hurried, probably drunk, full of bravado. But not this kiss. This kiss is long and full, deep and slow. It’s the kiss of a grown man, patient and tender, belying a passion I haven’t felt anywhere else—ever. I pull away and bring my fingers to my mouth, running them over the swollen bottom lip he took between his teeth. My body feels like it’s melting, and just like before, I want to sink into the wall.
“We shouldn’t, Josh. This isn’t—”
“It’s okay, Nat. I understand.” He brushes the thumb over the small of my back, and my sex throbs in response. We shouldn’t. But it’s not like I don’t want this. It’s not like I don’t want his lips again, not like I don’t want his hands on me, brushing over my breasts, taking my waist, moving lower. “I’ve been waiting for years, and now that you’re back, you’ll have to put up with me. I’ll bide my time until you tell me otherwise.”
“It’s not wise,” I say, because nothing else comes to my mind. His left hand still holds my wrist, and he kisses me there, on the pale, sensitive inside of my wrist. He pulls me in closer, his hand gripping my waist, and I feel his cock, hard and hot, pressing into my thigh. “I can see that—”
“That I’ve been thinking about you too, like you have been at night. See, I sleep light nowadays,” he says. He pushes into me again, and I think about what I wanted that night, what I needed to take the pain away. And I still want it. God help me, the need that pours through me nearly obliterates everything in my mind. My body pulses with it, reaching out to the man in front of me. Is that what he is now? A man?
My left hand still rests on his forearm, and I glance at my watch. “Shit,” I mumble, pulling away from him. “I have to go to my shift.” He nods, doesn’t say anything else. “I’ve gotta go to my shift,” I repeat dumbly. “When I get back, we’ll work on some more exercises...”
“Sure, Nat. Whatever you want.” He nods at me again, and I avoid looking down at his ever-present basketball shorts. If I think any more about his body, my brain will fucking explode. I grab my scrubs and stuff them in my purse, and I run out of the house because now I’m running late, and I never run late for anything.
What is he doing to me?
CHAPTER SEVEN
I watch Nat’s ass as it sways out of the door. The door slams behind her, and I nearly say a prayer of mourning. My cock strains against the fabric of my shorts, and every tiny movement of my body sends shocks through my body. Apparently my dick hasn’t gotten the message that Nat’s gone to work for another shift. I’ll be left wondering if she still hates me, if she responded to that kiss just because I caught her off guard.
“I feel like a fucking pussy. Waiting for a woman,” I mutter. I think of the fight, try to focus on it, but all I can see in my mind is Natalie, sweet Natalie, pushed up against the wall, looking like she was ready for me—like she needed it bad and was just trying to hide it all week.
I try the masking tape line again. I don’t do as well this time, but it’s probably because my dick is still semi-hard, and my shoulder is still fucked up. The shoulder wasn’t part of my plan either, but it happened. And it brought me back to Natalie before I intended to see her again—scratch that, it gave me the opportunity to see Nat again, to change the plan, to win her once and for all. “Fuck, man. What now?”
I stumble into the bathroom and turn the shower on, letting it run until a cloud of steam fills the tiny room. The bathroom is immaculately clean—leave it to Nat to keep such a shitty place feeling so fresh—but the linoleum is peeling up in the corners of the room, and the paint is flaking off the ceiling. If I thought I was an anchor, this place is far fucking worse. I strip down my shorts and kick them off, leaning against the wall to steady myself.
And then I do what
“We shouldn’t, Josh. This isn’t—”
“It’s okay, Nat. I understand.” He brushes the thumb over the small of my back, and my sex throbs in response. We shouldn’t. But it’s not like I don’t want this. It’s not like I don’t want his lips again, not like I don’t want his hands on me, brushing over my breasts, taking my waist, moving lower. “I’ve been waiting for years, and now that you’re back, you’ll have to put up with me. I’ll bide my time until you tell me otherwise.”
“It’s not wise,” I say, because nothing else comes to my mind. His left hand still holds my wrist, and he kisses me there, on the pale, sensitive inside of my wrist. He pulls me in closer, his hand gripping my waist, and I feel his cock, hard and hot, pressing into my thigh. “I can see that—”
“That I’ve been thinking about you too, like you have been at night. See, I sleep light nowadays,” he says. He pushes into me again, and I think about what I wanted that night, what I needed to take the pain away. And I still want it. God help me, the need that pours through me nearly obliterates everything in my mind. My body pulses with it, reaching out to the man in front of me. Is that what he is now? A man?
My left hand still rests on his forearm, and I glance at my watch. “Shit,” I mumble, pulling away from him. “I have to go to my shift.” He nods, doesn’t say anything else. “I’ve gotta go to my shift,” I repeat dumbly. “When I get back, we’ll work on some more exercises...”
“Sure, Nat. Whatever you want.” He nods at me again, and I avoid looking down at his ever-present basketball shorts. If I think any more about his body, my brain will fucking explode. I grab my scrubs and stuff them in my purse, and I run out of the house because now I’m running late, and I never run late for anything.
What is he doing to me?
CHAPTER SEVEN
I watch Nat’s ass as it sways out of the door. The door slams behind her, and I nearly say a prayer of mourning. My cock strains against the fabric of my shorts, and every tiny movement of my body sends shocks through my body. Apparently my dick hasn’t gotten the message that Nat’s gone to work for another shift. I’ll be left wondering if she still hates me, if she responded to that kiss just because I caught her off guard.
“I feel like a fucking pussy. Waiting for a woman,” I mutter. I think of the fight, try to focus on it, but all I can see in my mind is Natalie, sweet Natalie, pushed up against the wall, looking like she was ready for me—like she needed it bad and was just trying to hide it all week.
I try the masking tape line again. I don’t do as well this time, but it’s probably because my dick is still semi-hard, and my shoulder is still fucked up. The shoulder wasn’t part of my plan either, but it happened. And it brought me back to Natalie before I intended to see her again—scratch that, it gave me the opportunity to see Nat again, to change the plan, to win her once and for all. “Fuck, man. What now?”
I stumble into the bathroom and turn the shower on, letting it run until a cloud of steam fills the tiny room. The bathroom is immaculately clean—leave it to Nat to keep such a shitty place feeling so fresh—but the linoleum is peeling up in the corners of the room, and the paint is flaking off the ceiling. If I thought I was an anchor, this place is far fucking worse. I strip down my shorts and kick them off, leaning against the wall to steady myself.
And then I do what
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