Page 201 of Before We Were

"Thanks," he mutters, setting the guitar aside with gentle reverence. His presence fills the space around me, making the air feel thick.

"Is it just you here?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper in the hushed atmosphere.

"Yeah. Nick ran to the hardware store. He'll be back in twenty minutes or so."

"Twenty minutes, huh?" I step closer, sliding myself between his legs until there's nothing but heat and electric tension between us.

My hands find their way to his shoulders, feeling the ripple of taut muscles beneath my palms, still warm from playing. His calloused hands—rough from years of football and hard work—instinctively find their way to my hips. His eyes darken to amber in the dim light, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth that makes my heart stumble.

"What are you doing?"

"What two people who want each other do." My voice carries more suggestion than I intended, my lips brushing dangerously close to his, close enough to share breath.

"You want me?"

I nod.

"How do you want me Nora?” His smirk deepens, his hands tightening slightly on my hips, fingers pressing into soft flesh through denim.

"In all the ways that matter, Nathaniel." I draw out his full name deliberately, savoring how his jaw twitches.

"Nathaniel?" He looks up at me from underneath dark eyelashes, those hazel eyes turning liquid amber in the fading light. There's a question in them, mingled with something darker, hungrier.

"People only call me that when I'm in trouble." Slowly, with aching deliberation, he leans forward. His warm breath fans across my stomach as he presses a kiss just above my navel. Then another, slightly higher. A third, just below my ribs. Each touch of his lips burns through the thin fabric of my shirt.

"Am I in trouble, Nora?" he murmurs against my skin, his voice low and rough around the edges, sending shivers racing down my spine.

"Maybe," I whisper.

My breath catches when his fingers graze the sensitive skin just above my jeans. In one fluid motion, he stands, closing the distance between us until we're sharing the same air. My hands find the waistband of his shorts, fingers hooking through the belt loops, pulling him closer still. The hard planes of his body press against mine, and I can feel his heart hammering in perfect rhythm with my own. A low groan rumbles from deep in his chest. He catches my hands in his, halting my exploration. My heart stutters, expecting rejection, preparing for him to pull away.

“I don't want to rush this—or you," he says, his voice low and steady as bedrock, laced with a tenderness that makes my chest ache. "I don't ever want you to feel like you have to. We've got time. I just want you to be sure. Of this. Of me. Of… us."

Us.

The word hangs in the air between us, heavy with promise, wrapping itself around my heart like ivy. My throat tightens under the weight of his sincerity. I lean in, resting my forehead lightly against his.

"I've been sure about you since I was eight years old," I whisper, my voice trembling with raw honesty.

His hands slide up my back, pulling me closer until there's no space left for doubt between us.

"You are the only thing I'm sure of right now," I continue, conviction threading through my voice like steel. "I can't think of anything else I want more than this."

In one swift movement, his arms encircle my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto the edge of the nearby table. My legs part instinctively, and his hips press firmly against mine, grounding me with an intensity that sets every nerve ending alight. His hands cradle my face with a gentleness that contradicts his usual strength, the pads of his thumbs grazing my cheeks as if memorizing my features. When his lips find mine, the world dissolves into sensation.

It's not just a kiss—it's confession and claim wrapped into one. Every suppressed longing, every stolen glance, every unspoken word between us pours into it, igniting something primal and profound within me.

When he leans back slightly, his dark hair falls messily across his forehead. His eyes catch mine, no longer empty but alive with emotion, their flecks of amber burning in them.

“Fuck Nora. You have no idea how much I've wanted this," he murmurs, his voice rough with honesty. His lips curve into a smile, one so devastatingly wicked yet achingly soft that it makes my breath catch. "How much I've wanted you."

His hands slide lower, fingers grazing the curve of my waist before gripping my hips with a possessiveness that sends heat rushing to my core. Every touch feels deliberate and careful.

"I've wanted to touch you like this," he says against my neck, his lips trailing fire along my skin. "Kiss you like this." His teeth graze the delicate spot beneath my ear, and I gasp, my hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.

His shoulders—broad and powerful—tense beneath my fingers, and I feel the strength coiled in him, barely restrained. My hands wander down his arms, brushing over the hard lines of his biceps, memorizing every curve, every ridge of his physique like a map I want to trace forever. His muscles flex under my touch, and the heat pooling in my stomach intensifies.

When I breathe his name, soft and desperate, his entire body stiffens. His grip on my hips tightens.

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