17
Kennedy
I spotted Josh on my way to the waiting area.
“Hey,” I said. “Good game.”
“Yeah,” he replied with a smile.
“You played well.”
“Thanks. Glad someone noticed.” His eyes held mine a beat longer than necessary. “I kind of hoped you would.”
Heat crept up my neck.
“Are you heading out to celebrate?” I asked.
He nodded. “O’Reilly’s. You should come.”
“I can’t. I actually have some work to do.”
He raised a brow. “Wow. On a Sunday night? That’s tragic.”
I let out a humorless snort. “Yeah, unfortunately.”
“Well, next time then. Have a good night. Don’t work too hard.”
“Thanks, Josh, you too.”
I watched him walk away. When I turned back, Nash had exited into the hallway near the crowded waiting area. He seemed like he was on a mission, his steps long and determined.
“Nash,” I called out.
His eyes lifted as soon as he heard me call his name.
“Ken?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You waited?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you done working?”
“I have a little more to do,” I said, adjusting the small bag I had packed over my shoulder.
Nash’s eyes widened when he glanced down at the bag. “Kennedy . . . is that what I think it is?” he asked quietly, tilting his head toward the bag.
“Yeah,” I said, my cheeks heating instantly.
Nash’s whole face lit up, and in a heartbeat his arm was around my waist, pulling me close. He bent to press a soft, unhurried kiss to my lips—completely unfazed by the people around us, some whispering, some openly watching. He didn’t care.
“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he murmured against my ear.
“I think I might,” I whispered back, my heart racing.
That slow, sexy smirk appeared, the kind that made my knees weak, and he gave a small nod like he knew I was right.
For the first time, I felt like we weren’t just skirting around whatever this was—we were stepping into it. He wasn’t hiding me, and I wasn’t hiding how much I wanted to be his.
· · ·
Nash’s apartment felt different. The air between us was warmer, happier.
I followed him into his ridiculously spacious closet, where he deposited my overnight bag like it held the crown jewels instead of my morning work outfit and the bare minimum of toiletries.
But it was the way he grinned at me, like he couldn’t believe I was actually here, that had my heart beating double-time.
Nash changed out of his suit and into a pair of sweatpants and an Empires T-shirt while I fumbled with a couple of empty hangers, trying to pay attention to what I was doing and not just ogle him, which was difficult.
I was practically giddy with excitement as I unzipped my bag, pulling out the black slacks, white blouse, and red cardigan I’d packed for the next day. Watching my things mingle with his made everything feel right.
It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step. A big one.
I was staying the night.
With him.
On purpose.
As I hung the clothes up, Nash came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“I love seeing your things next to mine. I can’t wait for you to add more,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
I leaned back against him, feeling the warmth of his body, inhaling his familiar scent. It was all I had ever wanted.
“You’re so beautiful,” Nash murmured, his voice husky.
I smiled, my heart swelling at his words, knowing he meant them. His touch, the way he looked at me—it all felt genuine, not just something to say in the moment.
I turned in his arms, and his mouth found mine. The kiss was slow, tender, and full of promise.
A soft whimper escaped my lips as his mouth trailed down my cheek and over my throat, settling on a spot near my collarbone.
I hadn’t even known how sensitive that area was until Nash found it.
Somehow, he already knew exactly where to touch, how to make my breath hitch, how to make my body tremble for him.
When I pushed at the shirt he’d just put on to get to his bare skin, he tugged it off in one smooth motion, tossing it to the floor. The dim light revealed his muscular chest and broad shoulders.
My breath caught in my throat as he moved back to me, his body casting shadows that only added to the anticipation of what was coming. I licked my lips, unable to tear my eyes away.
“Wow, Nash,” I breathed, completely mesmerized by the way his muscles flexed.
He flashed me that signature panty-dropping smirk, the one that made every woman dream of being in his bed. And here I was, the one actually living that fantasy. My fingers tightened around him instinctively, pulling him closer. This moment was mine.
He was mine.
Nash scooped me up without warning, carrying me bridal-style across the room like I weighed nothing.
A surprised laugh slipped out of me. He laid me down on his bed and dropped down beside me.
In one fluid motion he rolled us, settling me perfectly on top of him, our bodies aligning like they’d been made to fit this way.
“I love seeing you in my jersey,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of my breasts through the fabric, sending a shiver racing down my spine. “But I want it off.”
Heat pooled low in my stomach, and together we tugged the jersey upward, peeling it over my head and tossing it somewhere across the room. The second it left my skin, Nash’s mouth was back on mine—urgent, hungry, like he couldn’t get close enough.
His hands slid up my sides, confident and sure, and with a practiced flick of his fingers he unclasped my bra. It fell away instantly, leaving me bare, breathless, and completely at his mercy.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and brought my mouth back to his.
Nash’s hands moved over my body, big and warm, leaving a smoldering burn everywhere they touched.
When he cupped my breasts, a soft moan slipped out of me.
Then his mouth replaced his hands. The moment he sucked my nipple into his mouth, my back instinctively arched toward him.
I clung to his strong shoulders, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him against every inch of me.
My pants came off, and then his fingers were between my thighs, sure and confident. He teased and toyed before slowly sliding two of them inside me in one smooth motion. His thumb found my clit, and I moaned.
“Fuck, I love that sound,” Nash growled, those beautiful green eyes locking on to mine.
Pressing down harder while pumping faster had my body barreling toward the fastest orgasm I’d ever had. I clung to Nash as my pelvis and stomach tightened and my legs began to shake.
“Nash,” I moaned, writhing under his touch. The sensation was so intense I didn’t know if I wanted him to slow down or never stop.
