Chapter 10 #2
The knot in my stomach twists tighter as I reread the text and try not to internalize the words. It’s nothing new. It’s just meaner this time. She has a way of making me feel like a villain for wanting anything for myself.
I sigh and return my phone to the counter.
“Didn’t like what you saw?” Nathaniel’s voice cuts gently through my thoughts.
I blink. I didn’t notice his approach. He’s standing by the open fridge now, a can of Diet Coke in one hand and a glass of ice in the other.
He doesn’t look at me as he closes the door and walks over, setting them beside me on the island with that same ease he applies to everything else in his life.
Like this—remembering what I like, how I like it—is second nature to him.
I force a half-smile, curling my fingers around the can. “It is what it is.”
He simply nods before moving into my space. One of his hands braces beside my hip on the counter. The other lifts to brush my hair over my shoulder, his fingers grazing the curve of my neck.
I sink into his embrace without thinking, winding my arms around his waist and pressing my cheek to his chest, soothed by the steady beat of his heart. He smells crisp and clean, like cedar and warm cotton. He drops a kiss against my hair.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring.
And he does. That’s the thing. He always does.
As he’s done this whole week, he doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Doesn’t offer platitudes or prod at something he knows I don’t want to say. He just holds me. Lets me decide what I want to give.
And I love him all the more for it.
My grip on his waist tightens. “Thank you,” I whisper. “Being here with you is the only thing that makes sense lately.”
I tilt my face up to kiss him—soft at first, sweet. But it deepens fast. His hand curls around my waist. My body moves closer. I need this. I need him.
I open my mouth to him and he takes. His hand splays across the small of my back and the heat between us begins to rise.
I kiss him harder. He’s warm and steady beneath my palms. When I slide my hands under the hem of his shirt, tracing the cut of his stomach, he exhales against my mouth. He leans into it, sucking on my bottom lip until I forget where one of us ends and the other begins.
When I reach lower, fingers teasing the waistband of his pants, he catches my wrist.
“You’ve been all over me lately,” he says, not critical, just observant in the way he always is with me.
Heat rises to my cheeks because he’s right. I’ve been reaching for him more, using the feeling of his body against mine to quiet everything else I don’t want to face.
I try to laugh it off. “Do you want me to stop?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts my hand and presses it to his chest, right over the wild thrum of his heart.
“No,” he says. “I don’t want you to stop. But I also don’t want you to hide. I want you to be present. Be here with me, Olivia.”
I don’t say anything. I just look at him, feeling everything all at once—gratitude that he knows me this well, guilt that I’m using intimacy as a stand-in for conversations I’m not ready to have, and a fierce love for the man who recognizes my coping mechanisms even when I try to hide them.
So, I simply nod. Yes, I’m right here.
“If this is what you need…” He holds my gaze as he kisses my knuckles. “Then show me.”
His hands slide under my thighs, lifting me onto the counter. Warm hands, warm breath—the whole world narrowing down to the space between us.
He watches me, and I feel the shift—the slow, certain pull of a tide. It doesn’t rush in, it builds—patient and sure, but inevitable. He’s waiting for something—more than touch, more than yes. He wants me to choose this with him. Not as a distraction, but a declaration.
And maybe I do too.
“Okay…” I whisper. “But how?”
Nathaniel’s blue eyes lock on mine, and they don’t waver.
“Take this off for me, baby.” His fingers brush the hem of the oversized shirt I’m wearing. “Let me see you.”
My breath catches at the command. Slowly, I lift the fabric over my head and let it fall to the floor. I’m completely bare beneath—just skin and nerves and everything I haven’t said. My chest rises and falls under the weight of his gaze.
His pupils darken. His jaw tics. When he speaks, his voice is low—although it’s strained now, like it’s costing him everything to hold steady.
“God, look at you.” A pause. Then softer, almost to himself. “I’ll never get used to this.”
It hits me then, how deeply he means it. The way he looks at me—like I belong to him, and he’s eternally grateful for it.
He steps closer and cups my jaw, his thumb dragging along my cheek as his lips find mine—deep, slow, aching. Like he’s starving for the taste of me but forcing himself to go gently.
When he pulls back, his gaze drops to my chest. His fingers follow—shaky now, but sure.
He drags his thumb beneath my breast, and the breath I didn’t know I was holding shatters on a gasp. My body arches into the touch instinctively.
