“As much as I’d love to feel your sweet little pussy grinding on me against this door, I need to take my time with you tonight. I promised the next time I heard you say ‘goodnight, Nash’ would be under certain circumstances. I’ve been a good boy. I’ve been waiting, and I intend to make good on that promise tonight.”
And that’s it.
The last of my self-restraint gives way, and I nod.
He kisses me again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the taste of what he’s craved for weeks. He breaks the kiss, only to press his forehead to mine.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says, opening my office door and pulling me toward the elevator.
Once in the elevator, with his hand in mine, I say, “My place is closer.”
The doors open, and we make a beeline for my car. I’m not sure how I’m going to survive the drive to my apartment, but the thrill of it all pushes me forward.
As soon as we reach the car, Nash pulls me in, kissing me deeply.
“Fuck, Avery. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he says, breathless.
“I think I do,” I reply, my voice just as ragged.
We climb into the car, and I drive at a speed that matches the urgency between us. Nash’s hand grips my thigh, a warm promise as the city blurs past.
The moment we park, we’re out, tumbling towards my apartment with reckless abandon.
I fumble with the key, and Nash’s mouth is on my neck, my ear, my lips, making it impossible to focus. The door finally swings open, and we stagger inside, kicking the door shut.
His hands are on me, pulling my shirt over my head, and I’m backing him towards the bedroom. We barely make it past theliving room when he spins us around, pushing me against the wall with a hunger that makes my knees weak.
I tug off his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my fingers. He looks at me, the intensity in his eyes making my breath catch.
I’ve never wanted anything more than I want him right now.
“Nash,” I gasp, as he lifts me, wrapping my legs around him again, his body pressing urgently against mine.
He moves us to the couch, settling between my legs, his hands everywhere at once. He kisses me, fierce and claiming, his fingers slipping under the waistband of my skirt, teasing, undoing me.
“I’ve been thinking about this since the moment I met you,” he says, his voice thick with desire.
I arch against him, my body answering before I can. “Me too.”
He looks surprised, like he’s just now realizing I’ve wanted him as long as he’s wanted me.
“Where’s your bedroom?” he asks urgently.
I point down the hall, and he scoops me up, carrying me and not breaking the kiss, his mouth hungry on mine. I pull at his hair, needing him with a desperation I can’t contain.
He kicks the bedroom door open with his foot, and my heart is racing as he lays me on the bed, hovering above me.
I trace the lines of his face with my fingers, memorizing him like this. Shirtless, wanting, mine.
He kisses me, urgent at first, then slower, savoring. Then he stops and hangs his head.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my brows furrowed.
He sighs deeply. “I don’t have a condom. I’m sorry. I never carry them with me. I’m not enough of a presumptuous prick—”
“Nash,” I cut him off. “I’m on birth control and I’m clean. As long as you’re clean, I don’t think we need one.”
He nods his head. “I am.”
