Chapter 16
Skylar
Don’t do this. Don’t do this.
"You don’t want to do this," he growls.
Which, of course, makes me want to prove to him I can.
I squeeze down on his throat—the tendons of which are so tense, they feel like taut guitar strings.
Then I begin to stroke my pussy up and down the column in his pants, and again.
His hold on my hips tightens. The pain slithers down to meet the friction in my core, the combination of which turns my entire center into a forest fire of sensation.
"Oh, my god." I throw my head back and close my eyes, focusing on that part where I’m abrading my pussy into the thick pillar between his legs.
He releases his hold on my hip, only to circle my nape with his thick fingers.
And when he drags his stubbled chin over the sensitive skin of my throat, goosebumps pepper my flesh.
Pinpricks radiate out from the point of contact to circle my nipples, then zip down to my clit.
It’s like every erogenous part of my body is on high-alert, and the parts I didn’t think could be turned on have developed a beating heart at their center.
My entire body has turned into a mass of tactile awareness.
The blood thuds at my temples, and my pulse booms in my ears, at my wrists, even in my clit.
My nipples throb, and my breasts are so heavy, it feels like there are weights attached to them.
He whispers his nose up my jawline and sniffs deeply.
And the act is so erotic, so carnal, like he’s breathing me in, like he wants to trap my scent in his lungs and carry it around with him, like he wants to imprint how I smell into every cell in his body, which makes it so very intimate that I feel the pulsing sensation in my clit expand out to my thighs, my belly, then speed up my spine.
My entire body has turned into a tsunami of feelings, where every inch of my skin can sense more intensely than I ever have before.
His hold on my neck tightens. It’s reassuring, and also…
Strangely, arousing… And oh, so possessive.
I draw in a breath and come up empty. The burn in my chest seems to ignite every cell in my body.
My head spins. In response, I squeeze down on his throat and feel the pulse at the base of his kick up in speed.
It mirrors the thud-thud-thud of my heart, the whoosh of blood in my veins.
My toes curl, my back curves, and when he places his mouth next to my ear, loosens his grasp on my neck so the oxygen rushes into my lungs, and commands, "Come," I shatter.
The orgasm crashes into me with the impact of a freight train and pushes me over the edge.
I float in space, weightless, filled with a euphoria I’ve never experienced before.
The happy hormones course through my bloodstream, and when they fade away, I slip against his chest. He tucks my head under his chin, cradles it at the nape of my neck, and holds me in place.
The funny thing? It doesn’t feel constricting.
If anything, it wraps a sense of security about me.
Any remnants of tension from my shoulders bleed out, and I yawn.
He drags his hand down the length of my hair, and it’s soothing but also turns me on.
He must sense it, too, for he chuckles. "Still horny, hmm?"
I try to speak, but it comes out as another yawn. He rises to his feet and suddenly, I’m in his arms. "What are you doing?"
"Taking you to bed."
"What?" I begin to struggle, but when his arms tighten, I subside. "I need to clean up and lock down for the night. I have a cake in the oven.”
“Did you set a timer?”
“Yes.” I point to the minute timer on the counter next to the oven.
“Do you have a cake tester?”
I point to the timer; the tester sits on the counter next to it.
"I’ll do it."
"You don’t know where to put things." My voice comes out slightly slurred. I try to rouse myself but end up yawning again.
“I’ll figure it out,” he murmurs.
"Nate, I really need to do this myself."
"You really don’t."
I pout. “How do you know so much about baking, anyway?”
He hesitates. “If you mean, how do I know that you need to use a timer and a cake tester to ensure the cake is ready before you put it away for the night, I thought that was common knowledge.”
“No, it’s not.” I yawn again.
“Hmm... I may have to read up more on baking.”
I blink. “Y-y-you, read up on baking?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “I’m investing in your bakery; the least I’d do is read up on the baking process.”
He’s lying. That's not the only reason he read up on baking. I bet he did it because he has feelings for me, and I love baking. But if I confront him, he’ll only deny it, so with the remnants of what clarity of thought I have left, I manage to slur, “There’s a spare key to my apartment in the bottom drawer of my desk in my office. ”
He stiffens.
“You’re giving me a key to your apartment?”
“Hmm…” I brush my cheek against the smooth material of his jacket, then turn my face into it and breathe deeply. Cinnamon, pepper, that ocean-breeze scent that is so very Nathan fills my lungs.
“You sure you want me to have the key?”
“After that orgasm? You bet. Also, if we want this charade to work, then shouldn’t you have access to my place?” I yawn deeply.
The last thing I remember is being tucked into bed. When I wake up, the only light comes from the moon that streams in. I reach for my phone—which is where I normally keep it on the nightstand. The clock on the screen says 3 a.m.. I put it back, turn on my side, and come face-to-face with Nathan.
He’s stretched out on top of the covers.
He’s removed his jacket, tie, and shoes, but otherwise, he’s fully dressed.
His white shirt has the top two buttons undone.
In the dim light, I can make out what seems to be the outline of a tattoo peeking out from under his lapels.
There’s also a silver chain with what seems like dog-tags which has fallen over his collar.
I reach out to touch it and gasp when he grabs my wrist. I look up to find him glaring at me out of those mismatched eyes.
The shadows beneath his cheekbones are pronounced, the stubble on his chin thicker than what it was a few hours ago.
With his narrowed gaze and his flared nostrils, he could be the anti-hero in a romance novel or the villain in an action flick.
He brings my hand to his mouth, then wraps his finger around my ring finger, which now sports my ring. His ring. My ring. He slides my finger across his tongue until my digit disappears inside his mouth. He covers my ring with his lips and sucks.
I feel the tug in my most intimate parts, deep inside me.
I’m instantly wet, the moisture sliding down the inside of my thigh.
He draws in a sharp breath, and I swear, he can smell my arousal.
And how horny I am right now. I inch forward until we’re touching from thigh to chest, and when he releases my finger with a pop and brings it to my mouth, I suck on the wetness, and it feels like I’m tasting his need.
He releases his hold on my wrist, only to dig his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck.
When he tugs, I’m forced to tip my chin up, baring my throat to him.
It’s a sign of submission, a clear invitation to him to own me, to mark me, to run his nose up my throat and sniff me again.
I close my eyes and lean toward him, and when I feel his breath on my lips, a whine spills from me.
I don’t care that I sound so needy, so greedy, so ravenous in my craving for him.
I wait for him to kiss me, and he does. He bypasses my lips and presses his own to my forehead.
Then he releases me. I snap my eyes open in time to watch him swing his legs over the side of the bed, slip into his shoes, and straighten.
"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen last evening." Turning, he grabs his jacket from the back of the chair, where he must have placed it earlier, and strides across the floor of my studio apartment.
What the—! I sit up and call out to him, "Don’t you dare leave, Nathan."
He doesn’t stop.
"Oh, I almost forgot; you’ve had so much practice running. It’s what you do best, isn’t it? When things get real, you cut and run."
He pauses at the door, then grips the doorframe before he turns to look at me over his shoulder. "That’s right. And you’d do best to remember it."