Nate follows me, his eyes wide and wild, nervous I’m about to bolt, and if I weren’t in heels, I would.
The sudden movement has my head swirling, and I sway forward, hitting Nate’s chest.
“Maddie,” he whispers, and suddenly I’m closer than before in his arms.
I know deep down I should turn around and walk away…to talk about this at a different time. But the comfort my body has always gotten from Nate is too familiar.
Being in his bubble acts as a mind eraser of all the hurt.
Slowly, I let my gaze travel north until our eyes meet, his breath picks up, and I know from how my body reacts I’m in trouble.
“Nate…”
He leans down, and our lips touch. “Just one kiss.”
Just one kiss.
My eyes flutter from the morning light that’s burning my crusted eyes.
Gross.
Absentmindedly, I reach over for my water, desperate to quench the dryness coating my mouth. When my fingers close around a bottle of Fiji, I frown.
Camila or Addie must have left it. I can’t afford bougie water.
Before I can think too hard about it, a soft snore beside me scares me half to death.
I sit up in a hurry and immediately regret it. My head spins, and not just from the hangover, but from the memories rushing back from last night.
Nate’s large, strong hands trace up my sides, the wake of goose bumps follows from the familiar touch I’ve missed so much. He cups my breast, running the pads of his thumbs over my pebbled nipples, pulling them often, just as I love.
“I hate that I love you,” I whisper into his mouth as his tongue strokes mine. The feeling of home is strong. “You hurt me, Nate.”
“I know, babe. I promise I will explain everything in more detail tomorrow. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I messed up.”
My hand slaps over my mouth. I’m going to be sick.
Why did I tell him I love him?
Because you do.
“Please touch me. Touch me like you love me.”
He growls low in his throat, spreading my legs apart. “I do love you. But I’m not having sex with you this drunk.”
I lift my hips searching for his mouth. “I need you.”
I bury my face in my hands, wanting to scream in embarrassment.
I push him on his back to reciprocate the favor, but instead I straddle him and line his dick up to my entrance. “I want this inside of me, Nate. I need you.”
“You’re drunk.” His voice is strained.
“And you’re drunk. So it cancels it out,” I say, need evident in my tone.
Of course, he had to be the noble one, even shitfaced.
“It cancels it out,” he repeats, thinking over my words.
