Page 76 of On the Edge

I push up on the balls of my feet intending to claim his lips with mine, but he’s one step ahead of me as his lips slant over mine. He pulls my lower lip into his mouth and I let out a sigh, opening enough for him to delve into my mouth, his tongue sliding against mine as he wraps his arms around my waist bringing me fully to him. Our bodies are pressed together so I can feel every ridge and valley of his athletic body.

I want him more than I ever have. I know it in the way every nerve ending in my taut nipples sing as they press against his chest, the way the pressure builds in my core and I have to clench those muscles together to quell the aching need to have him inside me. It’s been an eternity since we’ve been together like this, and I never believed I’d ever find the kind of physical connection I had with Nate. Maybe it’s not so surprising then that my body has found his again.

His hands move slowly, his thumbs circling my hip bones, then sliding under my shirt and up my sides until finally they reach my breasts. He cups them in his hands, and groans into my mouth, then he’s pulling my shirt up and over my head. I gladly take it and toss it on the bed as he gazes down at me, his lids heavy. “God you’re beautiful,” he says.

I reach out and take his shirt by the hem, pulling it up and over his head, tossing it over with my own on the bed. “That’s better,” I say as I take in his naked torso—a sight I’ve seen so frequently since he’s been back, but have never been able to ogle with the appreciation his body deserves. I step back to him, our bodies only a few inches apart, the incredibly hard length of him pressed up against my stomach.

His hands come back to my breasts, circling my nipples, rolling them back and forth under the rough pads of his thumbs until I am moaning his name.

He rests his forehead against mine, a gesture that I always loved so much—the one that always preceded him kissing me like he owned me, which he did. Clearly he still does.

“I need you so badly,” he whispers as he keeps up the assault on my nipples, which has me pressing my hips into him again, searching for that friction I need.

“I see that,” I say and move to kiss him, but he holds me back with his hands on my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers until I’m pretty sure my underwear is soaked through with the need dripping out of me.

“Do you need me too?” he asks, and the vulnerability in his voice breaks through any last walls my heart might have been hiding behind.

“See for yourself,” I say, guiding one of his hands down my stomach and into my underwear.

“Oh, God,” he growls as he slides his finger along my slick folds. “You’re fucking drenched.” He slides his finger along my seam, then circles my clit—over and over, teasing me until I thrust my hips toward his fingers and beg him. Finally he slides two fingers up and into me, stroking in and out, his fingers curled in the perfect way to hit that spot deep inside that he knows drives me crazy. A few more strokes with the heel of his hand pressing against my clit while he slides his fingers along those muscles deep inside me and I’m saying his name in between pants and grunts and sighs. He covers my mouth in his again, sliding his tongue along mine with the same rhythm, slowly speeding up as my muscles begin to clench around his fingers.

My hips meet every thrust of his hand in quick, desperate movements, my orgasm so close I long for it like an addict. I can feel my muscles clenching harder as the sensation I’ve been chasing starts rolling through me and Nate pulls his mouth away from mine to whisper, “Yes, come for me.” The desire in his voice combined with the waves of my orgasm hitting me has me practically seeing stars. My hips are erratically thrusting against his fingers when I feel that tightening of my muscles as they pulse around his fingers and I come completely undone, over and over again.

“Oh, wow.” I sigh as I rest my forehead against his shoulder trying to catch my breath.

“You are so sexy,” Nate says, his lips close to my ear.

I look up at him as I reach my hands over to the waistband of his flannel pajama pants and hook my thumbs inside. I tease him by sliding them down his legs slowly until they pool at his feet. I do the same with his boxer briefs, sinking onto my knees as I pull them down his muscled legs. Kneeling in front of him, I slide my fist over the tip of him, then rub my thumb back across it as I slide my tightened fist down the length of him. I dip my head forward and slide my tongue over his tip as I begin sliding my hand along his shaft, my mouth taking more of him with every thrust of his hips.

Nate groans, a deep primal sigh in his throat, and I look up at him—every muscle in his abdomen is a defined specimen of athletic perfection, his broad chest is chiseled and tense, the muscles in his shoulders and neck strain under the delicate torture of my hand and mouth stroking him.

Then he opens his eyes, locking in on my own, and brings both of his hands to my jaw, tilting my head back so he slides out of my mouth. “Come here,” he says, and I stand, letting him slide between my breasts and along my stomach so I can feel the hot, hard length of him against me. He rests his forehead against mine again, breathing hard like he’s trying to regain some of the control he lost while he was in my mouth. Nate is always in control, always level and measured. Except when we’re having sex. And I want more than anything to see him lose that restraint. “This first time is going to be quick,” he says, his voice so quiet and deep. “It’s been a really long time.”

A laugh bubbles up in my throat. “Really? How long?” I think back to all the pictures I’ve seen of him over the years. The ones I’d never admitted to anyone that I actually looked for. Alessandra Ricci might be the most famous model he dated, but she wasn’t the only one. And there is no shortage of photos online with girls draped all over him at ski resorts across the globe.

For a few long seconds he doesn’t say anything, then “Five years.”

I pull back from him so I can focus on his face. “What? How is that possible?”

“I promised you a long time ago that even though you weren’t my first, you’d be my last.”

I just stare at him, aware that my mouth is hanging open. A million thoughts race through my head. How is it possible that through the second half of his twenties he never slept with anyone? Especially when that is so at odds with the public persona he’s given off? Finally, I ask him as much.

“I’m not saying I was a monk all those years, but I never had sex with anyone. Some things are sacred, and I meant what I said when I told you I wanted you to be the last woman I ever slept with. I still mean it,” he says, dipping his head to capture my mouth with his. My body responds appropriately, but my mind won’t shut down and enjoy this. He must sense that because he pulls back, giving me a small closed-mouth kiss. “Don’t let your mind go crazy right now,” he says, “come back to me, to this moment.”

“That’s just a huge piece of information to absorb.” I sigh.

He presses his hips forward into my stomach, the smooth, hard length of him rubbing against me. My own hips involuntarily move against his leg, which is somehow between my own, seeking the friction that I already need again. Once is never enough for me, and Nate’s always been up for as many rounds as I need to feel sated.

He dips his mouth to my throat, trailing hot, hungry kisses up to my earlobe. “I really need to be inside you,” he says as I grind myself along his leg.

“Yes, you do,” I whisper as he takes my earlobe in mouth, gently biting and sucking in a way that makes me acutely aware of the gaping space inside me and how much I need him to fill it.

“My back is going to make this tricky.” He sighs.

“Does it hurt right now?”

His jaw ticks. “Not as bad as earlier. But I wouldn’t care if it did.”

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