from me.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, my question strangled as the words scrape along my throat.
The man is a work of art. Not even Photoshop could create something so perfect.
With sharp outlines of abs stacked one on top of the other like they’re drawn on and veins lining his arms like running trails, he’s gorgeous.
Intricate ink decorates half his torso and parts of his forearm—God, the tattoos make me weak.
I never knew how much I liked tattoos until I saw Nate’s.
When he asked how I felt about them, I should’ve gotten down on my knees and confessed how utterly obsessed I am with them.
I struggle for my next breath. I wasn’t prepared for this special kind of intimacy.
Standing here staring at Nate’s naked torso—it’s almost too much. Part of me thinks I should turn away, but I can’t—I don’t want to.
I don’t even blink as he lifts one arm over his head, turning to the side.
My heartbeat stumbles over a sudden ball of emotion.
Because there, along his rib cage, are the words “For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.” Scrolled in delicate cursive with stars dotted intermittently along the words is my favorite quote.
It’s the same quote that framed so much of our relationship. How many times did we daydream about our future together? How often did we fantasize about our happy ending?
“It’s the first tattoo I ever got.” He swallows, and the sound echoes at my temples, along with my pounding heartbeat. “Then there are these too.”
He slides his watch off his wrist and sets it onto the counter next to us.
Pointing to the simple lavender flower, he says, “You always smell like lavender.” He taps his finger to his pec, where a small black lightning bolt rests right next to his heart at the edge of the lion’s head.
It’s almost unnoticeable there, embedded in the artwork over his chest. “This one’s my favorite. ”
I cover my mouth with both hands. The walls around my heart collapse like they were made of paper.
Nate hasn’t simply thought about me over the years. This man has been carrying me with him ever since he left.
With every hoarse breath, any resistance I’ve possessed toward Nate releases, and in its place is only desire.
I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything. There’s no one else for me—I know this for a fact. I know this to be truer than I know the sky is blue and grass is green.
“Maren, I’ve never been able to get you out of my head.” When he sighs, it’s heavy, loaded with so much emotion—determination, a plea, a promise. “And I never fucking want to.”
A sob breaks free as my head spins.
He continues, “I should’ve called you when everything happened with Sabrina, but I didn’t know how to tell you.
And I sure as fuck didn’t trust myself to go through with the wedding if I talked to you first.” His hands fall to his sides, his eyes red like he’s fighting back tears of his own.
“I never should’ve married her to begin with, but I didn’t know what to do.
She was pregnant, and her father insisted we get married.
We were young. We felt pressured. I wanted to do right by her and our family, and at the time, it seemed like getting married was the right call.
But we couldn’t make it work. I never felt for her the way I feel for you, and hell, she never did for me, either. ”
“Nate…” I choke, my heart squeezing for a teenage Nate who felt so scared and lost.
“Don’t you see? It’s always been you, Lightning.”
I launch myself toward him, and he wraps his arms around my waist, steady and strong like I didn’t catch him off guard at all. He’s always ready to catch me. Always prepared to make sure I land safely onto my feet.
“You’re impossible to forget.” He growls, fisting my shirt at my lower back. “Maren, I’ve been crazy about you my entire life, and that’s never going to change.”
I fuse my lips to his, savoring the sweet taste of wine mixed with the apple cider cookies he devoured earlier tonight.
He secures my hips in his hands and hoists me onto the edge of the counter, never breaking our kiss.
With both of my hands planted on either side of his face, I pull him into me until I can’t breathe in anything but Nate.
He’s all I see, taste, and feel.
I throw my head back as he trails kisses down the column of my throat.
His lips find the center of my chest, his chin tucked into the V of my T-shirt, and I arch into him, silently begging for more.
More kisses. More heated touches. More of him.
I shift back to pull my shirt off, and he hooks his thumbs through the waistband of my leggings to yank them down my thighs.
I use his shoulders for balance as he wraps his arm around my waist and lifts me high enough to slide my leggings and panties down to my ankles.
But instead of rising back up, he sinks onto his knees and peers up at me—in question, in longing, in seduction. The muscles in his shoulders and forearms flex like he’s fighting to maintain control, and my core screams. “May I?”
