Chapter 30 #2
Holly kissed her way down, tongue trailing heat over the sweat at his pulse point, and Nate felt his knees almost give out. She rocked against him again, thighs locked, grinding into the thick, rigid proof of how far gone he already was. She was ruthless. It was a fucking art form.
“We shouldn’t,” he choked, every word scraped from the back of his throat like it might anchor him to something solid. It didn’t. Not with her pressed into him like sin itself. “Someone might see.”
“But I want to,” she panted, breath hot against his jaw, lips swollen from kissing him like she meant to break skin.
“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead dropping to hers as his hands slid down her back to grip her ass, greedy and shaking. “So do I.” He slipped his hands beneath the waistband of her shorts, palms finding bare, burning skin. No underwear. No fucking barrier.
That was it. That was the fucking match that would burn this all down.
Nate’s restraint snapped clean and brutal like a hockey stick under intense pressure.
Nate didn’t even realize he’d growled until she gasped, her body arching into him like it wanted to be devoured.
His hands slipped back to her waist, spinning her around forcibly until she was pinned against the rooftop’s glass balustrade with the heavy weight of his body pressing into her from behind.
There was no stopping him now. His thick fingers curled around the front of her hipbones like they’d been designed to give him leverage.
He yanked her flush against him, digging his throbbing cock into the channel between her perfect ass cheeks like it was his reward for being such a good fucking boy.
“You think I don’t dream about you riding me raw in front of every motherfucker in this city?” he rasped, voice unrecognizable. He towered behind her before he leaned down, curving his broad body along her back like he’d be her own personal apocalypse.
“Every rehearsal.” His teeth grazed the nape of her neck.
She shuddered against him, the vibration rolling right through his balls and forcing him to bite back a moan.
“I’ve been a fucking saint, Holly,” he told her, voice thick with sins he needed to confess.
“You don’t even know the half of what I’ve been holding back. ”
He fisted the front of her tank top and dragged it up over her ribs like it was in his way, exposing just one of her impossibly soft breasts like it was the Ark of the damn Covenant.
Holly whimpered and then moaned when his fingertips closed over her aching nipple, plucking at it as though it was her last nerve and he was gonna use it to play a symphony.
“You want me to fuck you, Martinez?” he growled.
Holly didn’t answer with words. She made a softly broken sound, more sigh than anything, and arched herself back into him as though her body could speak for her. Her head tipped back, lips parted, and she dragged in a breath like please, please, please lived just under her skin.
“Oh no,” he murmured, his lips moving against the sensitive skin just behind her ear. “You don’t get to do that. Not this time, baby.”
His hand skimmed under the waistband of her shorts, palm flat against her lower belly like a warning. “Use your words, Holly. Let me hear it.”
She whimpered, and Nate felt his restraint shatter like glass. He curled around her from behind, one hand still stroking her tit while the other skimmed low, just shy of mercy.
“I asked,” he rasped, his voice rough against her ear, “if you want me to fuck you?” He let his hand slip between her thighs, just enough to tease, not enough to give. Her hips rolled up into his hand like she was chasing salvation.
“Say it.” He dragged just the tip of his index finger faintly across her slick heat. “Or I’ll fucking stop.”
She moaned and reached down, threading her fingers through his as though she thought she could keep him from fulfilling his threat. Her breath caught in a needy sob.
“Yes,” she gasped, hips rolling into his like she could will him deeper just from the want alone. “Yes, Nate—fuck me. Please.” The word cracked on her tongue, shameless and sweet, and it shattered what was left of his control like sugar glass.
Nate couldn’t take it anymore. Any semblance of control he’d been clinging to left the chat.
He yanked her shorts down just far enough to bare her completely to the night air, fingers continuing with featherlight strokes against her slick core.
His other hand was already working his jeans open and reefing a condom out from his pocket with desperate efficiency.
She gasped as he crowded in behind her, hard and thick, lining himself up like he’d been dreaming of this exact angle for weeks.
He reached without looking, fingers sure, muscle memory kicking in as he tore the foil with his teeth and rolled the condom on in a rough, practiced stroke that made his vision blur.
Then he let himself slide against her, his full length feeling exactly how wet she was for him.
His forehead dropped to her shoulder as he groaned roughly, like the act of not being inside her yet was the hardest thing he’d ever fucking done.
She was already soaked, already shaking, already his.
Nate couldn’t stop, couldn’t go slow. He buried himself inside her with one desperate thrust, the maddening slide of her body welcoming him like it had been waiting forever.
He gave her two deep, perfect thrusts, hips snapping hard, barely holding on.
Her gasp hit his ears like a bomb detonating, and Nate’s grip on her hips turned bruising as he pressed his forehead to the back of her neck for just one moment, cursing low and reverent.
Holly gasped, and then arched back into him like she was starving for this exact moment.
He was already so fucking close it was ridiculous.
“Fuck, you feel—”
A notification buzzed on her phone. Once. Then again. Then a third time, like it knew it didn’t belong in this moment but refused to be ignored.
Holy’s gaze fell to the screen lighting up beside them on the rooftop concrete next to them.
And then she froze. The heat in her veins turned to ice, tension snapping through her body like a pulled wire.
Nate stilled instantly, still balls deep inside her as though his life depended on how well he fucked her.
His hands locked on her hips, leaning forward with concern as he felt the shift in her.
She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.
“What?” he asked, blinking, voice hoarse and breathless. But she was already peeling away from him, tugging up her shorts as she bent to grab her phone. When she finally turned to him, her face crumpled. Like someone had punched through her from the inside.
“It’s my mom,” she whispered, voice smaller than he’d ever heard it. And that was all it took. Nate was already tidying himself up. No hesitation. No questions.
“Let’s go,” he said, steady and low. Because if her world was falling apart? He wouldn’t let her face it alone.