Chapter 32
The Remnants
Nate
I wake slowly, dragged out of sleep by warmth and a weight across my body that used to be familiar.
I stay still, not ready to open my eyes, savoring the awareness of her.
The press of Robyn’s thigh thrown over mine, the curve of her hip settled against me, her torso draped across my chest like she claimed back that hollowness between my lungs in the night without asking.
Her hair brushes my collarbone when she shifts, soft and faintly damp from sleep.
When I finally open my eyes, hers are on me. The morning light caught in her irises widens the gold ring and makes her seem out of reach and otherworldly.
Without tearing her eyes away from mine, she caresses my cheek with her thumb. The touch is measuring, as if she’s trying to decide what comes next. It would be easy to pretend this is normal and our relationship never caved in so completely we both had to entirely rebuild.
She inhales, breathing in the hollow of my throat while she digs her fingers into my hip.
When she lifts her head, the gold ring in her irises is thinner, almost swallowed by deep tanzanite blue, and her gaze holds sparks of anger, maybe memories.
Her fury doesn’t explode, though. It’s suspended, like a cantilevered roof, by invisible strength.
It’s ridiculous how much I want her. Not the easy version from before everything cracked open when I was too chicken shit to really care for what we had. I want this version, anger and all.
My gaze drops to her mouth before I can stop it, and she notices, lips parting open, wet and shiny from her tongue.
“Robyn,” I rasp, my voice breaking around the edge of her name.
Her look holds no softness. I should stop this. Move away and find a different way to make sense of this moment before it turns into another mistake. But I am also suspended between wanting and every unresolved feeling, including my own anger.
She leans in first, stare unwavering, brushing her lips against mine.
We move against each other as if it’s muscle memory.
Everything’s different, though—the scrape of facial hair against her skin, the feel of her tongue, more demanding than it used to be.
Then the kiss deepens, and the madness takes over.
She slides her fingers into my hair. I dig mine into her hips until she’s straddling me—my world narrows to breath and heat.
“I need you, Nate,” she murmurs between kisses.
“We’re not ready,” I whisper against her mouth.
She pulls back, just enough for her gaze to meet mine. “Trust me,” she says.
And I choose to trust her, nodding against her lips. “I don’t have condoms,” I mutter.
She shakes her head, a strained puff of air fanning against my mouth. “You’re still the only one I’ve ever trusted enough to go without them.”
Her confession hits like a bucket of cold water, reminding me of the thing I shattered between us in the first place—trust. It’s not enough to kill my hard-on, but it stokes this need to reclaim what’s only ever been mine, vanish any trace of how others have touched her.
Jealousy, anger, and guilt bubbling together.
I tug at her lip with my teeth. “IUD?”
She nods, unaware of what’s brewing inside me. I drag her into a kiss that’s all teeth and heat and recklessness, then flip her under me. She’s lying spread eagle, her hair fanned out in a halo of midnight curls.
I grab my sleeveless undershirt from the back of my neck and peel it off. Her pupils dilate, and she darts her tongue out to wet her top lip. She stretches her arm out and traces the metal stud hanging from my left nipple against my skin.
“This is new.”
I nod. “And only yours to touch and suck on.”
She arches her brow, her index finger toying with my piercing. “Are you sure? Because your lips weren’t just for me.”
I slide on my knees until my hips are between her open legs. I grab her waist and, when she nods, drag her down until her bottom rests against my thighs.
I click my tongue, bitterness clouding my mind in ways I have no right to.
“And when your lips weren’t mine …” I slide a finger under the hem of her shirt, skimming upward until her flesh prickles beneath my touch.
“Could anyone’s lips make you come again and again until you screamed?
Lick until you lost track of what was up or down? ”
Her chest rises and falls with each raspy breath, cheeks flushed, blue-gold irises stormy with desire. It’s a beautiful sight—the prettiest sight. Yet I can’t control the urge to erase every other man so all she can think about is my tongue, my cock, me.
I hook my fingers under her waistband and strip her from her shorts in one quick pull. My mouth is on her ankles the second they’re free, sucking and biting my way upward, her moans turning frantic the closer I get to her core.
“You’re wearing too much clothing.” She pants. “I want to feel you.”
