“Your mom’s in your house?” I mean, that’s a pretty big deal. She’s been avoiding stepping foot in the place ever since she moved into town––after Conrad died.
“I told her I needed her.” He kisses my mouth. “And she came.”
“Oh.” Damn it all to hell in a handbasket. The tears again.
“Shh, Isabelle,” he says with concern in his deep voice. “Why are you crying now?”
“I don’t know,” I say sort of angrily. “This is overwhelming.”
He starts to pull away. “I’m sorry. Is this too much?”
I grab at his T-shirt and pull him right back where he was. “Hell no. Don’t move.” Well, move. I want him to move. But you know what I mean.
His chuckle is the most beautiful sound in the world. “You want me to stay?”
I nod. “I do.”
“For more than one night?” the jerk asks.
“Definitely. For more than one night.”
“Forever?” he asks softly.
“Absolutely. Forever.”
The kiss that results from that little conversation is slow, sexy, and deep. Our tongues are playing a game of cat and mouse all while his hand has started to sneak up into the inside of my T-shirt. “This okay, Isabelle?” he asks, kissing my neck lightly.
Yes. I want his calloused hands touching my skin. It’s the best feeling in the entire world––a sign of a hardworking man. There’s nothing sexier. “Yes. Please.”
“Please?” he whispers as his hand finds my breast. His palm skims over the top, making my nipple erect and hard. I arch into his hand like I’m reaching out for more. I am. I definitely am.
To expedite things, I reach down to the bottom of my tee and lift it up until it’s over my head and tossed somewhere into the room. “Jesus.” Nash groans. “Fucking glorious breasts, Isabelle.”
“Thanks,” I say with a giggle. I know they’re big, but gravity hasn’t taken hold yet, so they’re okay.
I watch as he slowly leans down and takes one nipple into his mouth. It makes me squirm because I feel it all over. Goose bumps run down my arms and legs, causing me to open them wider to accommodate his big body. I want him touching me everywhere. I only wish it were skin to skin. So, I tug on his shirt. I want it off.
Pulling back from my breast, he reaches back behind his head and pulls off his shirt. I love it when guys pull their shirts off like that. It’s something about the way their arms flex and their stomachs clench that makes it a drool-worthy sight to see, and Nash is no exception. Heck, he may be the rule.
Once his skin is free, I run my palms from his hard belly up over his pectorals. I skim my hands over his nipples, and he hisses. I guess his are sensitive too. Pushing myself up, I get close enough to one to lick. His hiss is louder and longer. “Isabelle.” Nash’s voice sounds strained. I lean over and lick the other side, and while I do that, I run my right hand down his stomach to the front of his pants. He’s hard. Really hard. I can feel the ridge of him straining through his blue jeans.
“Darlin’,” he says, taking my wrist, “let’s not rush.”
“Rush?” I want to laugh. “I’ve been waiting ten years for this moment.” Turning my wrist, I reach for his jeans again. I want to see him.
“Isabelle.” Nash’s voice is deeper and more commanding.
So, I stop and look up at him. “What?” It’s my turn to sound commanding.
“If I take off my pants, I won’t want to stop. I will, of course, if you want me too, but I won’t want to.”
“Right now, I want to feel your skin against mine.” I want the rest of it too, but one thing at a time. “Let’s play it by ear.”
Without a word, Nash moves to slide out of bed, and it creaks and groans like we’re murdering it.
“Your bed….” Nash chuckles.
“It used to be my grandmother’s.” Then it was my mom’s. I love this old bed with all the wrought iron and memories. The fact that it’s been passed down from generation to generation makes it even more special.
