When her breathing slows, I sink my teeth into her bottom lip just before I pull back to look at her. Her sleepy eyes open a crack to stare at me. She’s not smiling, she’s not frowning; she’s just watching me. Curious. Maybe a little confused.
I pull the bottle from inside her and take a step back. With my eyes on hers, I bring it to my lips. Purposely, I tip the bottle back, inch by inch until cool liquid hits my tongue. The flavor of Marissa mingles sweetly with the cold beverage. I swallow.
“Best beer I’ve ever had,” I say.
I release her and, without another word, I turn around and walk back the way I came. I don’t glance back until I reach the bottom of the steps.
When I turn, I see Marissa standing at the top of the stairs, watching me. We stare at each other for a few seconds. With a smug smile, I turn and walk out the door. Without another glance at the house or Marissa inside it, I disappear into the crowd.
I make my way along the street, trying to leave behind what just happened. But the lights, the music, the people, the hype of the night—nothing can get Marissa out of my mind. The farther I walk, the more I think of her. The look on her face, the feel of her lips, the passion that rests just beneath the surface. My body throbs with it. The worst part is, I know it won’t do any good to look for someone else. She’s the only one who will satisfy me tonight. And I can’t have her.
She may never know it, but she won the night. Tonight, Marissa made me a victim of my own game.
“What are you doing?”
Brittni’s unwelcome voice stirs me, bringing me back to cold reality with a thud.
“I’m leaving,” I say, deadpan. “Thanks for the drinks.”
Even in the dark, I can see her open mouth and offended expression. More than ever, I don’t give a shit. There’s only one person’s opinion that I’m really starting to care about. I just don’t know what to do about it.
TWENTY-FOUR
Marissa
The click of the deadbolt opening wakes me. I listen closely, trying to determine if I was dreaming the sound or if it was real. The closing of the door assures me it was real. Very real.
My heart starts to race inside my chest as my mind flits through my options. I’m just getting ready to ease out of bed and head for the bathroom to lock myself in when I hear the light metallic clink of keys hitting the table in the foyer. It’s where I always put my keys. For some reason that makes me feel less threatened. Anyone breaking in with an ill intent wouldn’t likely be dropping off his keys on the table.
One thought runs through my head, one face.
Nash.
When he appears in the bedroom doorway, I recognize him instantly. Something about the way he moves is familiar to me, like I’d be able to pick it out anywhere, as long as I could see a silhouette.
He doesn’t say anything as he makes his way to the bed. I’m both excited and a little aggravated, considering that he left the bar last night with a trashy blonde. Thinking of her, of how it felt when he left with her, rises to the surface first.
“Where’s your friend?” I ask tightly.
At first he doesn’t say anything. I can see his movements and hear the shift of his clothing as he undresses. Despite my irritation, desire sweeps through me, making me breathless and achy.
He walks to the side of the bed, staring down at me in the dark. I can see just enough of his face to discern his expression. It’s serious. Determined. Heated.
“I realized something tonight.”
The mattress depresses where he sets his knee on it. I feel the brush of his fingers against my skin as he curls them into the covers at my shoulder. He pauses, as if waiting for me to respond.
“What’s that?”
My stomach is full of lava. It pours through my core and down my legs when he slowly pulls back the covers.
“I realized that no matter how tightly I closed my eyes, no matter how much I tried to ignore it, no matter how much I wanted her to be . . .” His voice is so quiet, I have to strain to hear him, even in the silence. “She just wasn’t you.”
My racing heart flips over in my chest.
Nash’s hand stills, hovering at my hip. He’s waiting for my permission, for my acceptance. For my participation.
I reach down and cover it with mine. Now we both wait—motionless, speechless, breathless. It’s as if something important is being decided. Or declared.
Then, purposefully, I roll onto my back and bring his hand to my breast. I hear him suck in a breath.
“Show me,” I demand simply. I know what I want him to show me. I know what I hope he meant by wishing she had been me. What I don’t know is if he’ll do as I ask, if he’ll show me that he’s in this, too. Just like me.
He makes no verbal response, but his answer is as clear as if he had. He slides onto the bed, stretching out beside me. He stares down into my face, his eyes sparkling black diamonds in the sliver of the moonlight pouring through the crack in the curtains. He watches me, his thumb absently moving back and forth over my nipple.
Finally, he lowers his head to mine, his lips brushing softly, sweetly over mine. “I don’t know what to do with you,” he whispers.
“Love me,” I answer, reaching behind his head to pull his mouth more firmly against mine. I don’t want him to comment and ruin the moment. I just want him to love me, like we aren’t two broken people with an impossible future. At least we can have this—this moment, this feeling, this one perfect night.
My heart and my soul and my body thrill at his touch. Nash’s hands and fingers, his lips and tongue move over me like they were made to do nothing else in life. Expertly, he brings my aching body to a fever pitch before he slips between my legs and positions himself at my entrance.
It feels as though the entire world is on pause, waiting in breathless anticipation for him to thrust into me and ease the ache that only Nash can give me.
My eyes are closed and every nerve in my body is focused on the place where our bodies are touching most intimately. His voice surprises me when he speaks.
“Look at me.”
I open my eyes and they meet his. He stares at me for several long, puzzling seconds before he flexes his hips and moves into me, inch by excruciating inch. And when he’s deep inside me, filling me up in so much more than just a physical way, he presses his lips to mine in a kiss that reaches the most sacred, terrified part of me.
When I feel the brush of his tongue, tender turns to passionate and my body clamps down around his. He begins to move within me, pushing me relentlessly toward a pleasure I’ve only ever experienced in his arms, at his touch.