31. Chapter 31
Lydia
The look in Nick’s eyes strips me bare. No hesitation. No restraint left to offer. Just an undeniable want, open and unapologetic.
His mouth is not gentle. It’s hungry and claiming, as though he’s making up for every moment he hasn’t allowed us to be like this.
His hand slides back into my hair, fingers tightening, pulling me even closer as if he can’t stand an inch of space between us.
I swing my leg over his urgently, pulling myself onto his lap without thinking.
He groans against my mouth, the sound sending electric shocks straight through me.
His hips flex up toward me on instinct. There’s no careful buildup. No easing into it.
We kiss like two people who have waited too long, teeth grazing, hands roaming with intent.
His palms find my waist, my back, my ass.
It feels like he is memorizing me, like he’s been imagining this for far too long.
I feel him everywhere. The heat of him, the tension, the unmistakable truth of how badly he wants me.
He breaks the kiss only to breathe, his forehead resting against mine.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, voice rough.
I shake my head, fisting my fingers in his shirt. “Don’t.”
He kisses me again, slower this time but no less intense, like he’s savoring me now that he finally can. Our world narrows to the press of bodies, the slide of hands, and the quiet, desperate sounds we can’t seem to stop making.
When he pulls back again to look at me, his eyes are dark with unmissable heat, pupils blown.
“We don’t have to rush,” he murmurs as his thumbs trace slow, deliberate paths along my side.
“I want you,” I pant, refusing to let him go.
His mouth curves upward. He leans in again, this time with no question of what will come next.
I am so ready to find out.
Nick’s hands slide underneath the hem of my dress where it has bunched at my waist. Warm, calloused palms skim over my skin, and I inhale sharply at the contact.
The sensation is electric. It has been so long since I’ve felt wanted and deliberate touch like this.
The thought alone makes me dizzy in the best possible way.
My pulse quickens as his fingers trace the curve of my waist. I instinctively press closer, my knees bracketing his thighs as though my body knows exactly where it wants to be.
His grip tightens, fingers splaying possessively across my ribs.
The low sound that leaves him goes straight to my core.
Not a word. Just need. The kind that makes my skin prickle with anticipation.
“Fuck,” he murmurs against my mouth, like the word has been roughly dragged out of him.
I kiss him harder in response, pouring everything I’ve been holding back into it.
My hands roam his shoulders, his chest, and his familiar strength that grounds me even as the world tips sideways.
I grind into him, needing some friction.
I can feel how hard he is, and it makes me bold in a way I haven’t been before, pushing me further to feel more of him.
The couch creaks as we move against each other, both of us needing more from the other.
Nick pushes me back just enough to deepen the angle between us.
His mouth follows the line of my jaw, my neck, lingering there to savor the taste of my skin.
His lips find the sensitive spot just below my ear, and I feel it everywhere.
In my chest, my belly, the ache building low and intense between my thighs.
My head tips back, my breath breaking as his teeth graze my skin.
My fingers dig into him like an anchor. Every nerve ending feels awake, buzzing, alive.
I am hyperaware of the warmth of his body against mine, the faint scent of him, and the way his hands move with purpose now.
One slides up my spine while the other wraps around my waist, pulling me even tighter to him.
“This okay?” Nick asks softly, though his hands never stop moving. He touches me everywhere I want him to, as though he knows me better than I know myself.
“Yes,” I breathe, the word coming without hesitation. “All of it. Yes.”
He stills just long enough to look at me, really look at me, his eyes dark and intense. I can see the restraint there, the control he is holding onto by a thread. I want to rip that thread to shreds.
He moves his hands to either side of my face.
His tongue traces along my bottom lip, willing me to open back up for him.
I do, feeling heat bloom across my skin.
I am on fire for this man, and I need more.
He pulls back for a moment, and our breaths tangle together as he presses his forehead to mine.
The smile that curves his mouth is equal parts hunger and certainty.
“We’re not stopping here,” he says quietly, his voice low and rough with desire.
I smile back, pulse racing, desire humming through my veins like a live wire. My body is already anticipating what comes next, already aching for it.
“No,” I say, the word sounding steadier than I feel. “We’re not.”