Page 12 of One S'more Time

I look at him—really look at him. The concern in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way he's holding himself like he's bracing for impact. He's afraid, I realize. Afraid of losing me.

And suddenly, it doesn't matter how we met. What matters is that we did meet, and everything that's happened since. The way he makes me feel seen. The way he touches me like I'm something precious. The way he's looking at me right now, like I hold his heart in my hands.

"It doesn't change anything," I whisper, surprised by the certainty in my voice. "How we met doesn't matter as much as what we found."

Relief washes over his face, his shoulders relaxing visibly. "You're sure?"

In answer, I lean forward and kiss him, pouring everything I can't yet say into the press of my lips against his. His response is immediate, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me close again.

When we break apart, both breathing hard, I rest my forehead against his. "Take me to bed, Nate."

His eyes darken with desire, but he searches my face, making sure. "You're not upset?"

"I'm done letting fear make my decisions," I tell him, running my fingers along his jaw. "I want this. I want you."

In one smooth motion, he stands, lifting me with him. I wrap my legs around his waist, marveling at the strength in his body as he carries me toward my bedroom. His mouth finds mine again, hungry and certain, as he navigates the short hallway.

My bedroom is bathed in soft lamplight. Nate lays me down gently, his body a warm weight above me as he braces himself on his forearms. His eyes roam my face, filled with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, tracing a finger along my cheek. "I've thought so from the first moment I saw you."

I should feel self-conscious under his gaze, but instead, I feel powerful. Wanted. His desire for me is evident in every line of his body, in the heat of his eyes as they travel over me.

"I want to see you," he says, his voice rough with need. "All of you."

I nod, sitting up slightly as his fingers find the zipper of my dress. He draws it down slowly, his knuckles brushing against my spine in a way that sends shivers racing across my skin. The fabric pools at my waist, and I lift my hips to let him pull it away completely.

His breath catches audibly as he takes me in, clad only in my lace bra and matching panties. I resist the urge to cover myself,to hide the softness of my stomach or the fullness of my thighs. Instead, I watch his face, the naked appreciation there making me feel more beautiful than I have in years.

"God, Ellie," he breathes, his hands spanning my waist. "You're perfect."

I reach for him, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "Your turn."

He smiles, pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him—broad shoulders, firm chest dusted with dark hair, the defined muscles of his abdomen. Years of firefighting have sculpted his body into something that makes my pulse race.

"Come here," I whisper, reaching for him.

He lowers himself over me again, and the first touch of his bare skin against mine pulls a gasp from my throat. His mouth finds mine in a kiss that's both tender and hungry, his hands exploring the curves of my body with reverent attention.

I arch into his touch as his fingers trace the edge of my bra, teasing along the swell of my breasts before deftly unhooking the clasp. The garment falls away, and his eyes darken as he takes in the sight of me.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, lowering his head to press a kiss to the valley between my breasts. His mouth moves lower, capturing a nipple between his lips, and I cry out at the sensation, my back arching off the bed. His tongue circles the sensitive peak, sending sparks of pleasure racing through me.

My hands roam his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath smooth skin as he lavishes attention on my breasts. When histeeth graze lightly against my nipple, I dig my nails into his shoulders, earning a groan that vibrates against my skin.

"I need to taste you again," he says, his voice rough with desire as he begins to move down my body. His lips trace a path over the softness of my stomach, his hands gripping my hips with gentle pressure. "Let me make you feel good, Ellie."

I nod, breathless with anticipation as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties, drawing them down my legs with agonizing slowness. The cool air against my heated center makes me shiver, or maybe it's the hungry look in his eyes as he settles between my thighs.

"So perfect," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of my knee, then higher, his mouth leaving a trail of fire along my inner thigh. My breath comes in short gasps as he nears where I need him most, my hips lifting involuntarily.

His first touch is gentle, almost reverent—a soft kiss against my center that makes me whimper. Then his tongue is there, hot and insistent, tracing patterns that have me clutching at the sheets. He explores me with deliberate attention, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me moan, what makes my thighs tremble around his head.

When he slides a finger inside me, curling it just right while his tongue circles my clit, I cry out his name, my back arching off the bed. He adds a second finger, stretching me deliciously as his mouth continues its sweet torture.

"Nate," I gasp, my hands finding his hair, fingers tangling in the short strands. "I need—I want?—"

He lifts his head, his eyes dark with desire as they meet mine. "Tell me what you want, Ellie."

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