Page 47 of Freefall

“Please make me come.”

He responds by curling his fingers, pushing my sweater up with his other hand and finding my nipple, peaked and aching behind my bra. Pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, he twists until I scream, contracting around his fingers over and over again and circling my hips to draw out the pleasure. All the while, he’s whispering in my ear.

Not the cold words from earlier.

No, these are warm and balmy, dripping through my senses like honey.

That’s it, Dani.

Fuck, you came so pretty.

Keep soaking my hand, baby.

When I’m finally spent, and he’s wrung the last aftershock out of me, I collapse forward, pressing my forehead into his shirt. He smells like soap and spice and just…Nate.

This is the best part—his aftercare. When he holds me and whispers praise in my ear. Don’t get me wrong—the orgasm was great—more than great, fucking fantastic, but this right here? I could take a lifetime of these moments, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“Dani…” The nickname feels different than the previous two times he said it when we were in the throes of passion. It feels like the night we met.

“So do you have a last name, or is this a Cher situation?”

“Was that another joke?”

“I told you.” He taps a finger against his chest. “Comedian.”

I roll my eyes, and he holds his phone open, waiting for me to answer so he can finish adding my contact.

“It’s Daniels,” I finally say.

“See, that wasn’t so hard.” He types something on his phone, then leans in and presses his lips to mine one last time. “Have a good night, Daniels.”

“Um, no. Not happening. I’m not one of your football buddies.”

“Okay, fine.” He sits back, the blue of his eyes glittering in the ambient light spilling into the car. “Goodnight, Dani.”

The blaring whistle of my tea kettle jolts me out of both the memory and Nate’s arms, which had somehow ended up around my back.

“Shit.” I scramble away, pulling my leggings up and grabbing the kettle. I set it onto the unlit burner and turn off the stove. Pausing for a moment, I press my hands flat against the counter just long enough to collect my scattered thoughts. “Sorry,” I finally say, turning around to face the empty wall where he once stood.

I don’t have to check the other rooms.

I know, deep in my chest, he’s gone.

14

NATE

Fuck.

That’s all I can think about as my mind replays everything that happened last night. God, she pissed me off with that text—how she so casually decided that now wasn’t a good time to meet my own fucking daughter. I meant to tell her that she couldn’t keep Daisy from me, that I would have a family law attorney serve her with court papers so fast her head would spin.

Instead, I made her come. Hard.

Even then, I meant to leave her with her pants around her knees and shame coating her cheeks, but she put her head on my chest, and all the anger simply melted away. That’s the hold she has on me.

Thank God for that damn tea kettle because if it didn’t start screaming, I might not have let her go. I might have picked her up and carried her to the bedroom until she came down enough to go again. This time with my cock instead of my fingers because God knows I was so hard, it could have cut glass.

But the tea kettle whistled, and I snapped out of it, running out of there before she could turn back around.