We peel the rest of each other’s clothes off. Until she’s too impatient to get my boxers off and wraps her lips around the stud at the center of the ring I wear. Her tongue swirls over my nipple and metal while my cock weeps for her.
“That’s so fucking hot, baby,” she says, threading her fingers into my chest hair until she’s pulling at it, her hands nearly lost in my curls.
She hooks her hand under my boxers, squeezing my ass before she finally gets me naked, a thread of precum stretching between my cock and her fingers.
“Don’t,” I say before she makes me come all over my stomach. She stops with hesitation, an inch from brushing her thumb over the head of my dick. It’s flushed dark, almost purple, ready to spill. “Lay down, sweetheart.”
“Yes.” She draws out the ‘s’ as she opens her legs for me and is so wet her slick pools down her center, and her clit peeks out, swollen and waiting.
I kneel between her legs, lifting one thigh and running my tongue up her inner leg.
I do it again, flicking my eyes up to watch her lips part in anticipation.
When she’s fully open, I slide my tongue into her entrance, swirling and gathering every drop of her pleasure before I bring it up to lap at her engorged clit.
Her moan is deep and guttural, and my cock twitches against the mattress, a spurt of precum spilling free. I flatten my tongue and flick at her while my fingers curl inside her, feeling just how close she is to coming for me.
“Fuck, Nate. You’re going to make me come so hard.”
Anger and jealousy rise in equal measure.
I don’t want anybody making her come harder than me.
I want to imprint every ridge of my tongue and cock so deeply that, if there’s someone after me, she measures every single fucker against me for the rest of her life.
So I wrap my mouth around her clit and suck, teeth rasping lightly, until she’s coming so hard you can’t even tell it’s my name she’s screaming.
“Yell my name again,” I say, pressed to her pulsing clit. Then I bite her inner thigh hard enough to leave the imprint of my teeth but not enough to hurt her. Before she can complain, my mouth is back between her legs. “You’re going to come for me one more time before you get my cock.”
“Nate!” she half shouts, half pants.
“That’s right, baby. Let everyone around us know I’m the best you’ll ever have.”
I suck and lap, hooking my fingers inside her until she’s clenching around me, dripping spurts of pleasure into my beard. Her orgasm is so intense she can’t even form words.
And just as it’s about to be too much, I grab her hips, lift her, and impale her on my leaking cock while she’s still clenching and moaning.
Only, it’s too much for me too. Her pleasure turns me on more than I can handle, and I’m not prepared to last—not when I’ve craved her for so long.
It takes two shallow thrusts before I’m riding my own climax, shooting more cum than I ever have into her glorious pussy.
When her name dies on my lips, she thrusts her tongue inside my mouth, so I can’t apologize.
Her tits flatten against my chest as she rolls me onto my back until she’s on top, and my softening cock slips free of her.
She bites my lip enough that the tiniest drop of blood stains her mouth.
When she rises over me, her large round breasts capture my gaze, still pebbled with the remnants of her pleasure.
“You have some nerve pulling this possessive bullshit,” she scathes. There’s desire there, but her voice is also dripping with hurt and judgment.
“Sweetheart, I—”
“Shut up.” She leans over the side of the bed, my cock and soul sad at the loss of her heat, and comes back up with her long-sleeve shirt. “Sit up and push your back against the headboard.”
I hold onto her hips, aching for more of her body as I shift back until my spine hits the cool wood. When her breasts bounce right over my face, I can’t help but lick and suck them, moaning at the feel of them pebbling against my warm mouth.
She threads the shirt through the slats in the headboard and grabs my left wrist. Robyn pauses, making it a point to find my gaze. “Green?” she asks.
I nod, and she ties the shirt twice—tight. Then she does the same with my right arm.
“You’re hurt because I fucked other men after we broke up, yes?” she whispers into my ear, licks my earlobe, and kisses down my neck and chest until she looks back up at me from my navel. My cock twitches at the sight of her hunger.
I nod. “Yes, I fucking hurt over it, but it wasn’t your wrong. It was mine.”
“It fucking was,” she says, right before licking me, balls to tip, my shaft hardening against her tongue. “What about me?”
She shifts up, my semi-hard cock finding its place between her folds, throbbing against her clit as she moans and takes my pierced nipple into her mouth. She tugs with her teeth until my moan flirts with the edge of a painful groan.
“Yellow, babe.”