26. Nash #2
The way she looks at me—like I'm something worth having, worth forgiving—undoes every defense I've spent years building.
Her hands are gentle as they explore the ink covering my arms, tracing the lines of tattoos I got after she left, each one a mark of the darkness I thought made me unworthy of her.
"You got more," she says softly, her fingertips ghosting over my chest and down my arms.
"Had to fill the time somehow." I work at my belt, my hands not quite steady. I'm practically buzzing with adrenaline, my mind spinning and not completely believing this is real. "Couldn't exactly drink you out of my system."
She reaches for my hands, stilling them. "Let me."
The simple request makes my breath catch.
Eve's fingers are delicate as they work my belt free, then the button and zipper of my jeans.
Every brush of her skin against mine sends fire through my veins, but there's something almost reverent in the way she touches me.
Like she's trying to memorize every inch.
I let her push the denim down my hips, shifting off the mattress to kicking it off, until I'm completely bare before her. Her gaze travels over me with an appreciation that makes my cock throb, but it's the tenderness in her expression that nearly breaks me apart.
"Come here," she whispers, reaching for me.
I settle over her again, skin to skin, and the sensation is almost overwhelming. She's so soft beneath me, all warm curves and gentle sighs. This is what I've been denying myself for years—this perfect fit, the way her body seems made for mine.
"Eve," I breathe against her mouth, cupping her face in my hands. "I need you to understand something."
She looks up at me with those warm brown eyes, waiting.
"I never hated you. Not for a single second." The words come out rough, scraped raw from my throat. "Every cruel thing I said, every time I pushed you away—it was because I cared too much. Because I was terrified of what you meant to me, and I never thought I could be enough for you."
I'm still not sure I am, but I'll be damned if I don't fix that. I will become the man she deserves because no one else will.
Her fingers trace the line of my jaw, and I lean into the touch like a man starved. "I know," she says softly. "I can see it now, the way you looked at me. The things you did. I know it wasn't because I meant nothing. You wouldn't go out of your way that much for someone that meant nothing."
"I was trying to protect you from me." I press my forehead against hers, breathing her in. "From the darkness I carry, from the things I'm capable of. But I did it all wrong, didn't I? I should have trusted you to make your own choices."
"We both made mistakes," she says, pulling me down for a soft kiss. "But they're in the past now. We're here, and that's what matters."
The forgiveness in her voice, the absolute certainty—it breaks something open inside my chest. All these years I've been carrying the weight of my choices, convinced I'd destroyed any chance we might have had. But she's here, offering me absolution I don't deserve.
"Now that you remember everything, I don't want you to think this has been some kind of trick. This isn't an act," I tell her fiercely, needing her to understand. "The way I've been treating you, taking care of you—this is who I am with you. Who I've always wanted to be."
"I know." She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer. "I can feel the difference, Nash. This is real."
I kiss her then, pouring every apology, every confession, every moment of longing into the connection between us. She tastes like redemption, like coming home after years of wandering in the wilderness. Her mouth opens under mine, welcoming me in, and I lose myself in the sweetness of her response.
My hands roam her body with desperate reverence, relearning every curve and hollow.
She arches into my touch when I palm her breast, rolling the peaked nipple between my fingers.
The soft moan she makes goes straight to my cock, but I force myself to go slow.
This isn't just about pleasure—it's about worship, about showing her exactly what she means to me.
"I've thought about this every day," I confess against her throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the delicate line of her neck. "About holding you like this, touching you without any walls between us."
"Nash," she breathes, her hands fisting in my hair as I work my way lower.
I take her nipple into my mouth, sucking gently before grazing it with my teeth. The way she responds—back arching, breath hitching—makes pride surge through me. She's so responsive, so honest in her pleasure. Nothing like the guarded girl I pushed away all those years ago.
"You're perfect," I murmur against her skin, lavishing the same attention on her other breast. "So fucking perfect, and I was an idiot to ever let you go."
My hand slides between her thighs, finding her still slick and ready from before. She gasps as I circle her clit with gentle pressure, her hips rolling against my touch. I could spend hours just watching her face as I touch her, cataloging every expression of pleasure.
"Please," she whispers, her legs falling open wider in invitation. "I need you, Nash. All of you."
The desperation in her voice undoes me completely. I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock sliding through her wetness. She's so warm, so perfect, and every instinct I have is screaming at me to bury myself deep and never let go.
"Look at me," I say, waiting until her eyes focus on mine. "Keep those pretty eyes on me, Eve."