6. Rory
Rory
Iknow it’s not rational, but something rises in my chest every time I think of Nate standing up on a stage, everyone in town bidding on the chance of winning a date with my boyfriend.
Jealousy? No, that’s not it. I mean, obviously I’d be jealous, but Nate would never cheat on me. I know that truth in my bones.
He gives me a lopsided grin, one side of his lips quirking up playfully. “You scared someone else might win that date?”
The sensation shoots through me again, quick and sharp, and this time I recognize it, thanks to Nate’s teasing.
Fear.
Not just that someone else might win the auction, although that’s definitely part of it.
Fear that I’ll mess all of this up again.
Nate stood by me while my mom was sick, kept trying to win me back even when I had almost given up on us.
How much can he take? At some point, he’s going to figure out that I’m not worth all the stress.
I swallow hard. I’m well over the limit of how much stress one human should cause another, and that solidifies my decision to wait to tell him about the pregnancy test.
Nate has taken all the drama that comes with being in a relationship with me in stride, but there’s only so much one man can take. I promised to never lie to him or keep things from him, but there’s a difference between that and waiting for confirmation before roping someone into yet another mess.
Another test to check—or maybe five—and then I’ll make sure he’s up to date.
Nate steps closer to me as I meet his eyes. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is soothing.
"Look.” His gaze locks on mine. “I promise that no matter what happens at this ridiculous pageant, I'm yours. Only yours. Bachelor auction or not."
As if to seal his words, he wraps one arm around my waist, spins me as he brings the other to the back of my neck, and pulls me into his hard body before dipping his head to kiss me.
He devours me, hot and heavy. His lips are firm against my mouth as he takes control. They press hard enough to bruise, and I meet him with the same need.
He catches my bottom lip between his teeth, biting just hard enough to offer a tease of pain before running his tongue over the spot to soothe it away.
When I finally gasp for air, he uses the opening to slide his tongue between my lips. I moan as he explores my mouth. Owns me. Claims me.
His hands move to my hips. He digs his fingers into my flesh as he holds me tight. Pulls me closer.
And I lose myself in the kiss, letting everything else disappear.
The simmering pot on the stove fades from my consciousness as Nate bites down on my lip again.
The pregnancy test slips from my mind as he presses my lips wider. I surrender to him, because in this moment, it’s just him. Just me.
Just us.
I barely register reality when his hand disappears from my hips. I open my eyes just enough to realize he’s reaching around our bodies, turning something on the stove.
And then he kisses me again, deep and slow, and spaghetti is the farthest thing from my mind.
It feels like it’s been forever and not nearly long enough when he pulls back, both of us breathing hard.
“Nate,” I whisper.
There are so many words, so many emotions and promises between us, but his name is all I can manage.
“You’re mine, Rory. Forever. And nothing is going to change that. Got it?” He kisses me again.
His lips are somehow gentle yet demanding. It’s all-consuming in a way that a first kiss after decades of yearning would be, even though it’s only been hours. The man kisses the way a virtuoso plays the piano.
My knees weaken, and I lean farther into him for support. God, I love this man. I want to kiss him every single day for the rest of my life.
But even as he expertly plays my body, I need more. More than a kiss.
I need to prove that he’s mine. That not only does he want me but also that I’m enough for him.
That I can keep a man like Nate Patterson.
He fought for me, waited for me, and I need him to know that I’m all in on this.
Breaking the kiss, I sink to my knees. I haven’t thought this out at all, so the way the mat in front of the stove cushions my knees is a pleasant surprise.
I don’t think this is what Martha Stewart had in mind when she recommended rugs or mats in certain areas of the kitchen, but then again, you never know.
Now is not the time for Martha Stewart, though. I only have one thought going through my head.
With that thought in mind, I undo Nate’s belt. I hold eye contact as I draw the zipper down, then tug down the uniform pants that hug his ass in the most delicious way.
As I reach for the waistband of his plaid boxers, his cock is already hard, tenting the cotton. I slide the fabric down and free his erection, and when his length bobs in front of me in all its glory, I almost lick my lips.
I need this.
A small drop of precum beads at the tip. I lean forward to lick it away, then look up.
From this angle, my lashes frame his face. His pupils are dilated, his cheeks flushed. A swell of pride rises in my chest at the effect I have on this man.
I do it again because I need this as much as he does.
His chest rises and falls as he breathes faster. When I flatten my tongue along the back of his penis and draw it toward the tip, he lets out a groan.
I’ve always loved this. Not just for the sense of power, although there is that. Even though I’m on my knees, I’m controlling his reactions. Driving him wild.
I love being the one who does this to him. The one who gets to see how he looks when he finally loses control and comes because of me.
"Rory," Nate groans.
His voice is strained. He laces his fingers through my hair, then tightens his fists, and I gasp at the tiny burst of pain at the pull against my scalp.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," I whisper, then take him back into my mouth and suck him deep.
