I gave him a half-shrug. “I forget about it when you’re touching me.”
“Like this?” Nash trailed his fingers down my chest, watching them, his gaze intense, every breath slow and deliberate.
Me? I shivered like a motherfucker. “Something like that. What else you got?”
Nash bit his lip and slid his hand lower, curving over my hip, the tips of his fingers brushing the macabre scars that sat higher than my waistband. “You okay with me touching them?”
“If you want to put yourself through that.”
“Locke.” That was it. A single word admonishment, heavy with affection. Then his touch intensified, dipping lower, drawing me forward as his hands made tracks over my hips and down my thighs. “Is this okay?”
The same answer I’d given him already danced through my brain—Yes. No. Yes—but it played on repeat, not settling one way or the other, and I didn’t like the emotion rising in me. It wasn’t fuckin’ fair.
I reached behind me and turned off the spotlights under the cooker hood. As if the dark could save me. But the moon was a fiend, and all I saw in her soft glow was his beautiful face.
Nash moved to reclaim his hands.
I gripped his wrists.Stay.
Nash stayed, pressing closer and nuzzling my neck the way he did Orla’s. Sweet. Hot. Loving. All the things Nash McGovern was so good at. It didn’t take him long to chase the bad shit away.
The barbed disquiet in my gut faded, replaced by the renewed need to be as close to him as possible. To wipe the earnest concern off his face and take the weight off his back.
I kissed him, slowly backing him towards the kitchen door, to the living room, mindful of our canine companion.
She followed us and settled on her cushion again.
I pushed Nash onto the couch, pinning his arms over his head, giving him a break from second-guessing everything. Then I covered his body with mine, straddling his lap, holding him down with my palm to his chest. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
Nash slow-blinked. “I never want to stop.”
“Tell me anyway. I’m listening.”
And I was done talking. I claimed his mouth again, still holding his arms over his head, swallowing his snatched breath as he kissed me back, hips straining, seeking the blissful friction.
Out of air, I ripped our kiss apart and mauled his neck, sucking his hot flesh into my mouth, smothering his groan with my hand. I was going to leave a mark. Didn’t care. Orla loved that shit.
How did I know?
She told me.
I went at Nash until he was a shuddering wreck, his neck, his chest, his ridged abs, following the trail of hair from his navel to the fly of his faded jeans. By now, I knew what lay beneath. More golden body hair. More muscles. His big dick that was already fighting to escape.
Good brother that I was, I set it free, wrapping my hand around him, watching as sensation shivered through his strong frame. I hadn’t touched him like this much, not since that first time a few weeks back. Most times when we were naked, he focused on Orla, and I only put hands on him to guide him inside her.
Unbidden, my mind gifted me a replay.Ishivered, and tightened my clutch on Nash, shuttling my grip up and down the taut and silky steel of his rock-hard dick.
Nash groaned. “Fuck.”
One day. Didn’t care which way round. Whatever he wanted. Whatever heneeded. And right now, it was a reset—for both of us.
Folk jumped into the sea to clear his head.
I was going to suck Nash’s brains out.
His arms were still pinned over his head. I released them and dropped off the couch, kneeling between his legs, dragging his jeans further down.
His dick called to me. I caught his eye, giving him time to pull back. To withdraw his assumed consent.
