“Yeah. Thanks.”
He straightens and moves over to stand by my side, allowing my breathing to return to normal again.
“What about you? Is this job what you always wanted to do?” I ask, reaching for the sauce.
“Definitely not. I’m good at it,” he says, an edge of certainty in his voice. “But it’s not forever. I’m hoping to get into musicproduction, eventually. I’ve already started building a studio upstairs.”
I nod, taking this in. “And the band? That’s just for fun?”
“Mostly,” he says. “We play gigs for extra cash, but I’d do it for free. I love it.” His eyes meet mine, and there’s an openness that makes my heart flutter.
I look away, focusing on the pizza.
We put the final toppings on our pizzas and pop them into Nash’s countertop pizza oven. Nash turns to the sink, washing the flour off his hands and then nods, indicating it’s my turn.
As I’m cleaning my hands, he grabs a hand towel to dry his hands. I hold my dripping hands out to grab the towel, but Nash dries them for me.
The unexpected intimacy of the gesture surprises me, and I raise my gaze to meet his. We stare into each other’s eyes, neither of us saying a word until finally, Nash speaks up.
“I want to kiss you,” he says, slow and deliberate. “I want to kiss you, and I don’t want you to run from my touch this time.”
“I won’t,” I say, breathless.
Nash moves in, pressing me against the kitchen counter. His mouth claims mine, urgent and consuming, and I lose myself in the sensation of him. Our hands are everywhere at once, frantic and exploring.
His lips are soft, insistent, and I can’t get enough.
He pulls me closer, slides his hands to the back of my thighs, and I gasp as he lifts me effortlessly, sitting me on the edge of the counter. He parts my legs, stepping between them, and the heat of his body makes me shiver.
His hands roam, skimming the sides of my body, tugging at the hem of my borrowed shirt until he finds skin.
I clutch his shirt, his shoulders, his hair, anything to keep him near.
Nash quickly undoes the button on my pants and slips his hand inside, teasing me over the top of my underwear.
I breathe his name. A plea. A demand.
It only spurs him on, his mouth relentless on mine, his fingers moving with torturous precision. I arch against him, every nerve on fire and begging.
I feel wild and untethered, the heat of his hand sending sparks through me until I can hardly take it anymore.
“Touch me,” I whisper, my voice heavy with need.
He pulls back, eyes dark with desire, and grins.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, slipping his fingers beneath the fabric, a touch that unravels me.
I let out a sound, helpless and wanting, as his fingers find my wetness.
He slides two fingers inside me, thumb circling my clit. There’s nothing hesitant or tentative about the way he touches me. He knows exactly what I need, exactly how to unravel me from the inside out.
He licks up my neck before kissing me again, his mouth hot against mine as I struggle to catch my breath.
I pull away, panting. “Fuck.”
My head falls back as he curls his fingers inside me at just the right angle, his thumb still relentless and teasing. I gasp, and Nash grins against my neck, as if he’s proud to watch me come undone for him.
“That’s it,” he says, his voice raw and insistent. “Come for me.”