The very fact that he’s telling me that I don’t have to makes me want to do this for him even more. I reach up to palm his balls and tug, eliciting another groan before I ease off.
"I need to." Before he has a chance to reply, I resume my teasing, sucking just the tip for a minute before pulling more of him into my mouth.
“Fuck. Rory.” His voice is almost pained.
I lean closer, until my nose hits his stomach, relaxing my throat so he slides as deep as possible.
I’m doing this to him. I can make him lose control.
He’s mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Nate’s fingers tighten in my hair as I pleasure him. It’s not pushing or pulling. He’s not controlling anything.
For now, he’s letting me set the pace.
I lose myself in the taste of him, in the sounds he makes above me, the way he’s lost in me.
For these moments, I can forget about pregnancy tests and grief and pageants and all the complications of real life. I can forget everything.
"Fuck, Rory.” The words are harsh, as if he’s barely hanging on.
I cup his balls in one hand and lightly tug. I love the feeling of power that comes with bringing him to this point, the idea that he can completely lose himself with me.
Without warning, he pulls himself from my mouth, tugs me to stand, and turns me so quickly my head spins, and I gasp as I try to regain my bearings.
I barely register what’s happening. Nate’s strong arms bend me over the kitchen counter, his hand splayed across my lower back. I grasp for purchase as my forearms stretch along the cold granite.
Nate tugs my jeans down with his free hand.
When did he undo the button?
My panties slide down to meet them, probably with a telltale wet mark on the gusset. The fabric bites into my knees as Nate’s leg presses between my thighs to open me wide.
“I need to be inside you, babe,” he rasps.
I don’t fight it as he retakes control. I need this, too.
He runs a finger along my center, and that’s when I realize that I’m so wet I’m practically dripping. The arousal grows as his fingers explore between my legs.
When he notches his cock at my entrance, hard and hot, I’m almost panting with need.
"Yes," I breathe.
I push back against him, needing more, needing him inside me.
He enters me in one smooth thrust, driving inside me and filling me up. This position lets him open me differently from our usual lovemaking, lets him drive deeper to hit a spot far inside me, and fuck, it’s so good.
So. Fucking. Good.
The stretch is delicious. It almost borders on the tiniest bit of pain as his groin grinds against my ass, his cock so deep inside me I feel it everywhere.
I bite my lip to keep from crying out too loudly.
Holy hell.
"God, you feel amazing," Nate groans, his hands gripping my hips tightly as he pulls out and slams into me again.
I feel the same, but I’m unable to form words right now.
All I can do is hold on to the counter as Nate sets a relentless pace, each thrust pushing me farther across the counter and farther toward the edge.
The slow cooker rattles slightly with our movements, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if I remembered to put the lid back on.
But who the fuck cares at a time like this?
Spam barks once from somewhere in the house, but I can't focus on anything but the sensation of Nate moving inside me.
"Mine," Nate growls, leaning over to press his chest against my back. He nips at my shoulder, then soothes the spot with his tongue. "All mine."
"Yours," I manage, gasping as he changes the angle slightly to hit a spot that makes my vision blur. “Oh God, Nate. Always yours."
I'm close, so close, the pressure building with each thrust.
Nate reaches around, his fingers finding my clit with practiced ease, and that’s what pushes me over the edge.
The orgasm crashes through me, stealing my breath and making my legs shake. I bite down on my arm to muffle my cries.
Nate follows moments later, his rhythm faltering as he pulses inside me, his groan hot against my ear.
We stay like that, connected and breathing hard, bent over the counter, for several long moments.
"Still worried about the bachelor auction?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my shoulder while he holds me close.
I laugh, feeling boneless and satisfied. “I’m feeling a little better.”
Nate’s cock is still half hard as he jerks his hips, giving me one final thrust. “Just a little?”
I shiver with the aftershocks of my climax and press back into him. I’m not ready for our bodies to separate just yet.
“Maybe more than a little.”
“That’s more like it.”
I tilt my head backward against his shoulder. “If you want to make sure, I can try to stress about our relationship a little more often. I might need lots of reassurance.”
Nate’s laugh vibrates through me. “You don’t have to worry, babe. But if it’ll help you out, I’m happy to provide that service any time.”
“Promise?” I’m trying for a flirty tone, but Nate just fucked me six ways from Sunday. It comes out more as a croak.
“Mmm-hmm.” He holds me close for another few seconds.
I miss him as soon as he slides out of me. I used to wonder how people could work with their significant other or live with them or just spend so much time together. I thought they’d get tired of one another or need a break. After all, I’ve always needed time away from other people in the past.
Not with Nate, though. When he’s gone, I just want him more. Even now, with him a few feet away from me, I miss having our bodies in contact.
Maybe all you need is the right person for everything to fall into place.
Nate kisses my shoulder. “The pasta might be a little overdone.”
I snort with laughter as I turn to look at the pot, coming back to reality. “I’m not too worried about—”
A flash of movement catches my eye.
Goddamn it.