Chapter 5 #2
He rubs a thumb along the inside of my knee, absentminded but grounding.
The touch draws a soft breath from me. Smiling, he sets his glass aside.
His thumb lingers at the back of my mid-thigh, searing through my leggings.
I snake my hand up the firm line of his arm, over the subtle flex of muscle, and slide my fingers around the back of his neck.
He leans in, his breath warm against my cheek. “It’s so good to have you home.”
The words shouldn’t hit as hard as they do, but there’s an edge to his voice. His thumb drifts higher, brushing against my hipbone under my shirt. When I tilt my head, he leans in more.
“I missed you too.”
“Good. Glad to know it’s mutual.” His voice dropped an octave.
I laugh under my breath, but it dies when his gaze flickers to my mouth, then back to my eyes. For less than a second, he stops long enough to make sure he isn’t the only one closing the distance between us. He exhales, half relief, half anticipation when it’s clear I’m meeting him halfway.
The kiss starts tender, so familiar with each other’s rhythms, it deepens, unhurried. He slides his palms up my sides. When I shift, he catches my waist, guiding me onto his lap, and the eager moan that escapes me draws a low laugh from him.
“I love you, Robyn,” he says against my throat.
I trace the faint line of stubble along his jaw, the familiar dimple in the center of his chin, the sculpted dip of his Cupid’s bow, and that soft groove leading up toward his nose.
It deepens when he smiles. I’ve kissed that curve a hundred times, but I still feel the tug of it—the quiet ache to imprint myself right there and taste the breath that catches.
“Then don’t stop.” I intended a command but delivered a plea.
Nate doesn’t make me beg, though. His lips fall back on mine with a desperation I return wholeheartedly. There’s this intensity between us that’s always simmering, lulled in the demands of our routines. Right now, it’s boiling and overflowing.
We strip each other with urgency because the fabric in the way is an offense.
Skin against skin doesn’t calm the hunger; it only sharpens it.
Between quick breaths and dragging his mouth against my nipples, he asks if we should go to the bedroom.
Something about the blinds. About how anyone could see.
“There’s”—I tug at his hair—“no”—my nails rake down his back, and red marks bloom on his skin—“time.”
Biting his shoulder, I push him down, exploring the hard lines of his chest and abs.
I caress the ridges and dips I know by heart.
Nate’s thick body hair catches in my fingers.
The scent of his body wash clings to him—cedar and fresh pine—heightening my arousal.
He shifts to take off his boxers, and his thick length slaps against his stomach.
A bead of precum forms at the tip of his head coming to rest against his belly button.
His cock throbs, red and eager, veins pulsing with every heartbeat.
I’m ravenous for him, so I lick him from base to crown, flattening my tongue against the throbbing vein on the underside.
Saliva pools at the back of my throat and runs down his shaft as I lap at every vein and ridge on his dick.
Wrapping my lips around the head, I hollow my cheeks and swirl my tongue.
“Shit, Robyn,” he groans, head falling back. “I love it when you go down on me.”
Smiling with his cock in my mouth, I rub my lips over the hardened vein just under the head, and warm wetness runs down my neck. He’s groaning, growing firmer in my mouth. I gather what’s spilled over and use it to massage his tightening balls.
“Sweet thing, if you don’t ease up, I’m going to shoot my cum down your throat.”
I don’t want that, not today. I want to feel him pulsing and spilling inside me, so I release him with a pop.
He whines and pants heavily, but I’m already standing, finding room to straddle him so I can ride him.
As I lower myself, he digs his fingers in my hips, holding me in place.
For a second, I hover, knees braced on either side of him.
He straightens his back, breath hot against the hollow of my throat.
He’s right there; I’m wet and ready. All it would take is an inch down from me or an upward push from him, and we’d meet.
The need to take him, to guide him in, makes me shiver.
But that’s not his plan.
