Nothing.
I’m on my hands and knees now, leaning over him and peppering kisses across his back and shoulder.
“Nash,” I whisper between them, “are you awake?”
Silence.
I put two fingers to his mouth, push them between his lips, and hook them around his teeth. My entire core tightens with want.Suck my fingers, Nash.
He. Breathes.
I jerk my fingers from his mouth and sit on my knees, staring at him. Wondering if I’m going to have to take care of myself just to get this out of my system.
And then I see it. The smirk, half hidden by the pillow.
Without moving or opening his eyes, he says, “That you taking it slow?”
His eyes open to meet mine, and my jaw drops. Before I can die of humiliation or smother him with a pillow, he rolls onto his back, grabs my hips, and pulls me on top of him.
“You’re a bastard,” I say, settling into my straddled position, my knees hugging his ribs.
His chest rumbles with a laugh as he grabs my hand to kiss my wrist, then—briefly—suck my fingers.
“A bastard whose elbow you sucked while he was sleeping.”
I lean down so my face is close to his, our noses touching. “It’s the only way you’re bearable.”
He threads his fingers in my hair, and the look in his eyes shifts from playful to serious.
“Tell me you want this.”
I nod because I do. Even if I am doing the wrong thing by not telling him about Bennie first.
I reach for his mouth with mine, but his grip in my hair stops me.
“I need you to say it.”
“I want this, Nash.”
His name is barely off my lips when he crushes his mouth to mine. The kiss that starts slow turns to a storm of sucks and licks and the heat of a blue flame.
Beneath me, he’s hard and ready.
I rock my hips against him. Faster. Fast enough, I might grind our underwear clear off.
He peels off my shirt, and his fingers dig into my back. When his mouth finds my breasts, my head drops back and a moan escapes my lips.
I can barely breathe from how good it feels. How right.
This.
Him.
In a swift motion, I’m on my back, and he’s on top, between my thighs and fumbling his way out of his boxers, wicked smile on his face.
His fingers hook around the waistband of my underwear, and he—slowly—slides them down my legs and throws them across the room.
When he’s leaning toward me again, his mouth coming for mine, I say, “Wait.” He stills. “My socks.”
