I arch my back, and he reaches underneath me, unhooking my bra and pulling it from my body. The moment my breasts are free, his mouth is on me, tongue flicking over one nipple while his hand cups and squeezes the other.
I grind my hips against him, feeling him hard against my center. He sits back on his heels, looking me over before standing and removing his pants and boxers. I keep my eyes on his as I slide my panties down my legs and lay back again, spreading my legs for him.
“Fuck. Look at you,” he says, climbing back onto the bed and settling in between my legs.
He grinds against me, teasing me. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“Nash,” I moan, urging him to give me more. “Please,” I whisper as he slides into me, slow and torturous.
The fullness of him makes me gasp, and he bites his lip, thrusting gently at first, then harder, deeper, until we’re both panting and slick with sweat.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, matching his movements with my own. He kisses me, swallowing my moans, his pace quickening.
He shifts, hitting that perfect spot that makes me forget my own name.
The tension inside me builds until I can’t hold on any longer. I cry out, my body exploding around him.
“That’s my girl,” he says.
I feel him follow me over the edge, spilling into me with a final, ragged moan.
He kisses me and then rolls over, resting on his arm and keeping his eyes on me.
I stand, searching for my bra and panties, and take in the details of his room I hadn’t noticed before.
The space feels warm, like him. There’s a dim glow from a small lamp by the bed, casting shadows across the room. In the low light, I can see the mismatched frames lining the walls are filled with band posters, from The Rolling Stones to some local acts I don’t recognize. A guitar leans in the corner, and stacks of records lie scattered across the hardwood floor.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Getting dressed.”
“Why?”
“Well, I can’t drive home naked.”
“You’re leaving?”There are those puppy dog eyes.
“I told you, Nash. A physical relationship is all I can give you. Staying here tonight feels like more than that.”
“And the last time you said that, you fell asleep in my arms,” he says, getting off the bed and walking across the room to me.
He runs his hands down my arms until he reaches my fingers, intertwining his with mine. “How is this any different? I know what you said about keeping things casual, but I neversaid I wouldn’t stop trying. I want you to stay here with me.”
He backs toward the bed, pulling me with him. He sits on the edge of the bed, and I stand between his legs, looking down at his still-naked body.
How can I think straight at all when I’m looking at him like this? When his hands touch me so lovingly?
He waits, and I can see the hope in his eyes. I’m not sure if it’s hope of me staying the night or hope for something bigger, something more.
“You know you want to,” he sing-songs.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t have anything with me. No charger, no change of clothes, no toothbrush…”
“Are you worried I won’t want to kiss you with your morning breath?”
I playfully smack his chest. His tanned, chiseled, lickable chest.God, I want to stay.
“Or were you just throwing out every excuse you could think of and hoping one would stick?”
