I unravel myself and get out of the chair. I move toward the staircase. “Where are you going?”
I turn and look at him over my shoulder. “Look, Nash, I get it. I’m not your favorite person. We don’t have much in common. We’re stuck in a temporary situation, but…”
I sigh and decide not to finish explaining myself. I just start down the stairs. It doesn’t take more than two seconds before the sound of his bare feet behind me hits my ears. When I get to the living room he is right behind me, reaching for my arm. When he snags it, I yank it away. “What did I do?”
“I don’t not want to,” I repeat in a thick, deep voice which sounds dumb, on purpose. He frowns. I continue speaking in a normal voice as I walk to the kitchen. “Do you only fuck puck bunnies?”
“No. I exclusively do not fuck puck bunnies,” he says, making his way to stand beside the kitchen island. “I fuck smart, beautiful women who are independent and?—”
“And think ‘I don’t not want to fuck you’ is a sexy, motivating response to ‘hey Nash, wanna have sex so that maybe we can get something worthwhile out of this forced union?’” I blurt out, cutting him off. I grab a bottle of flavored sparkling water from the fridge. “Because smart, independent women usually know their worth and therefore need a little bit more than that, you fucking robot.”
I try to walk right by him but as soon as I'm beside him his hands are on my shoulders and he pushes me back into the wall beside the fridge, leaning his entire, half-naked body into mine as he does. His lips trail across my jawbone. "Shut the fuck up, Tenley. For once, just shut up."
I shiver at the raspy growl of his voice that is in complete contrast with the soft, gentle feel of his lips making their way toward my ear. “How can I want to smack you and fuck you in the same goddamn moment.”
“So do both.”
He pulls his lips off my skin, and his eyes lock with mine, so close he’s blurry. And then he leans in. I pull up a hand and wedge it between us, palm on his chest. He makes an annoyed noise somewhere in the back of his throat. “Tenley, you gorgeous, impossibly vexing wife of mine, I want to fuck the hell out of you.”
I drop my hand and his lips crash down on mine.
Chapter 16
Tenley
This is not at all what I was expecting. Nash is bossy. He's pushy. He's manhandling me like I'm a toy. His toy. And it is the hottest thing that's ever happened to me. When he kisses me, his hand moves to my throat and curls around it, not rough, but firm. And I don't dare resist when he finally allows his tongue to slide past his lips. The sparks when he touches mine are unreal. My knees actually get weak.
He's still leaning into me, his whole body pressing me into the smooth concrete wall and the longer and harder we kiss, the longer and harder he gets. And he is not afraid to let me know. He moves his hand from my neck to the back of my head and his other hand slides down the outside of my thigh, around to the back of my knee which he grabs and pulls up, so he can rut that long, hard shaft of his up into the space between my legs.
Yup. I’m humping my much-hated husband up against his kitchen wall like we’re seniors in high school. And it is giving me life. All my stress about the documentary, all my worry about this stupid fake marriage, all my annoyance about living with Nash, all gone.
He moves his other hand to my ass and lifts me. I gasp and his mouth, which has trailed down to my neck, nips at my skin. I hook my legs behind his back. He tilts his hips into me roughly. “Good girl. Fucking finally.”
"Fuck you," I whisper, smiling.
“I intend to,” he growls playfully and turns, carrying me toward the stairs.
He moves quickly and easily, like he doesn’t have one-hundred and thirty-five pounds wrapped around his torso. His lips never leave my skin. He’s kissing my neck, my ear, my jaw, my lips. Nash is an incredible kisser. Unlike his personality, his kisses are warm, emotional and deep. He reaches the bed, kneels on it, and tips me, and himself, until I’m pressed into the downy mattress and he’s once again pressed into me.
I use my feet, still near his hips, to get his pants down. Slipping my toes into the waistband and pushing them off his hips as I extend my legs on either side of his thighs. He lifts off me a little, allowing the thick fabric to pass, and grins at me. “Nice party trick.”
He shakes the sweats off his ankles and goes back to kissing my neck. He’s balancing on one hand and using the other to explore under my tank top. His fingers are scraping their way up my abdomen. I push up on my elbows, causing him to roll to the side and give me room. With the joggers gone, he’s completely naked now and isn’t at all bothered by it. I lift my tank top over my head, grateful I wore the tiny, sexy white lace bralette because his eyes go right to it and stay there.
“Now the skirt,” he demands.
I flop back on the pillows with a victorious smile. I like the neediness I’ve put in his voice. I lift my hips and, very slowly, undo the button at the top and inch down the zipper. Nash groans in frustration and the next thing I know he’s yanking the skirt down my legs. He leans over me, tosses it on the floor on top of his joggers, and crawls over my body again.
I’ve seen Nash naked more than once now but I haven’t felt him naked. And all that warm, hard muscled flesh pressed against my own naked body is instantly my new favorite thing. “You are so fucking hot, Tenley. It’s criminal.”
He takes my mouth in a scorching, possessive kiss. We leisurely explore each other for the first time using our hands and tongues. Nothing about this feels wrong or annoying, which has my brain spinning because… I don’t like Nash. We are not even friends. So why is my heart galloping and my skin heating under his touch? Why am I dying for this to both move faster and go slower?
“Bra,” he grunts into my collarbone. “Needs to go.”
“Bra stays.”
He stills. “I’ve seen your tits. They’re glorious.”
“There are other places to explore,” I remind him.
