Page 173 of Things We Hide from the Light
My eyes flew open, and last night, all of it, came flooding back to me in high-definition with surround sound.
Five orgasms.
“You’re gonna stop running and I’m gonna stop fighting this.”
Nash on his knees between my legs. His tongue working miracles.
“I need you.”
Inevitable.
And then circling right back to the five orgasms.
Not just any run-of-the-mill, I-could-have-done-better-with-a-vibrator orgasms. No. Nash Morgan had blown my previous peak sexual experiences out of the water. Hell, out of the stratosphere.
It was like the moment his penis came out, my body was programmed to explode.
Just what the hell was I supposed to do about that?
Oh, and then there was that whole thing about me falling in l—
Yeah, my brain wasn’t even willing to think the word. This couldn’t be real. This had to be some kind of delusion. Maybe the whole town had a radon problem? Or there was some sort of hallucinogen in the water?
A chuckle rumbled in his chest, which was pressed against my naked back. My stupid body thrilled at the sensation.
“I can feel you freakin’ out.”
“I’m not freaking out,” I lied.
“Angel, your body is so tense I might find a diamond with my dick next time,” he said, tracing the edges of my tattoo with a finger.
“There’s not going to be a next time,” I decided, trying to scooch my way to the edge of his bed.
The sheets were rumpled from our sexathon before we’d passed out from dehydration and orgasm supersaturation.
His arm tightened around my belly and he dragged me back against him in a delicious show of strength. I was plotting defensive maneuvers when he nuzzled his face against my hair and sighed. “I was right.”
I paused my plotting. “About what?”
“Best way to wake up in the morning by far.”
I went limp.
Great. After a night of Nash the Sex God, now I had to deal with Nash the Sweetheart. I didn’t have the weaponry to defend myself against either, let alone both.
“You can’t keep me here,” I warned him, stretching my leg straight until my foot found the edge of the mattress. “Eventually someone will come looking for one of us, and I’ll be forced to tell them that you held me captive.”
A heavy, hairy leg slid over mine. He hooked my ankle with his heel and dragged it backward.
In another second, I was on my back and an amused Nash Morgan was ranging himself over me. His hips pinned mine to the mattress with the aid of what I identified as his usual impressive morning wood. “Angel, any man who walked in and saw you lookin’ like you look wouldn’t blame me.”
My escape plan fell out of my head.
Those blue eyes were sleepy and satisfied. His hair was tousled. The fresh bruises on his face tarnished his all-American good guy handsomeness, giving him an even sexier rakish appeal. There was a self-satisfied smirk playing on the lips that had turned me into a writhing puddle of need.
Without thinking, I traced my fingers over his pecs where a dusting of light hair tickled me. God, I loved chest hair.
Those two garish pink welts stood out against the rest of his smooth skin, reminding me that the man on top of me was nothing short of a hero. He had such a beautiful body.
