Page 22 of Nash

Vale’s only a few feet away, and I can smell her sandalwood shampoo. I can hear her breathing. It’s shallow, like she’s on edge with me here, and she’s too close.

I won’t sleep. I know it.

Once again, she’s right.

This is clearly hell.

Heaven would be me climbing up onto her bed and making her feel every orgasmic pleasure she deserves. I wouldn’t give her a choice; I’d make her come for me. It would get me off so much to do it. But hell would be the price I’d pay for it.

For minutes, our silence is heavy.

“Just tell me one detail.” Then, her voice sounds so tender in the darkness. She doesn’t wait for my permission; she asks, “You don’t hurt innocent people, right? You don’t traffic in women or girls or something like that?”

“No,” I answer. “We kill the people who do.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

VALE

I tossand turn all night, knowing Nash isn’t sleeping either.

I can smell his sweet, leather cologne. I can hear his grunts and groans of discomfort, but of course, my horny mind translates them into sex sounds, and who can sleep all hot and bothered?

Finally, once dawn spills through the windows, I sit up and grab my laptop.

The clicking sound of my keyboard rouses the beast beside my bed.

“What are you writing?”

Great.Pile another fetish onto my horny pussy cart because Nash’s deep voice sounds all raspy and sexy in the morning.

It’s annoying. It’s arousing.

“I’m not writing,” I answer. “I’m checking the status of my burial plot. With you here, I’m seeing if it can be ready early.”

He chuckles as he rises. “Find me one, too,” he says, aiming for my bathroom, “because I’d take death over your mouth any day.”

“You’d die and go to heaven in my mouth.”

I blurt it before thinking, the innuendo making him stop in the doorway, the muscles across his back, even under his black shirt, obviously tensing.

“Do you have coffee?” he growls.

“Does the Pope have holy water?”

“Then answer my prayer and make me a cup.”

“What will I get for making it?”

“The blessing to brew me more tomorrow,” he replies before slamming the door.

Asshole.

I bet that word is hidden somewhere in the ink he hides, too. But this will be a long day, so I stomp across the studio and brew us a full carafe.

While he showers, I reach for one of my little black dresses, but … I can’t.

I know it tempts Nash and suddenly, tempting him is too tempting. I like that I get under his skin, that I arouse him, even slightly. He’s a hot-blooded male. It’s too easy.

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