Was that on purpose?
I swear I can’t breathe. The air literally will not filter into my lungs as goosebumps break out over my skin from that slight touch.
It’s ridiculous that I am so affected by him. He made it clear that no matter how I felt about him, nothing was happening between us. It’s up to me to accept that. No one wants to be the pathetic woman pining over a man who couldn’t give two shits about her. It was fine when he didn’t know. I could pretend that someday might happen as much as I wanted. Now it’s just pathetic to hang on.
I’ve never been that woman. I’ve left men for not treating me as I deserved in a heartbeat. Nash is the only one who has ever had this hold on me, and he doesn’t even realize it. He doesn’t understand. Maybe he doesn’t care.
I swore to myself that I was not going to linger on my ridiculous fantasies anymore. You don’t go and reject me and pretend like nothing happened. This isn’t a movie where, if I wait around long enough, he’ll realize what he’s missing and come begging for my heart.
“You can put the leftovers in the fridge. They should be cool enough,” I direct him. Anything, so I can’t feel his breath on my skin or the heat radiating off his body as he hovers beside me.
“Betty.”
My fingers curl over the sink edge as the water runs, the bubbles rising higher with each passing second. Pressing my eyes shut, I try to block it all out. He can’t say my name like that, like he has something important to say and is begging for me to listen. He can’t say my name with such tenderness. My mind might be made up, but my body and heart haven’t caught up yet. They’re still in Nash Land waiting to get on the ride.
“Please, don’t.”
“What did I do?” he questions, his fingers curling around my bare arm.
I’m ready to shake him off when the crack of the back screen door closing confirms we’re in here alone. I can hear Beckett and our parents out there laughing before Mom turns on her stereo,which only plays 90s country music. It’s been the same rotation of songs our whole lives.
I can’t think when he’s this close to me, when he’s touching me. Not when his spicy pine scent is wafting up my nostrils and his warm breath is fanning across my cheek.
Before I can gather my thoughts, he shuts off the water, tugging my hand and pulling me behind him. “Nash, what are you—” I can’t get the words out as he leads us down the hallway and straight to my childhood room, shutting us in and locking the door.
He spins me so fast my heart races, as my back presses against the door. His body hovers close to mine, the heat radiating off him as our chests seem to pump in unison. Large palms settle against the door beside my head, allowing him to angle his face over mine.
“I asked you a question, Beatrice?”
My throat is so dry I can barely swallow as I stare up into his cobalt eyes that seem darker than usual. His jaw works, the muscles twitching like a taut rope ready to snap. “I-um-I don’t… What question?” It’s a stumble through the words, my brain malfunctioning. Having the man of my dreams so close to me in my bedroom is overwhelming. A room I used to fantasize about him sneaking into in the middle of the night to hold me while we slept.
He dips his face to within an inch of mine, licking his lips as his gaze trails down to my mouth. Instinctively, I lick mine too, as if that will add moisture to my desert-dry mouth. “I asked you what I did? You’ve been avoiding me, acting like you can’t wait to get away from me.”
“Because I can’t,” I stammer once again, licking my lips.
His breath fans over my face as he tilts his head to the side, his hand brushing my hair out of the way before his lips brush the side of my neck. My fists clench at my sides, my eyes pressingclosed so tightly it hurts. Nash Donovan’s lips just touched me. They. Touched. Me.
He moans, flicking the tip of his tongue over the spot he just touched, the vibration moving through his chest and into mine as he leans in just a little closer. Close enough that with every heavy breath, my embarrassingly erect nipples brush against him.
“Nash, I—” It’s meant to be a protest as his soft lips actually press to my skin, but it’s a fail.
“Why can’t you?” he purrs against my skin, his other hand finding my waist and squeezing.
Good God, I’ve wanted this since I could remember. I’ve wanted his hands on me and lips on my skin. There are whole dream sequences with that deep voice making my core tighten in anticipation. He could have given me that when I spilled my guts, but he didn’t. Maybe that’s partially my fault for avoiding him, but it’s not like he chased after me either. However, that is what he’s doing now. Sort of.
“Beatrice, I’m waiting. Answer me.” He kisses my neck again, my head tilting to give him better access as his hand slips into my hair.
“Because you don’t want me,” I whisper.
His hands immediately drop from my body, his mouth pulling away from my bare skin as his eyes meet mine. Lust burns bright, causing the blues to swirl, but all I can feel is the cold of his lost touch. I want his hands back on me and his mouth on mine.
As if he heard my thoughts, he grabs my hand, slamming my palm over his crotch.Fuck me and all things that are unholy. He’s huge and hard as a rock. “Tell me, Betty, does that feel like I don’t want you?”
My mouth opens and closes several times trying to find the words, but I can’t as his hand squeezes around mine, forcing meto grip him through his jeans. I’m on fire as he holds me there, neither of us willing to look away.
I did this to him. He’s hard because of me. My mind goes fuzzy, my body acting before it can catch up and tell me this is the worst idea. Yanking him to me, one hand fisting his shirt at the center of his chest and the other rubbing his bulging cock through his pants, I do what I’ve always wanted.
I’m not bold like this. I’m not a prude, but I’m so fucking hot right now I don’t know what else to do but crash my mouth to Nash’s. He immediately opens up for me, his tongue swiping into my mouth. Releasing my hand, his slips back into my hair while the other grabs my ass, backing me into the door.
