Chapter Sixteen ~ Fiona #3
He lowers my top, the backs of his fingers brushing my stomach and making me shiver. “It’s beautiful, Fi. It suits you.” I half expect him to move away and suggest we head home, but he shifts me so we resume our positions from a few minutes ago.
He leans forward to shut off the overhead light and turn up the music.
It’s completely innocent and there’s nothing remotely sexual about it, but the slow drag of his body against mine makes me gasp.
I close my eyes tightly, hoping he didn’t hear me.
The way he freezes indicates otherwise. He eases back, his warm breath ghosting over the side of my face as his arm tightens around me.
He nuzzles his nose into my hair and inhales deeply the way he often used to.
His fingers trail lightly over the back of my hand.
I feel like a horny teenager, because even that movement is turning me on.
I press closer to him, and he lets out a quiet sigh, dropping his face into the crook of my neck.
His hand slips to rest on my stomach, his pinky brushing back and forth on the bit of exposed skin there.
He slides his hand under my shirt, pressing his large, warm palm to my stomach before tracing feather-light patterns on my skin with the tips of his fingers.
His breathing grows heavier as I begin to squirm. His face is still buried in my neck, and he inches back just enough to press his lips directly over my racing pulse. I feel lightheaded as his hand slides higher, the backs of his fingers brushing the undersides of my bare breasts.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his low, rough voice in my ear causing heat to surge through me and pool between my legs.
I let out a breathy laugh of surprise. It’s more than okay. I have no fucking clue what’s happening right now, but whatever it is, I want it. Need it. “Don’t stop.”
He grips my hips and maneuvers us until I’m nestled between his legs.
I arch against him, feeling his hardening length press into my lower back.
His light touch is replaced by a more possessive one as he cups my breast and squeezes gently, just the way I’ve always liked.
Another memory from our teen years flits through my mind: us discovering each other’s bodies with our hands and mouths.
Before Nathan, I’d never really explored my own body, so it was a learning experience for both of us.
After some initial shyness, I became vocal about what I did and didn’t like, and Nathan was a pro at following directions.
There was a time when he knew my body as well as I did, could map out my pleasure with precision, and give me the most mind-blowing orgasms.
I wonder if sense memory has taken over, because he plays with my breasts the way I like, gentle and teasing one minute, and rough the next.
I’m reminded just how much I always loved the feel of his work-roughened hands against my skin.
The physical sensations, paired with the soft rasping sound, create the most sensual combination.
I press back harder, angling my ass to rub against Nathan’s erection.
His groan has me biting my lip to hold in a moan of my own.
His hand leaves my breast and I hold my breath, worried this is the moment sense returns and he puts a stop to this.
Instead, his hand settles low on my belly once more.
He’s motionless for a few beats, and my breath comes out in a rush as I nod, hoping that’s what he’s waiting for.
It must be. His fingers begin moving back and forth against my skin, dipping further under the waistband of my pajama pants with each pass.
My stomach muscles quiver under his touch.
I never could control my body’s reactions to Nathan.
Normally, I would take charge—place my hand over his and guide it down, or maybe even straddle him so I could see his face and look into his beautiful eyes—but I’m afraid to break whatever spell we’re under in case he stops touching me.
So I remain as still as possible, breathing hard and biting my tongue to keep myself from begging him to ease the throbbing ache between my legs.
When his hand finally slides into my panties, I let out a soft cry. He groans as he runs his fingers through my wetness with torturous slowness.
“God, Fiona,” he says reverently. “Some things really never do change.”
I’d forgotten how he was always amazed, almost humbled even, by how wet he could make me. How I was always ready for him. Simply being in his presence was often enough to turn me on. He’s right about some things never changing.
His fingers circle my clit, slowly at first, his touch light and almost teasing. When I say his name, breathless and needy, he picks up the pace. I ride his hand while the other grasps my hip so tightly, I’m certain I’ll have fingerprint-shaped bruises on me tomorrow. I don’t mind one bit.
The tension inside me builds and builds, reaching a crescendo that feels like a spiralling free fall.
My cries of pleasure ring out in the small space, mixed with the sounds of Nathan’s heavy breathing.
Hin me’s thrusting against my back now, and as his fingers continue to wring out every bit of my pleasure, he releases a stifled groan in my ear before going very still.