In a smooth movement, he turns us, bodies sliding against the cushions until I’m flat on my back and he’s above me braced on his forearms. The air catches in my chest. His hair falls forward, ends brushing my cheek as he looks down at me with wild intensity.
His cock hits my swollen clit, and he grinds in a maddening rhythm, each sway rubbing his head against me—my own saliva and his precum wets my clit and dampens the curls on my pussy.
I follow his spine, feeling the muscles and bones arching with the rocking of his hips.
He slips, hitting my entrance, and I think he’ll slide right in with the way he’s been grinding, but he doesn’t.
In a seamless, deliberate motion, I find myself sitting, breathless, pulse echoing in my throat.
Nate kneels between my legs, palms sliding up the inside of my thighs so softly I feel worshipped, loved, and teased to insanity.
Everything he does and says caters to what he knows I crave.
“You did that on purpose,” he says, slapping my clit with his dick.
“You took me right to the edge, right until my head was swollen between your lips and ready to explode, only to pull back.” His tongue laps at my left nipple until it pebbles.
“Lucky for you, my girl, I like it better inside your cunt. Especially with how you milk me when I make you come.” He smirks.
“And you know how easy I do that, don’t you? ”
He dives between my legs, lapping at my clit, determined to get me there.
I drop my head, and it bumps the wall behind the couch, but I don’t care.
All that matters is Nate’s wet tongue circling me and the way he sucks so hard that all I can do is scream and come against his mouth.
As I reach the peak, my toes curl, waiting for that swirling pressure he does to prolong my orgasm.
He pulls away, though, and now it’s me who whimpers.
A second later, he’s thrusting into me, and I clench his girth, reveling in him pounding in and out, fingers on my clit, teeth on my shoulder.
Nothing hurts, but every movement carries demand and ownership.
I try to push his hand away. It’s too much.
“Come on, Robyn,” he murmurs against my earlobe, licking, a whiff of my arousal hitting me from his breath.
I shake my head, and he lowers his mouth to the hollow of my throat, then moves farther down and wraps his lips around my right nipple, drawing as much of my breast into his mouth as he can.
To reach, he arches his back, which makes his thrusts shallower.
He doesn’t slow down, though. The widest part drags in and out quickly, angling upward so it glides against the spot behind my clit every time he pushes inside, fast and relentless.
His crown broadens, signaling he’s close, and the low moan he lets out, my breast vibrating in his mouth, adds to his tell.
“Now, sweet thing, show me how you come so beautifully around my cock.”
His words have me shattering around him, and my scream is swallowed by his lips as he groans his pleasure into me, each twitch sending another rope of cum coating my insides.
I’m not sure how long it takes us to catch our breath.
Nate takes some of his weight off by sitting on his knees, torso still draped over mine, heart thundering against my ribs.
Or maybe it’s mine pounding against his.
He kneads my arms, legs, shoulders, and neck, and I soak up his attention, marveling at how he can ravage me with his cock and fulfill my deepest needs with the gentlest of touches.
It doesn’t matter how hot or mind-blowing sex with Nathan Leighton is, it’s his care that makes me fall more hopelessly in love with him every time.
“I missed you in my bed,” I whisper, and kiss his chest.
“I know, sweetness.” He presses his lips against the bite mark on my shoulder and continues massaging my calves and ankles.
“Why didn’t you come?”
I don’t want to sound needy. We’re busy. Life happens. This is why we decided to wait to move in together until I finished this program, so we wouldn’t distract each other from work. I still miss every time I don’t wake up next to him—in my bed or the on-call room.
His shoulders tense, and he moves off my chest. “I got home late. I knew you had an early morning. Figured it’d be better if I didn’t wake you.”
It’s the right answer. The answer of a caring boyfriend. Still, the room feels colder now. Then the timer goes off, relaxing his jaw.
“Perfect timing. Let me plate the lasagna,” he says, standing. He slides into his pajamas, shirtless, the heat from his body lingering in the air. “You get dressed, wash up if you want.”
