6. Nash #2
When she finally gets my jeans and boxers pushed down, I kick them off the rest of the way.
Her gaze travels down my body, and I have to fight the urge to cover myself.
Not because I'm embarrassed—I know I look good, know exactly what my body can do—but because the way she's looking at me makes me feel exposed in ways that have nothing to do with being naked.
I reach for my nightstand, knowing my mom has stashed a box of condoms in the drawer since I was sixteen and she didn't trust that I really wasn't hooking up with anyone.
My hands are steadier than they should be considering this is about to be my first time, but then again, I've always been good at projecting calm when everything inside me is chaos.
The foil tears easily between my teeth. Rolling the condom on takes longer than it should because I can feel Eve watching every movement, and the weight of her attention makes my fingers clumsy.
I wonder what she would think if she knew I'd been saving this moment just for her. A small hope in the back of my mind that always sent me home alone.
When I settle back over her, bracing my weight on my forearms, something shifts in her expression. The post-orgasm haze clears, replaced by something that looks almost like panic.
I stop, studying her face. The way her teeth worry her bottom lip, how her hands have gone still against my chest instead of pulling me closer.
"We can stop." The words come out rougher than I intended, but I mean them. "If you want to stop, we stop. Right now."
She shakes her head quickly, maybe too quickly. "No. I don't want to stop."
"Eve." I reach up to cup her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "Talk to me, sweetheart. What's going on in that head of yours?"
She's quiet for a long moment, eyes searching mine. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. "There's no one I'd rather do this with."
The simple honesty of it nearly cleaves me in half. No games, no pretense. Just Eve being real with me in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Me neither," I breathe against her lips, and Christ, I mean it. "There's no one else I want, Eve. Just you."
I kiss her slowly, pouring everything I can't say into it. All the years of watching her from across hallways, all the nights I've wondered what it would be like to have her like this. The way she makes me feel like maybe I'm not the broken thing I've always believed myself to be.
When I start to push inside her, she gasps against my mouth, her nails digging into my shoulders. She's so tight, so warm, that for a second I can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel her surrounding me.
"Fuck," I groan, struggling to keep my movements slow and controlled. "You feel incredible."
She moans as I stretch her, and the sound goes straight through me. I have to stop, buried only halfway, because if I don't take a second to get myself together I'm going to embarrass myself.
It's everything I imagined and nothing like I expected. Better. So much better that it actually hurts.
All those years of telling myself I was protecting her by staying away, all those nights of convincing myself she was better off without me—none of it matters now. Because she's here, beneath me, taking me into her body like she was made for this. Made for me.
When I'm finally seated fully inside her, we both go still. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, and I can see her trying to adjust to the feeling of me filling her completely.
"Okay?" I manage, though the single word takes more effort than it should.
She nods, then starts to move. Small rolls of her hips that make stars explode behind my eyelids. I follow her lead, matching her rhythm, keeping my thrusts slow and deep.
"That's it," I breathe against her ear. "You're doing so good, sweetheart. Taking me so well."
The praise makes her moan, her movements becoming more confident. I knew she liked being a good girl, but damn, I fucking love it, too. She wraps her legs around my waist, changing the angle so I'm hitting something inside her that makes her cry out.
Every sound she makes, every movement of her body beneath mine, sends me closer to the edge. I'm trying to hold on, trying to make this last, but it's like trying to hold back the tide. She feels too good, looks too perfect, sounds too much like everything I've ever wanted.
"Nash," she gasps, and I can feel her starting to tighten around me again. "I'm going to?—"
"Come for me," I grind out, my control hanging by a thread. "Want to feel you come on my cock."
She shatters with a cry that I swallow with my mouth, her body clenching around me so tight that my vision goes white. The feeling of her climaxing pushes me over the edge, and I follow her with a groan that's torn from somewhere deep in my chest.
For a moment, we just lie there, breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin. I press soft kisses to her temple, her cheek, anywhere I can reach without moving away from her.
This is what I've been missing. This connection, this feeling of being exactly where I belong. With her.
But when I lean back to look at her, something's changed. The warmth in her eyes has been replaced by something else—distance, maybe. Or regret.
She pushes at my chest, not gently, and the motion makes me slip out of her. I roll away immediately, watching as she sits up and reaches for her clothes with jerky, too-fast movements.
"Eve." My voice comes out confused, a little hurt. "What are you?—"
"I should go." She's already pulling her sweater over her head, not looking at me. "This was... I should go."
I sit up, suddenly feeling very naked and very lost. "Let me drive you home. It's late, and it's cold?—"
"I can walk." She's stepping into her jeans now, still not meeting my eyes. "It's not that far."
"Eve, wait." I reach for her arm, but she steps away from my touch like it burns. "What just happened? I thought?—"
"You thought what?" She finally looks at me, and there's something in her expression that makes my stomach drop. "That we were going to be together? That this meant something?"
The words hit me like a slap. I'm so fucking stupid because for a moment I forgot to keep those walls up and it felt like it meant something.
But I'll never be anything to Eve Turner.
Still, the words tumble out of me. "Didn't it?"
She laughs, but there's no humor in it. Just something sharp and bitter that doesn't belong on her lips. "You're leaving, Nash. Back to your important life in the city. This was just... this was just something to do while you're stuck in boring old Wintervale."
That's not true. None of that is true, but before I can find the words to tell her that, she's grabbing her jacket and heading for the door.
"Eve, please?—"
But she's already gone and before I can catch her, the front door closes behind her with a soft click that somehow sounds louder than if she'd slammed it.
I sink back onto the edge of my bed, still naked, still reeling from what just happened. The scent of her lingers on my sheets, on my skin, and it makes everything worse.
I knew this would happen. Deep down, I always knew that touching her would ruin me, that I'd never be able to go back to pretending I didn't want her. But I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, she wanted me too.
Stupid. So fucking stupid.
I fall back against the pillows, throwing an arm over my eyes. Of course she ran. Of course she regrets it. I'm the guy who's spent years being cruel to her, who kisses her and then walks away, who has pushed her away because I knew I should.
She deserves better than that. Better than me.
She always has.
The smart thing would be to let her go. To go back to Columbia and forget this ever happened, forget the way she felt in my arms, forget the sound of my name on her lips when she came.
But as I lie there in the dark, surrounded by the ghost of her presence, I know I'm already in too deep. I know that no matter how hard I try, I'll never be able to forget tonight.
And I know that when I see her again—because in a town this small, I will see her again—it's going to destroy me all over again.