“Every time you respond like this,” he murmurs, “I lose my ability to think.”
Heat blooms under my skin, but I don’t shrink from it.
I used to spend so much of my life trying to take up less space—tucking myself in, second-guessing every curve, every inch. But Nathaniel’s never looked at me like I’m too much or that my body is a compromise. He’s always seen me just as I am. In his eyes, I’m whole and beautiful.
And slowly, impossibly, I’m starting to believe it too.
His hands glide up my sides, feather-light, until he’s cupping both breasts.
“Play with them,” he says, voice rougher now. “I want to watch.”
I freeze. The request lands somewhere deeper than my skin—both too much and not enough, all at once.
He must see it, the flicker of hesitation, the storm behind my quiet.
“You don’t have to put on a show,” he reassures me. “You don’t have to prove anything. Just let me see you.”
That breaks something in me. Or maybe it frees something that’s been waiting.
My hands lift, uncertain at first. I cup myself, trembling slightly, thumbing across the peaks already aching for him. The sensation sends a pulse through me—hot and unabashed.
Across from me, his shoulders tense. His breath hitches like he’s the one being touched.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Just like that. Let yourself feel it.”
The way he says it undoes me.
His gaze is everywhere at once—my face, my chest, the curve of my stomach, my hands as they move over skin that’s his to love but mine to offer.
“Shorts,” he adds after a moment. “Lose them.”
I nod, wordless. My fingers slip beneath the waistband, and I slide the shorts down and off, letting the fabric drop to the floor with everything else I’ve shed. I’m entirely exposed now, skin flushed and prickled with anticipation.
Nathaniel’s eyes widen, a sharp inhale breaking his composure for just a second. “Fuck,” he breathes. His jaw flexes, Adam’s apple bobbing as he looks me over—hungry, reverent.
A thrill pulses through me… Until I realize he’s still fully clothed. Black tee, gray sweats, all of him intact. And here I am—naked. Suddenly, I feel apprehensive.
As always, he notices it immediately.
“You’re perfect like this,” he declares softly. “Spread your legs for me, baby.”
The authority in his voice melts away the last of my nerves. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to please him. I look up from beneath my lashes, lean back slightly, and let my legs fall open.
He steps between them and slides his hands up my thighs—one anchoring me, the other tracing slow, lazy circles against my skin.
Then, tender but firm: “Touch yourself for me.”
I do as he says, spreading my legs wider and letting my hand slip straight to where I’m already soaked. When my fingers graze my swollen clit, a moan spills from my lips.
Nathaniel watches like I’m the only thing that’s ever held his attention, jaw tight, breath uneven. His posture is taut and the effect that this scene has on him is evident from the bulge that’s fighting against the fabric of his pants.
“You’re doing so well,” he says eventually, though his eyes never leave my pussy. “Take your time, baby. This is all for you, I’m just lucky enough to witness it.”
I nod, lips parting on an exhale as my fingers start to move in slow, careful circles.
I allow myself to ease into a rhythm, hips tilting toward the sensation.
Nathaniel doesn’t stop kneading my thighs and muttering praises under his breath: That’s it, baby, you’re doing so well.
Keep going, my beautiful girl. I’m so lucky I get to be here with you.
With his encouragement, I find that perfect pace and pressure to send my body spiraling upward in no time at all. My head tips back and I close my eyes on instinct, drowning in the sensation.
“Eyes on me.”
The words catch like a hook, pulling me back to him.
I blink and drag my gaze up to meet his. He’s closer now—so close I can feel the warmth of his breath at my jaw, the tension rolling off him in waves. His expression is fraught with lust and restraint.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs. “Let me see you like this.”
My fingers speed up. The pleasure crests—sharper now, insistent. His grip tightens around my thighs, as if he’s trying to stop himself from coming apart.
“Let go, baby,” he murmurs. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”
The orgasm crashes through me—hot, aching, unstoppable. I cry out, and he’s right there, as he promised, pressing kisses to my throat.
“Goddess,” he rasps against my skin, voice reverent, almost pained. “No one could ever come close to you.”
Goddess.
He first called me that weeks ago, in the lecture hall—his hand beneath my skirt, his mouth at my ear, while I fought to keep still.
Now, the term strikes deep within me, rousing a version of myself that I never knew existed—one that relishes being the subject of someone’s complete and unshakable devotion.