My eyelids droop as I float on the weightless sensation of dazed euphoria.
I haven’t experienced anything that intense in…
I don’t know how long. Wanting to prolong the high, I maneuver myself so I’m kneeling on the bench seat, hands planted on Nathan’s shoulders with the intention of straddling him.
I lean in to kiss him, but he grips my upper arms to stop me.
Instead of the lust haze I expected—the one that’s no doubt lingering in my own eyes—I’m met with a pained expression. He meets my gaze just long enough for me to see that his pupils are so dilated, there’s only a sliver of blue showing.
“I can’t, Fi,” he says, his firm grip at odds with his wavering voice. “I’m sorry. I…I just can’t. I shouldn’t have let it get this far.”
I’m so taken aback, I can’t speak. I free myself from his grip and flop back inelegantly in my seat. When I finally find my voice again, I say, “I’m not sorry. We’re adults, Nathan. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
His brows snap together over stormy eyes. His tone is defensive when he says, “I know that.”
“Well, then…” I look at him expectantly.
He stares back at me, his expression unreadable. Finally, he lets out a deep sigh and angles away from me to turn on the truck. “I should get you home. It’s been a long day.”
I nod, even though he’s not looking at me, and shift back to put my seatbelt on.
Neither of us speaks as we drive through the dark, deserted streets of Honeywell.
Only minutes ago, the truck was filled with sexual tension, and Nathan was touching me in a way that made me feel both grounded and as if I could sprout wings and fly.
Now the small space feels claustrophobic, filled with an entirely different kind of tension.
As we turn onto our street, part of me wishes Nathan would do what he did the other night: take me home with him instead of dropping me at my parents’ place.
We could talk about what’s happening between us…
or not talk at all. That would work too.
I want Nathan’s hands back on my body, his skin against my skin.
I want to kiss him and touch him and feel him buried deep inside me.
I hadn’t allowed myself to want Nathan for a long time before that night last December.
Hadn’t allowed myself to think about him as anything other than my first love and former best friend.
That night stirred up all kinds of things—long-buried feelings, yes, but so much more than that.
It was a reminder of how good we were together, how much I loved him, how there was a time when I was certain he was The One.
I buried those feelings again after that night, but they’ve been creeping up on me since my return to Honeywell.
“Fiona?”
I pull myself from my thoughts to see we’re stopped in front of my parents’ house. Mum’s house? No, it’ll always be theirs. Dad will live on inside those walls as much as he will within this town and in the hearts of those who loved him.
“Are you okay?” Nathan asks, his voice laced with concern. I glance at him to find that same concern mirrored on his face.
I let out a mirthless laugh. “I don’t even know how to answer that anymore.
” A sudden wave of exhaustion washes over me, leaving my limbs heavy and my head fuzzy.
I feel like I’m moving through quicksand as I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach for the door handle.
I jump, startled, when the passenger door opens.
I didn’t even hear Nathan get out of the truck, but there he is, silently offering me his hand.
I’m almost afraid to touch him, but I’m equally afraid of collapsing into a boneless heap on the sidewalk. I take his hand, expecting him to release me once my feet hit the ground, but he links our fingers and urges me to lean on him as he leads me toward the house.
He doesn’t let go until we reach the front door. As his hand slips from mine, I grasp his wrist to check the time on his watch.
“Happy birthday, Nathan,” I say.
He gives me an almost sad half-smile, but doesn’t say anything. His gaze remains steady on my face for several seconds before he nods. “Good night, Fiona. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Once inside, I lock up, then make my way through the dark house. I startle again when I open my bedroom door and find Mila sitting on the edge of my bed.
“I got up to use the bathroom, and heard Nathan’s truck pull up. Something told me you’d need me.” She stands and catches me as I lunge toward her, wrapping her arms around me.
“Have I told you how glad I am that you’re here?” I murmur against her shoulder.
“Yes, and I expect you to tell me again tomorrow. And the day after that too.” She squeezes me and then releases me.
Exhaustion washes over me again, and I collapse onto the mattress. Mila crawls into the far side of the bed and rolls me so I’m on my side, facing away from her. Tears prickle my eyes as she moves in behind me until she’s spooning me…and I’m asleep within seconds.