Chapter Two #2
It’s not too hot for that much hair on my inner thighs, she mused, and with that wild thought circling, gave the apple another spin.
But she forgot she was slightly drunk, tried to spin it too fast, and lost control.
And while trying to snatch it back, slapped it out of the air and sent it flying right at Nash.
She squeaked, watching helplessly as it flew toward his face, then blinked when he snatched it out of the air a split second before it could smash into his nose.
“Nice catch,” she said admiringly.
“Thanks. You drunk?”
She held up a hand, her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Little bit. There were mimosas at brunch.”
He grinned, the dimple digging deep. “And how are the other musketeers?”
“They’re good. Chloe’s making jewelry now, in addition to working at The Wild Orchid.”
“Nice.”
“Gwen, too—the bar, not the jewelry. They said to say hi,” Bailey said, even though they hadn’t.
“Uh-huh,” Nash said, looking skeptical. While Chloe and Gwen had long since renounced their vow to kill him on sight, he was well aware that the end of his romantic relationship with Bailey had created bad blood with her friends. “You didn’t drive home, did you?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, Grandpa. Jesse dropped me off.”
“Jesse?”
“Chloe’s boyfriend. One of them.”
“Right.” Amusement replaced the concern in Nash’s eyes. “Where was the other one?”
“Driving Chloe and Gwen home.”
“You all had to be driven home?” He frowned. “I thought when you said you wouldn’t be here, you’d be at one of their places.”
“We were at The Mark.”
One tawny eyebrow rose, and he whistled. “Fancy. You land yourself a sugar daddy while I was out of the country?”
She snorted. “No. It’s a long story.”
“I bet.” He stood smiling at her, one hand in his pocket, the other still holding her apple.
“Are you getting settled in?” she blurted out.
“Mostly,” he replied. “Didn’t have to do much in the office except unpack my laptop. Thanks for letting me have that, by the way.”
“No problem.” She used the second bedroom on the main floor as a small library and occasional office, and apart from doing her monthly books, rarely ventured in there.
She’d been more than happy to take a few hundred dollars more in rent in exchange for letting him have it for his work-from-home setup.
“Coming along in the bedroom,” he continued, and held out the apple. “Do you want this?”
She didn’t really, but she took it anyway. “Did you bring me back a present?”
Both eyebrows climbed his forehead this time. “Why would I do that?”
“Because it’s my birthday,” she reminded him, and bit into the apple.
“So it is.” He pulled a flat package in a plastic bag out of his hip pocket.
“Lovely wrapping job,” she said sweetly to cover the spurt of pleasure.
“Shut up and open it.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, just for form, then set the apple on the table to unfurl the plastic bag and dig inside. Pulling out a swatch of cream-colored fabric, she shook it out.
“It’s a tea towel,” he explained unnecessarily. “I got it at a museum gift shop in Glasgow.”
She looked at the towel, at all the words and phrases printed on it—some she understood, most she didn’t. “What’s the writing?”
“Scottish slang words. Most of them are insults, I’m told.”
“Really?” Delighted, she held the towel up. “I love that.”
“I thought you’d would.”
“This is great, Nash.” She beamed at him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He stepped forward and lowered his head to brush a kiss across her cheek. “Happy birthday, Bailey.”
“Thanks,” she managed, and let out a slow breath when he stepped back.
“I’m going to keep unpacking. I’ve got a couple of loads of laundry to do yet, if that’s okay with you.”
“Yeah, sure. No problem.”
“Okay.” He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her. “See you later.”
Her throat felt tight, so she just nodded and took another bite of apple. When she was alone again, and his footsteps had faded away, she nudged a chair away from the table and sank into it.
Chloe wasn’t the only one who was drunk and horny.
He looked so good. That Cubs shirt was so thin and soft from years of washings that it clung to his torso, firm pectoral muscles and the curve of belly that had never had a six pack.
Never needed one, she thought with a nostalgic sigh.
She’d loved that belly, the firm press of it against her own, the way he shuddered when she traced the muscle—the Adonis belt—that ran under its thick edge with her tongue.
