Sweet (Landry Family 6)

“That’s why? That motherfucker.”

“But this, with you … it feels right, Nate. If me being a virgin doesn’t make you not want me.”

He pulls me into him again, but this time with a tenderness that makes my heart bloom.

“Oh, I want you. Whether you’re a virgin or not doesn’t change anything … except for the fact that I can’t just fuck you,” he says, grinning.

“Why—”

He stops me with a kiss. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“What kind of a deal?”

“Let me take my time with you tonight. I want you to enjoy your first time, okay? And then the next time, we’ll do it however you want. If you want to be fucked, then—I’ll fuck you.”

I squirm at his choice of words. “Deal.”

He looks at me like he can’t believe what just happened. It would be adorable if I wasn’t soaking through my panties.

“Hey, Nate?”

“What?”

“I’m still dressed.”

He chuckles and takes my hand. “Let’s go fix that.”

“Yes. Please.”

We exchange a smile as he leads me toward his bedroom.

SEVENTEEN

PAIGE

“Stay right here.”

Nate presses a kiss to the top of my head and then disappears into what I assume is the master bathroom.

“All right,” I mutter to myself. “This isn’t awkward at all.”

I use the opportunity to check out Nate’s bedroom and distract myself from what’s about to happen. A simple wooden bed is covered with a navy-blue comforter. There are two small tables on either side of the bed and a rug at the foot.

Across the room is a long, narrow dresser with a television hanging about it. And above the bed is a painting that looks as though someone took a paintbrush, dipped it in various cans of paint, and flicked it against the canvas.

I turn a full circle, and just as I come to the end, Nate fills the doorway.

Wow.

He’s lost his shoes, socks, and shirt. The man is standing in front of me in a pair of jeans with a set of abs that you could grate cheese on.

Don’t drool.

He watches me for a long moment as if he’s not sure what to do with me. This makes me smile.

“Look, I’m just telling you now—you’ve talked a big game, buddy. If you aren’t sure how to do this, we have problems,” I say.

A low rumble slips past his lips. “Funny girl.”

And just that one comment seems to bring us back to who we’ve been for so long. Friends. Except … I don’t know what all this means or how it could work, but I’m telling you this—I’m past the point of no return. Either you’re mine or you’re not … Nate wants more.

And right now, I’m absolutely certain that I want to be his too.

He enters the room and sets a few things on the table by the bed. Then he faces me.

“First, I cannot read your mind,” he says.

“That’s obvious, or we would’ve been here days ago.”

He laughs. “What I mean is, there’s no way for me to know how something feels to you. I want to know. I want to know if you like it, if you hate it, or if it hurts. You have to communicate with me.”

“Okay. I’ll be sure to be vocal.”

He rolls his eyes but maintains his smile. “Second, if you decide you don’t want to do this or if something makes you uncomfortable, you have to promise you’ll stop me. No matter what. Okay?”

I tap my finger on my chin. “But what do I say to start you?”

“I’m being serious, Paige.”

“Me too.” I take in the frustration in his eyes and feel bad. I appreciate his attentiveness. “Okay. I’m sorry. I promise.”

“Good girl. Now come here.”

Even if he hadn’t touched me at all today—even if I wasn’t already so wet for him that my thighs are sticking together—the look on his face would get me there. It’s a smile so sinful, so delicious, that I whimper.

Nate touches his mouth to mine softly. Slowly, he licks across my bottom lip, then tugs it between his teeth. The sharpness of the act is in stark contrast to the way he holds me in his arms as if I’m a porcelain doll.

I dangle my arms over his shoulders.

He guides me across the room. We stop next to the bed. He grabs the hem of my shirt, and he slips it over my head.

The air is cool against my skin. I can feel the heat rolling off my body as I say a prayer of thanks that I wore pretty underthings.

“You just get better and better,” he says.

“I didn’t fully express my appreciation of your body. It’s … a work of art.”

He grins. “I gathered that by the look on your face.”

“Well, I’m glad my face doesn’t lie.”

He undoes the button on my skirt. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he pulls the zipper down with the care of a surgeon. I shimmy myself out of the skirt and kick it to the side.