Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Then, with a filthy grunt, he says, “I think I’ll use this.”
He pulls back, rubs his thumb over my rim, coating me with my own desire, then he buries his face in me.
My brain short-circuits.
He was worried I might not like this? I’m addicted.
And I ache.
“Nate,” I beg. “Make me come.”
Grabbing my hips, he flips me to my back. “Gimme a little help for my hand,” he says.
I toss him the lube from my nightstand.
He catches it, then stares at my body like he’s ten seconds from blowing his load. “You’re a fucking dream,” he says, then he’s pushing on the back of my thighs, telling me to hold my legs open.
This is just…
So much.
So good.
More than I ever imagined sex could be.
I’m so fucking vulnerable and turned on at the same time as he returns to his mission, kissing me there, licking, and driving me wild as he strokes my cock until I’m too far gone to hold back.
He was right when he told me I’d call out his name. I roar Nate as I come hard in his hand.
When I open my eyes, his hand is already flying down his shaft, my orgasm lubricating the path until he’s grunting, growling, then saying my name, too, as he spills all over me.
When we’ve cleaned up and are back to lounging in each other’s arms on my futon, Nate says, “Text your friends. I don’t want you to have to lie to them.”
“It’s really not necessary.”
“Do it anyway,” he urges.
But I shake my head. After the way Nate apologized on the street—heartfelt in a way I didn’t know people could apologize—he doesn’t need to prove anything. I’ll clear things up with Trevor and Liam when Nate’s gone.
He runs his hand down my stomach. “Hunter?” he says, my name a question.
“Yes?”
“Do you want to fuck me?”
I flinch, not from fear but from surprise. From excitement. I look at him to gauge his expression, and I see sincerity in his eyes. “Well, I mean. Hell yes. I think I’m vers. But I thought you were strictly into topping?”
Nate smiles like he has a secret as he shakes his head. “I’m vers, but I mostly top. Mostly because guys want me to, and because I’m, well, a little bossy.”
“Ya think?”
He smiles a sleepy kind of smile. “Fine. A lot bossy.”
“There are bossy bottoms,” I point out.
He laughs. “Fair point. And bossy vers—actually, I’m not going to attempt to make a plural of that word. So, do you?”
“That’s like asking if I want cake or ice cream. I want both.”
“Yeah?” He sounds wickedly delighted.
“I don’t know if it’ll be any good. Or if I’ll last for more than two pumps. But fuck yes. I’ll try anything.”
“I noticed you’re kind of daring.”
I pull back and arch a brow in playful challenge. “Are you daring me to fuck you tomorrow night?”
He wiggles a brow. “Maybe I am,” he says.
“Challenge accepted,” I reply.
I’m delirious with excitement, and I fire off questions about his preferences, his favorite position, whether he likes it deep or rough. I need to know everything, like I’m prepping for a test.
When I’ve done all the research, Nate runs his fingers through my hair. “Honestly, I’m not worried. I know it’s going to be good. Because it’s you,” he says.
My heart thumps harder.
And because he’s him, I return to my news from earlier today. “I wanted to tell you something. Something good that happened to me,” I say.
He props himself up on his elbow, eager. “What’s the news?”
“Ilene was telling me how much she likes my work. And that Webflix is expanding its sports coverage in Europe.”
“Yeah? Does that mean she wants you to spearhead it?” he asks, sounding nearly as thrilled as I am.
“No. I’m too new for that. But she wants me to be involved in more projects.”
“Of course she wants you. You’re damn good at what you do.”
“Thanks,” I say, with a hopeful sigh. “She asked me to come to the reception tomorrow night. I told her I was already going to be there with you, but it was nice that she asked me without considering I’d be there with my star receiver husband.”
“More like I’m the stud producer’s date,” Nate says, playfully.
He’s too good to me. “Hardly. But thanks. I want to make my mark, you know?”
“I do.”
“The whole time I worked on Sweet Nothings, I felt like I hadn’t earned it and really, I hadn’t. This feels like mine. It feels important,” I say.
“It is, and I’m proud of you,” he says, then he’s quiet for a stretch, his brow creasing. “So, you’re in Europe then. For the long haul.”
Nate says it softly, wistfully maybe. A lot poignant. I don’t want to read anything into it, but I swear I can hear him missing me in that observation—the acknowledgement that oceans and continents separate us.