All of him was thick. Some of that was genetics—he was just a big dude—but the muscle under it all was pure Nash.
He loved to hike and climb, and had ridden a bike everywhere he could for years—out of necessity when he couldn’t afford a car, now for fun, just like the hiking and climbing and flying across oceans to walk along walls built by ancient conquerors was for fun.
She’d never understood it. She walked to get from one place to another, only worked out to keep her family history of heart disease and diabetes from coming for her too soon, and she’d rather give manicures with her teeth than hike along some crumbling Roman wall.
But she didn’t have to understand it to know that he loved it—and she’d never had a problem with the results.
Because all that walking and biking and hiking and climbing had given him powerful thighs and a butt like a bowling ball and stamina that could probably give triathletes a run for their money—and all those things had, at various times, made her very happy indeed.
She was looking forward to being made happy again.
A wave of heat washed over her at the thought, and she squirmed in the chair.
Normally if she was this worked up, she’d just go upstairs and make good use of one of her sex toys, or hop in the shower and let the pulsing hand-held showerhead do its magic.
But Nash was in the house, unpacking and doing laundry and just, well, there, and the stairs leading up to the converted attic that was her bedroom were just down the hall from his bedroom.
And because whoever had designed this kit home for Sears in 1926 had apparently never anticipated that someone might want to masturbate in the attic while their ex-boyfriend was in the front bedroom, the stairs were open and there was no door at the top.
And because she’d never anticipated such a scenario, she hadn’t bothered to add one during the renovations.
Not that she’d never masturbated with someone else in the house.
She’d had roommates for most of the last three years, both to help with the expenses and because she didn’t like living alone, but they’d never been former lovers, and while she did her best to be discreet, she didn’t actually give a fuck if they heard her masturbating in her own house.
Nash was a different story.
They’d been a couple during their junior and senior years of college, prime sexual exploration years, and they’d done more than their fair share.
Thanks to her period, and the need to find a work around for the cramps and bloating that made intercourse uncomfortable while still addressing the wild horniness often brought on by her cycle, they’d discovered the joys of mutual masturbation.
He knew what she sounded like when she touched herself, when she fucked herself, when she used a vibrator or a toy or her own two hands. And though she was definitely planning on letting him hear all that again, she was too tipsy, too scattered for that to happen now.
No, she needed to be in control, not half buzzed and off balance by thoughts of his belly and thighs and how much her vagina was looking forward to reacquainting itself with the other part of him that was thick.
“Don’t think about that,” she ordered herself, and bit into the apple.
Except now it was there, in her mind, and it was like a car wreck on the highway she couldn’t look away from.
He had a really pretty penis. It wasn’t inhumanly thick, like this OnlyFans guy she’d followed for a while last year whose dick had the measurements of a literal Coke can.
No, Nash’s penis was thick but not ridiculous, with a nice shape, a slight, gentle upward curve and a fat mushroom head that somehow banged against just the right spot inside her pussy every time.
Thinking about his penis wasn’t doing her any favors.
Restless, she rose to toss the apple core into the compost bin under the sink, then washed her hands.
Though the window the back yard grass was long in the sun, and she realized it had been a while since it had been mowed.
She normally paid one of the neighbor kids to do it for her, having no desire to stomp and sweat her way through the chore, but Josh was at baseball camp for a couple of weeks, and dandelions were starting to peak through the green.
Deciding it was as good a way to work off her hormones as any other—well, any other currently available to her—she went to change.
In the front bedroom, Nash kept one earbud out and the music on low, just in case.
He’d heard Bailey go upstairs, then come back down a few minutes later, followed by the back door opening and shutting.
The buzz of a motor had made him curious, but he’d forced himself to continue unpacking rather than investigate.
He had enough problems.
She was so damn sexy, with that curvy body, purple-streaked hair and bee-stung mouth. Her eyes had been their natural hazel, the way he liked them best, no colored contacts to obscure her emotions, and he’d wanted to see them go hazy with need and lust and love the way they’d used to.
He wanted a lot of things the way they used to be, but if he was going to get them, he had to be careful.