32. Rory
Rory
This shouldn’t feel so scandalous. It’s not like this is some kind of illicit affair or forbidden relationship, after all.
If anything, it’s the polar opposite: my first love, a romantic getaway sanctioned by my parents, of all things.
But there’s something about being here, just the two of us, in this overly luxurious space, and maybe it’s less about exactly what we’re doing and more about everything we left behind in High Lonesome for the night.
I take a sip of wine to fortify myself, even though this is Nate. We’ve been together so many times that this should be comfortable. Familiar.
But tonight has the strange and heady combination of the safety of familiarity and the intrigue of something new.
“More than cuddle, huh?” I ask, trying for a teasing tone in answer to his question.
It seems to fall flat, the flirting note overshadowed by the need in my voice, but Nate doesn’t seem to notice.
Or perhaps he doesn’t care, because he’s in his alpha zone, where he takes control.
It’s hot as hell, but it’s also freeing. I don’t have to worry about what I say or how I move my body because he’ll tell me what he wants.
My pussy clenches at the thought.
“Yeah, babe.” Nate leans in like he’s going to kiss my cheek, but instead he scrapes his teeth along the edge of my jaw, sending tingles of electricity all the way down my body. “I don’t want to just cuddle. I want everything.”
And fuck, I want that, too. I melt into him, barely keeping hold of my wineglass.
“Come here,” he says. He lifts the long-stemmed glass from my hands.
He’s probably making sure I don’t spill it on the zillion-dollar sofa.
But then he carries it to the blanket in front of the fire and sets both glasses on the hearth, only inches from the off-white carpeting, just before he reaches over his head, grips his shirt, and pulls it off.
“I don’t want to spill.” My brain has stopped working, obviously. That’s the only explanation for why I’m worried about a carpet stain when the most gorgeous man in the world stands in front of me, shirtless.
But instead of being turned off by my neuroses, he chuckles. “I don’t fucking care, babe. This night is about us.”
And hell, his words do something to me.
Then his hands go to his belt.
My mouth dries as he undoes the buckle, unbuttons, unzips, and shoves his jeans to his ankles.
Corded muscles snake across his chest, his shoulders, his abs, and down to his thighs, leaving only a pair of boxer briefs. There’s a sizable bulge in the front.
His body isn’t new to me. But it’s been a while since I’ve stood and appreciated every inch of it.
Maybe that’s the lesson here, or why we’ve gotten so caught up in this miscommunication about all our secrets and insecurities.
It was to give us a chance to appreciate one another again.
Nate crooks a finger, silently requesting that I come closer. He steps out of his jeans as I move toward him.
I reach out and run my hands along his muscled chest and abs, letting my fingers take in the peaks and valleys of his anatomy.
Nate groans. “Rory. Fuck.”
I kiss his chest then run my fingers down again, this time letting my fingernails scrape along his skin, down to the center of his abdomen and back up, then down again.
As I reach the waistband of his boxer briefs, he grasps my wrists.
“My turn, babe.”
He pulls my arms until they’re above my head, both of my wrists in one of his large hands.
I’m still in a sweater and jeans, but standing in front of him, at his mercy like this, I’m more vulnerable and naked than ever.
He spins me around until he’s behind me and guides me toward the fireplace, where he presses my palms to the mantel. It’s high enough that I’m on my tiptoes to reach it.
It seems intentional.
“Keep those hands right there,” he says, his voice deep in my ear.
Nate slips his hands beneath the hem of my sweater to slide his palms along my waist.
Goose bumps erupt in their wake.
He moves slowly, alternating firmer touch with lighter, but never venturing beneath the hem of my jeans or to my bra.
My breath is ragged, and I’m barely holding on as he finally slides his thumbs across the front of my bra.
“Nate,” I plead.
I need more. I need him to touch me, to take me. To make me his.
“What do you need, Rory?” he says. He presses his groin against my ass, his cock hard against my jeans. “That?”
“Yes. Please. Fuck. I need that.” I’m not above begging right now. I’m so turned on that a light breeze could make me come.
Nate squeezes my hips with both hands. “I’ll give you what you need, babe. Always. Trust me.”
“I do,” I breathe.
And it’s the truth. The way he’s shown up for me, been there through everything. It’s more than anyone has ever done for me. More than I deserve, probably.
His hands find the front of my jeans. He undoes the button with practiced ease and pushes them down to my knees.
Without the fabric of my pants between us, his cock presses against my skin even more urgently.
I reach for the hem of my sweater, needing things to move faster. I need Nate inside me.
