“And here I’ve been worrying that you might not be as into me as I’m into you,” he whispers, before pivoting and laying me gently on the bed behind us.
“What gave it away?” I ask teasingly. He smiles as he takes in my body, his lids half-mast and pupils blown wide.
“I have a condom in my bag,” he says quickly.
“I’m on the pill. And I’m clean—I haven’t been with anyone in a while, not since I was last checked.”
“Same,” he says with a nod. His brow lifts ever so slightly as he says, “So…”
I lift a finger, curling it and mouthing “come here,” as his lips quirk. He puts a knee on the bed to crawl over me, but I stop him, returning his earlier tutting with a sultry smirk.
“Everything,” I demand, and he pulls off his jeans and boxers in one swift motion, freeing the length of him but giving me no opportunity to appreciate it as he covers me with his body. I reach between us and stroke him until he moans.
His lips are on mine, greedy now, wild. One hand palms my breast roughly, the other cradles my head, angling it upward so he can kiss me deeper as his knees gently push my legs apart. I slide my hands up his back, appreciating the defined planes of his muscles, the softness of his skin beneath my fingertips, until he’s notched at my entrance.
Nolan’s eyes meet mine for a moment, a question there—and I give him a needy nod.
Without further warning, he thrusts into me and a sharp breath escapes my lips, replaced quickly by a moan that he echoes. His strokes are slow at first, tortuously so, and I let out a frustrated huff.
“More,” I whisper. He seems to understand what I’m asking of him and obeys, until we’re both moving fast and rough and desperate to be closer.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moans. His voice is hoarse as he speaks his first words since he put me on my back, and I love hearing it. My responding moan seems to encourage him to keep talking, and instantly all his thoughts come spilling out, unrestrained.
He punctuates our kisses with words. How I taste when he kisses me. What he wants to do with me, to me, for me. How he wants to please me, to worship me—until suddenly I’m coming again, this time with him. I grip Nolan’s back tightly, my nailsdigging into taut muscle and my feet hooked together around his waist, holding him deep until we’re both spent and panting.
With shaky arms, Nolan lowers himself to kiss me, sweetly this time, before rolling off.
“That was…” I trail off, unable to fully put into words what I’m thinking. Because I’m not thinking about anything. For once, my mind is blissfully, beautifully quiet.
“Yeah…it was,” he agrees.
We both laugh softly, out of breath, and at 4 AM, completely exhausted.
But it was worth it.
Hot damn, was it ever.
Nolan stands and stretches, then pads into the bathroom. He returns with a warm, wet cloth and gently cleans up the mess he made.
I can’t wipe the stupid grin off my face, because where on Earth did this man come from? Is it that I was looking on the wrong continent? Or is it just that Nolan is a truly good, decent man, and this is how good men behave?
How sad, that it took me until I was thirty to find someone like this—someone who makes me feel so incredibly safe and cared for.
Someone who is starting to feel more like home than I ever thought a man could.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Nolan’s ‘90s Hits, Now Playing:
SOMEDAY — SUGAR RAY
Wakingup to Nolan’s solid body wrapped around mine is both the bestandworst thing I’ve ever experienced.
Best, because—well, let’s be honest, the man ishot.
And last night was…incredible.
Worst, because when it comes to body temperature, the man is also…hot. As in, sweat-inducing-and-not-in-a-fun-way hot.
