until exhaustion finally claimed her.
Chapter Twenty
NashwoketoCassiehalf sprawled over him, one leg slung across his, her breath warm against his chest.The storm had passed sometime during the night, but the sky outside still hung gray and heavy.
Cassie stirred, her thigh shifting against his.Yawning, she pushed up on her elbows, hair a curly mess, eyes heavy-lidded, her mouth soft with sleep.Still goddamn stunning.
“Mornin’?”she asked.
“Almost,” he replied.
She studied him a moment, green eyes sharpening.Then she was slipping a hand down the front of his shorts and stroking him.
“Good mornin’?”A crooked smile tugged at her mouth.
His lips twitched.“Not yet.”
She shoved upright, peeled off his hoodie, kicked free of the sweatpants, and straddled him.Nash raked his gaze over her—breasts rising with each breath, skin flushed and warm—as she sank onto him slowly, grinning the whole way down.His head fell back with a rough curse.Jesus, he’d fucking missed her.Infuriating.Insatiable.All of it.
“Remember when I’d do scales while we fucked?”She rocked her hips, unhurried.
“Not a goddamn clue how you did that crazy shit,” he rasped.
“Practice,” she said, tightening around him.
He groaned, hands clamping hard on her hips as he thrust up, the rhythm turning rougher, needier.
She tried to say something but it came out fractured and breathless as she folded down against him, nails digging into his chest.
“Nash—”
He growled low, biting the curve of her shoulder, rocking up into her, hard enough to make her gasp.
“Yeah, Cas?”he panted.
Her gasp broke into a cry as her body seized around him.Her thighs locked, fists clenched in his hair, every pulse of her orgasm dragging him closer to the edge.He gritted his teeth, fingers digging into her hips, driving up into her once more before pulling out with a rough exhale, and spilling hot across her stomach.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.They stayed tangled, sweat cooling on his skin, Cassie’s breath skidding against his throat.
“Still a little sloppy on the downbeat,” she whispered.
He brought his hand down hard on her ass, the crack echoing in the otherwise silent room.Her gasp turned quickly to a laugh, tipping sideways and rolling off him.
“Don’t know what the fuck a downbeat is, but I know a damn lie when I hear one.”
“Better than coffee,” she murmured against his skin.
He slid his hand up her spine.“Always did want it first thing.”
“Still do—I like being limber for early morning rehearsals.”
Nash’s chest pulled tight and before he could stop it, he’d blurted out: “You got someone waitin’ on you?”
“No,” she replied, not bothering to lift her head.“Unless you count a very angry German woman.”
Nash had stopped listening at ‘no’, his mind already doing the math—years, cities, hands that weren’t his.
“So what,” he said, too fast.“You just been takin’ it wherever you can get it?”