But Nate grips my wrists again and guides them back to the mantel.
“Not so fast, babe,” he says.
His voice in my ear makes me dizzy.
Instead of pulling off my sweater—God, it’s getting hot in here—he moves back to my jeans, pulling them all the way to my ankles. He gently lifts one foot, then the other, freeing my pants from my legs.
Nate tosses my jeans to the side as he straightens up and places his hands on my sides once more.
I’m sure he can see the wetness seeping through my underwear. At this point, I’m not sure I care.
He hooks his fingers beneath the hem of my sweater and lifts, leaving the tank top I’m wearing in place beneath it.
I breathe a sigh of relief as he lifts it over my head. Once the sleeves clear my arms, I return my hands to their spot on the mantel, even though all I want is for him to remove the tank top and my bra and pull my nipples into his mouth.
But I’ll wait. I’ll be a good girl for Nate.
Fuck, I’ll do anything for him.
His fingers dance along my exposed skin—so close to where I need him but so far away.
After what feels like a lifetime, he tugs my body toward his. I melt against his hard frame, my hands falling away from their position.
“Good girl,” he says. “Fuck, babe. I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” I manage.
I’m barely able to form words at this point.
How is Nate still drawing this out?
He guides me to the floor, turning me around so that when I lie back, my feet are toward the fire. I hope this is finally it. I arch my hips, trying to give him a hint.
Instead, he smirks and reaches back for his wineglass. “You need something?”
I’m ready to snap. “Dammit, Nate. Fuck me. Please.”
He tilts his glass and takes a deep sip, his eyes never leaving mine.
Oh my God, I’m going to murder this man.
I mean, not really murder. Besides the killing a cop thing, if I end his life, I’m pretty sure he won’t fuck me anymore. But you get what I mean.
After far too long, Nate sets his glass back on the hearth. He kneels above me, one knee on either side of my body, and leans down.
“I thought you liked it when I took control, Rory,” he says.
I bite my lip, because he’s not wrong.
He captures my wrists and once again traps them above my head, both in one hand. The way he holds them has him leaning down, his face close to mine.
“Just…please…” I lift my hips toward him.
“Don’t worry, babe,” he says. “I’m going to let you come. You’re going to come over and over until you can’t think about any of your worries or stresses or anything else besides the way you feel with my cock inside you.”
He slips a hand between us and presses against my clit through the sheer fabric of my panties. “With my fingers inside you. My tongue inside you.”
My head falls back as I practically come from his light touch. I close my eyes, letting the sensation wash over me.
When he stands, the emptiness of the space grows larger.
I open my eyes.
Nate picks up a glass of wine and holds it out to me, his eyes dark with lust.
I don’t break eye contact as I take it from him and drink deep.
He watches me, his gaze never slipping as he shoves down his boxer briefs, freeing his erection.
My mouth waters at the sight of it. The same perfect dick I’ve grown used to, with a drop of precum beading at the tip.
I swallow a gulp of wine.
Nate waits for me to take another sip before he reaches over and takes the glass. He sets it down, and in one movement, he pulls my tank top up and over my head.
Before I register the loss of clothing, he’s unclasping my bra, my nipples hardening despite the warmth of the fire.
I lie back on the blanket, ready for whatever Nate will give me.
I’ll give him anything.
My prayers are answered when he reaches down and pulls my underwear off.
He brings it to his nose and inhales deeply. My cheeks color, knowing that the evidence of my arousal covers the fabric.
When he sets it on the discarded pile of clothes, I meet his gaze.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful, Rory.” He lowers himself to his knees, parting my legs to settle between them. “So sweet.”
This time, when I lift my hips, he grips my thighs and lifts me higher.
“I love tasting you.” Nate lowers his head as he lifts me closer to him.
He runs his tongue along my center, first slowly, then harder and faster.
He alternates strokes as I climb higher, and when I think I can’t take any more, he presses his tongue inside me.
“Nate!” I gasp, jerking in his arms.
He laughs against me, the vibrations sending a ripple of arousal through my entire body, and then he does it again.
I buck my hips. I’m literally riding his mouth, and I have no more shame. All that exists is this feeling and my need for more.
More pressure.
More vibration.
More him.
He sucks my clit into his mouth and bites down. It’s not hard, but it’s enough to send me flying over the edge.
When my spasms die down, I realize he’s still holding me, his face inches from my center.
I pull in a ragged breath, my heartbeat starting to slow as I come back to earth.
Until his next words send my pulse skyrocketing all over again.