Eighteen
Becca and Nate
Kissing Nate is better than I thought a kiss could ever be. It breaks apart those last reservations holding back pure hope, pure happiness. It breaks me apart, but not anything like the ways Rob did—this is the very opposite. Not tearing me apart to make me less, but letting in the space to make me see that I am so much more.
And god, the things it does to my body.
Nate’s tongue brushes along mine, and waves of heat run through me. His hands are so soft and warm, cupping my face, and then they pull away so they can be replaced with his lips, working his way down, tracing fire and need along my jaw, then down my neck. I moan softly, gripping his shoulders—and damn, his shoulders. Lean, tight muscle that feels like delicious sin under my hands. I need to see more, I want to see every muscle on his whole body, want to taste every dip and ridge of him.
I’m about to move down to start pulling his shirt off, but his hands have been busy too, and I’m distracted from any coherent thought by him drawing me closer with his palm on the small of my back, under my sweatshirt. His lips light across the tops of my breasts, and I can feel my nipples hardening, so ready for him there. Begging for him there. My whole body is begging for him everywhere.
I arch back against him. “Nate,” I whisper again, like I’m afraid to say it any louder, afraid this is all some kind of dream I’ll wake up from.
It feels like a dream. He has feelings for me.This incredible man who makes me not only believe in real love but makes me feel it, more powerfully than I ever thought I could.
I want to tell him that, want to say those words, want to whisper those in his ear, but the fear of that being too much for him, too soon, stops me just as it did when I first got in the room.
Strong feelings, I said. It’s so inadequate to describe this.
Ishouldn’t be doing this. I know it. It’s not just that I’ll get fired if we get caught, but Becca will be kicked off the show, instead of leaving on her own terms. She’s still technically dating Preston—althoughThea had a really good point when she said that Preston is dating other women, so it’s not entirely fair if Becca is shamed for doing so.
And it’s not like I’ve never had sex with a woman I’m not seeing exclusively, but I’ve never been in this deep with anyone, which ought to terrify me into taking it slow.
But it’s that same depth, that same pressure that makes me unable to take a step back. I need her like I need the air I breathe; I’m in no condition to be sensible. We’re kissing desperately, like we’re trying to devour each other, and I’ve never felt so consumed.
Soready.
Becca’s body arches against mine and she whispers my name again. I’ll never get tired of hearing her say it. Never in a million years.
I move my hands up to the back of her bra, meaning to undo it, but I can’t find the clasp. I’m fumbling like a sixteen-year-old, and Becca reaches her hands up to the front of her bra—okay, there’s the clasp—and pulls it open for me and leans back on the bed, giving me full access.
Her breasts are just like I imagined they’d be—gorgeous and perfect, just like the rest of her. I pull one of her nipples into my mouth and Becca whimpers and runs her nails up my back, giving me full-body shivers.
It’s funny to think I can read her so well and somehow missed that she was attracted to me.
I would have seen it, I think, if I hadn’t been so afraid that it wasn’t true.
My fingers have found the hem of Nate’s shirt and I’m pulling it off desperately. He helps me, and then his bare chest is right there, and it’s sexy as hell.The guy’s a climber, and I could already tell with his clothes on that he was seriously fit, but wow—that expanse of gorgeous brown skin, the taut muscles. I can’t keep my hands from traveling across him, and I don’t think he wants me to.
He could be a freaking statue of male perfection, except that he’s so warm I can feel the heat radiating from him, and he’s no statue, he’s Nate and he’s real and right now—maybe for more than right now—he’s mine.The hungry way Nate looks at me makes me lean back, wanting him to take me in. Wanting him to take me.
He lets out a sigh that might be awe or might be need or both, and then he’s leaning over me and his mouth, hot and wet, is on my nipple, tugging it with his tongue, and sending electricity down, down, until I feel it pulsing between my legs. I’m whimpering, begging wordlessly for more, and he moves off the bed so he’s kneeling right there, so close to that pulsing ache.
And then the insecurity prickles under my skin. Because he’s close to other things, too—the stretch marks, the scar.Things I should be proud of, the proof of how my body gave me the two most amazing gifts in the world. But that pride has been buried under Rob’s disdain.
I feel my body go stiff. Just a little bit, maybe not enough for Nate to tell that—
He pulls back, looking concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say. It won’t matter, right? If he sees that, he won’t want me less, right?
He frowns. “What’s wrong?” he asks gently.
I really don’t want to tell him, but in the grand tradition of me and him, I also really do. “You have to notice everything, don’t you?”
He smiles, and I melt for it, like I always do. “It never seemed to bother you before.”
It’s true. I actually love it about him. “I’m just self-conscious about my scars.”