I watch him go into the kitchen, then take my time savoring the softness of the couch and the way he moves with ease plating the lasagna. I’m sipping my wine by the time he returns with two generous portions and a teasing grin on his face.
He sits next to me, and I watch him take a bite, admiring that little wrinkle forming between his eyebrows when something tastes just right.
Then he peels the first layer of his portion, the one with all the melted cheese, and drops it on my plate with a smile.
He nudges my arm with his shoulder. “It’s your favorite part, when it gets all crunchy.
” The gesture has butterflies erupting in my stomach.
I laugh. This is exactly what I needed. Gooey limbs and gooey food.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“I just told Julian he needed more rest and fewer orgasms.”
He chokes on the wine, then laughs, eyes creasing at the corners. “How did he take it?”
“I’ll never live it down if he figures out I didn’t follow my own advice.”
“True, true.” He wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb, amusement lingering. “How’s Julian doing?”
He finishes chewing, gaze on me, curious but relaxed. “I think it’s getting to him, you know? How hard it is to connect when you have the kind of schedule we do.”
Nate’s brows draw together, the flicker of an emotion on his face gone before I can name it. The kitchen light catches the reddish strands in his hair, and for a second, his amber eyes seem darker. He must be feeling pretty fatigued himself.
“Did you have a good time with your college buddies? How’s Tessa feeling about being back?”
He leans back, the movement almost jerky. “Oh, you know, same old jokes, some new quirks.” He shrugs, lifting his glass to his lips.
“I know how that goes,” I say, watching him. “It’s always strange, that combination of new and old when you see college friends.” I smile lightly. “And Tessa? Is she doing okay?”
He takes extra long to chew the piece in his mouth. “Tessa’s Tessa. She’ll be alright.” His tone is easy, but he doesn’t dive back in for more food. “What do you want to do this Friday?”
He grabs my hand, and I squeeze back, leaning closer without thinking as his other hand tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
Our eyes meet, playful and warm, and that familiar spark returns—the quiet rightness of us.
He kisses me, and it deepens without thought.
My hand rests on his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath my palm, while his fingers caress the inside of my palm.
When we finally pull apart, breathless and smiling, he nuzzles my forehead. “That’s what you want to do? Just more of that?”
I laugh softly. “Can’t complain.” Shared contentment surrounds us. I have to tell him.
“Shift got moved again,” I say after a pause, voice low.
It sets in his eyes before he speaks. A flash of not even frustration but anger, the muscles in his jaw tighten, and he stops running his thumb over my hand. “You’re kidding, right?”
I shake my head. “I wish I was.”
“Robyn, it wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
“What do you want me to do?” My voice is soft but steady. “You know I don’t have control over this.”
He exhales, his knee bouncing. “It’s four more months till this is over. That’s a long time.” His gaze flickers up, brighter now, almost eager. “What if—what if you just moved in now? Why are we waiting? I’m certain I want this. Move in with me.”
My heart stutters, and I reach for his hand.
It’d be easier; we’d at least always come back to each other.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes.
“Nate, I want to. You know I do.” Then I remember I may not get an attending job in this city, and living together would be even harder, even more pressure for him to move with me.
So I bite my tongue and go with what’s less scary, safer.
“When I got selected for this, we agreed it made sense to wait. So I could focus. So you could focus on your own project too.”
“I know, I know.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I just …” He stops, looking away, muscles tightening again before he forces a nod. “Yeah. You’re right.”
I wait, hoping he’ll say more, but he doesn’t. He only squeezes my hand, smiling faintly, and I lean into him, pressing my cheek to his shoulder. We don’t have to talk through everything. We love each other; we understand each other.
Eventually, the conversation drifts, and we put on a show neither of us really watches. Later, as we clean up, I notice he didn’t have the rest of his food. It’s a small thing, the leftover lasagna on his plate, but it settles uneasily in my stomach.