His body blew my mind. The edges and bumps of his lean muscles. The hardness. It was so different to Orla, but I’d told her nothing but the truth about the magic of her soft curves and that dirty laugh I wanted to IV into my fuckin’ veins. About Nash’s rough, masculine jaw and his harsher touch. I was here for all of it. I wasmadefor it, and whether Nash’s demons accepted it or not, so was he.
His kiss grew bolder.
Hotter.
I took a chance and eased him closer, taking his weight, keeping us upright as his body hit mine and stayed there.
His chest to mine.
His cock crushed against my abdomen.
His wild hair tangled in my fingers.
Holy shit.
Holyshit.
Maybe it was me who was going to combust. I gave up on being upright and took that heady tumble to the floor, pulling Nash on top of me. He tugged at my shirt, and I helped him yank it over my head. Watched it sail somewhere behind him, heart in my throat.
Breathing hard, Nash dropped a fist either side of my head. “Okay?”
With him ripping my clothes off in the dark? That was a hard yes, but I knew what he was really asking and it fuckin’ killed me that in a moment that probably felt like jumping off a sky-high cliff, he was thinking of me.
I grasped his hips and flipped us, putting him on his back, the thud echoing in the silent flat, his face illuminated by the noted TV.
His eyes blazing as I pinned his arms over his head.
I squeezed his wrists, my body wedged between his legs. “We need to wake her up.”
Chest heaving, Nash held my gaze. “Yeah. I think we do.”
13
ORLA
I was fourteen when I woke in the early hours of the morning to a patched Rebel King standing over the bed in the president’s suite—myparents’bed—belt unbuckled, hand stuffed in his trousers, rape-mode activated.
Jaded by the life, I didn’t scream. I reached for the blade beneath the pillow. But I was too slow to kill him.
Nash did. My OG bodyguard. My ride or die. Seventeen years young and he drew his first blood forme.
Sixteen years had passed since then, but I’d never lost that primal feeling of safety whenever he was close.
It’s why I woke with a smile on my face, despite knowing he hadn’t entered my room alone.
That and his hot lips at my throat. “I brought you something.”
Someone.
My sweet boy. Of course he’d brought me Locke.
The bed dipped either side of me, Nash at my back, Locke in front of me, his green eyes sparkling in the dark.
“You stayed,” I murmured around Nash’s ministrations to my neck.
Locke chuckled. “So I did.”
“And you took your clothes off.”