“Come on, baby,” he coaxed softly, “just let go.”
I could barely hear him over the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears. My grip on his shoulders began to loosen as overwhelming sensations coursed through me.
“Oh God,” I cried out as the orgasm hit, wave after wave surging through me like the tide crashing against a stormy shore. By the time I drifted back down, I was panting and boneless.
Nash grinned like the Cheshire cat. “That good, huh?”
“Mmm,” I murmured.
In seconds, he had a condom on and had flipped me beneath him, settling between my thighs like he belonged there.
“Let’s see if we can repeat that,” he said with a playful smirk.
He entered me slowly, stretching me, filling me, both of us moaning as he sank deeper. Sensation spread through me like wildfire.
I’d always been somewhat reserved, even in my intimate moments.
Sex had never been wild or intense enough to make me see stars or scream out loud.
But then again, my exes didn’t have a body like Nash’s—a blend of a Greek god and a fictional action hero—and they certainly didn’t know how to use what they had the way Nash did.
Sex with him was something else entirely.
Nash’s grip tightened around my back. Supporting himself on one elbow, he used his other arm beneath me to pull me against him, gaining both a better angle and leverage.
His muscles bulged and flexed with each thrust, beautiful and powerful, and watching the way he moved above me, the way his thick length disappeared between my legs, sent me right back to the edge.
“Nash,” I shouted, unable to hold it in.
“Oh, fuck, babe,” he growled roughly. “I love when you scream my name.”
He pulled almost all the way out and rammed back in, drawing another scream out of me.
As our rhythm intensified, Nash’s movements became more urgent, each thrust deeper and more powerful than the last. I matched his pace as best I could, our bodies moving in perfect harmony.
A surge of sensation built within me, growing stronger with every moment.
Gripping the sheets tightly, I felt the fabric twist in my hands as I climbed higher and higher.
“I’m not gonna last,” Nash groaned, his voice thick with desire.
His hips moved fervently between my legs, each motion igniting sparks of ecstasy.
He adjusted himself slightly, and the new angle sent a jolt of incredible sensation through me.
A cry escaped my lips as I arched against him.
I was losing control, and I welcomed it completely.
“Oh my God,” I gasped.
He kept going, thrust after thrust, bringing me higher, higher, until the pressure inside me snapped. I clawed at his back, nails digging into his skin as my climax rushed over me. His sharp inhale cut through my moans as he held me tight, letting himself go with me.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his body shuddering.
A long, raw sound tore from my throat—a moan I’d never heard myself make before, pure and unrestrained, the kind of sound you make only when someone touches parts of you no one else has ever reached.
“Kennedy,” Nash said softly, “I love you.”
My body went still. My heart started pounding in my chest so hard I felt it in my throat. Had he . . . had he just said he loved me?
“Nash—” I managed, but he cut me off with a slow, breathtaking smile that answered my unspoken question.
“I do,” he said, his voice soft but full of conviction. “I love you. I do. I think I always have.”
“I . . .” I began, my pulse racing so fast it felt impossible to think, impossible to breathe.
“You don’t have to say it back,” he interrupted with a nervous laugh. “It may be too soon. I just need you to know how I feel about you.”
“I do, though, Nash,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I love you too. Always.”
His eyes closed for a moment, like he was letting the words sink into his bones, and when they opened again, the look in them nearly stole the breath from my lungs.
We stayed in bed for an hour after that, lazily touching, kissing, and drifting in and out of quiet conversation until my stomach growled so loudly that Nash let out a low laugh. “I guess that’s our cue, huh?”
I laughed with him and nodded, reluctantly pulling away. “Yeah, I think so.”
He went to heat up the takeout we’d brought back earlier while I got comfortable on the couch. I tucked my legs under me, grabbed my laptop, and opened the files I needed to review before the next meeting.
“What are you working on?” Nash asked, walking back into the room.
“I’m rearranging some of the schedules for the Men’s Advantage shoot.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Why?”
“Trevor Price is no longer available for the time slot we had for him, so I’m trying to switch him with Linda Jones.”
Nash froze for half a second, so quick I might’ve missed it if I hadn’t been looking directly at him. Something flickered across his expression as his eyes tightened. Not jealousy. Something more like protectiveness.
“You okay working with him?” he asked carefully.
“Yeah.” I clicked through emails. “My boss already warned me he’s difficult. Everything goes through his agent, but the guy takes forever to respond, and we’re short on time.”
Nash circled around the couch and dropped beside me with a soft thud, close enough that his shoulder brushed mine.
“If he gives you shit, you tell me,” he said.
I grinned and nudged him with my foot. “Nash, I’m directing a marketing shoot. Not fighting crime.”
“Still,” he muttered, grabbing a throw pillow and fiddling with the corner. “I don’t like anyone being a dick to you.”
The warm swell in my chest was immediate and impossible to control. I leaned in and softly pressed my lips to his, grateful.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
I typed for a few more minutes, pretending—badly—that I was still focused, even though all my attention had shifted to the man beside me. Nash sat there scrolling through his phone, occasionally nudging my knee with his as if he needed the contact. Each brush sent a little spark through me.
When the timer went off, Nash jumped up to grab the food, nearly tripping over his own feet in his enthusiasm.
We spent the rest of the night on the couch, eating, planning, and laughing.
And somewhere between the empty plates and Nash stretching out on the couch with his head in my lap, I realized something.
This—quiet, easy, simple—was what I’d always imagined being with him would feel like.
Like home.
Like something we’d both been waiting for.
Like the beginning of everything.