I only manage to nod, my preferred response somewhere between “You better” and “Fuck yeah.”
Nate takes his time, sucking and kissing my inner thighs, moaning with pleasure. He kneads the muscles of my legs, scooting me closer to the edge, pulling whimper after whimper from my lips.
His languid kisses are torturous, but also so damn tantalizing.
“Nathan, I can’t take it anymore.” I shift higher to meet his mouth where I need it, but he presses on my thighs and holds me down.
And the frustrating man grins—like he enjoys having me at his mercy.
It’s as maddening as it is arousing.
“Patience, Lightning.” He places another kiss to my inner thigh, his lips lingering there.
My body riots like he’s tied me down, with the building on fire, and he has no urgency to run to safety.
He continues at his leisure as I writhe on the counter, specks of sugar and cinnamon glued to my legs.
This is so different than last time. On the night of the Halloween party, our movements were rushed and frantic, like we’d change our minds if we didn’t get naked fast enough.
But this is slow and sensual, as if we have all the time in the world to enjoy each other—and we do, if I have anything to say about it.
He peers up at me, and a devilish glint sparks in his dark eyes. “You’re fucking soaked, aren’t you?”
“Why don’t you find out for yourself already?” I arch my back. Again, I shift forward, begging for his touch.
This is the most scintillating foreplay I’ve ever experienced, and while I am a fan, I’m also only human—I need sweet relief.
“I can’t wait another second.” He punctuates his statement—more like a sacred oath—with a growl, followed by what I can only describe as a carnal display of desire.
His mouth completely covers me, and I nearly buck off the counter. This single second of his tongue between my legs would be well worth the fatal fall.
With his fingers digging into my thighs, he holds me in place as he angles his head to the side, paying special attention to my most sensitive spot. He knows exactly what gets me going.
From this angle, I have a perfect view of the way his jaw flexes, the muscles blinking with each thrust of his tongue along his target.
“Oh, fuck,” I mutter, and I feel his mouth curve into a smile.
But he doesn’t let up. His pace only quickens as he utterly ruins me.
I’m almost done for, and then he groans, with equal parts approval and worship. The guttural sound vibrates up my spine, heating me from the inside out.
I can’t breathe. I need something to hold on to. Rearing back, I collide with a bag of flour or sugar—I can’t be sure, not with my eyes squeezed closed.
My legs tremble.
His grip tightens to the point of pain.
Everything is too much and not enough all at once.
I shoot forward, eyes flying open, and I thrust my fingers into his hair. I bury his face deeper between my thighs. My cries fill the kitchen as his mouth stretches over every sensitive inch of me.
The orgasm hits me hard. One second, I’m teetering on the cusp, and the next, my body explodes like a mountain blasted with C4.
I cling to the thick strands of his hair like a rope on the side of a cliff.
Just when I believe this is the most intense climax I’ve ever experienced—one I can barely handle—I realize Nate’s not finished with me.
He mutters something like, “We’re only getting started,” but it’s so muffled.
Blood rushes to my ears, and I shudder against him, clenching my thighs against his head with more strength than I ever believed I possessed.
But I’m no match for him.
Nate pries my legs open, spreading me to the point where I’m so dizzy, I fear for my health, but this is too good to stop. I never want him to stop. I need to experience everything he has to give like I need water.
My throat is dry as my breathy pants turn into sharp gasps, which become full-blown cries, louder than before.
“Give me one more,” he says as if I have no other choice. Like I’d even deny him—or myself—of another delicious orgasm.
The strokes of his tongue grow more and more fervid, and I ride his face, pulling his hair like reigns on a horse.
And if I thought the previous climax was mind-blowing, what consumes me next might leave me for dead.
“Nathan!” I throw my head back as heat gathers at the base of my neck and sprints down my spine. Hot current after current zips through my body, each more sensational than the one before it, until my vision blurs with sparkles of gold like an array of shooting stars.
“Fuck, that’s it.” His words are muffled as he bobs his head between my thighs like he’s drinking from a fountain.
Wait.
Is he…