Page 37 of Nash

While I wash the dishes, I side-eye him on the loveseat, reading my book,She Comes First.

My stomach flips.Is he telling me something?

It makes heat and tension fill every minute and molecule between us. I notice every lick of his lips. He lifts his glance, watching every subtle move I make. I catch how he adjusts himself, suspecting he’s on the chapter about the cunnilinguist manifesto, and desire claws at my insides, wanting out, wanting him. Even in my shower, I can’t escape it. I feel Nash everywhere, but I don’t touch ... him or me.

I can’t.

I know it will unlock something inside me, and I won’t be the same. I know I’ll suddenly be real, be in love, be lost forever to him, and everyone will see it.

I don’t know how Nash is holding back because I’m not sure I can anymore. This is starting to hurt way more than it used to, and the cure to my pain sleeps right next to me.

But then I remember how it strengthens my resolve whenever Alena calls or texts. Or I’ll hear how Nash softens his tone when she calls him. “Yes, sweetpea,” is his answer to every wish she has for her wedding.

We can’t.

He loves her. I love her. And if you’ve ever seen Alena’s deep brown eyes when she cries, you’d never want to be the cause of her tears, either.

But I shed tears, too, because tonight, Nash emerges from my steamy bathroom wearing dark ink, tan muscles, black cotton pajama pants, and nothing else.

He’s beautiful. So beautiful it’s painful.I have to roll over; I have to turn away.

“Are you ready to return to the real world tomorrow?” he asks, lifting the covers as I turn off my lamp.

He settles into his spot on my bed, and I can feel his heat. Can he not feel this, too? How the air crackles between us. Is he not losing his mind? Because I am.

Why can’t he be a horny beast when I need him to be? Why can’t he just take over like he always does and end our torture? Why won’t he make me do what we really want?

Why can’t I have this man, the only one who’s cared about me?

“The real world sucks,” I whisper.

“Why do you say that?”

I hug my pillow. It’s not enough. Tears bite at my eyes, choking my voice. “Just forget it.”

“Vale?” He turns toward the center, toward me. I can feel his every move, hear his every breath. “Vale.” His fingertips brush down my bare arm. “What’s wrong?”

His tenderness makes me cry even more. I stifle a sob. “You know what’s wrong.”

He withdraws his touch, and for too long, he’s silent.

No. Did he fall asleep? Did he leave me feeling alone like this? Does he not care? Did he pick his daughter over us? I want him to. It’s the right thing. I don’t ever want to hurt Alena.

But … I’m so tired of hurting, too. I’m tired of never feeling loved. I’m tired of?—

“Will you let me fix what’s wrong?” His voice sounds strained.

“Wecan’t,” I whisper.

“Will you let me try?”

“Youcan’t.”

“Oh, I will.” I’ve never heard his voice sound so husky, either. “For one night, I’ll show you what it feels like and?—”

“But what if we get?—”

“Shut up.” He says it in the softest, sweetest, sexiest way. Pressing his hot, hard body against mine, I gasp at his erection, barely veiled by his pajama bottoms, urging against my backside. His sweet, leather aroma engulfs me, his lips steaming over my ear, demanding, “Get out of your head, Vale. It’s time to let me inside instead.”

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