I force my heavy eyes open. “That was amazing. I wouldn’t have believed I could make myself…”
“Get off?”
I shake my head. “I knew I could do that, but it’s never that good. But with you standing there…”
He presses a kiss to the side of my neck. “That’s what I want you to think about when I’m gone. When you touch yourself, imagine me at the end of the bed watching you.”
I hear the hum of the vibrator clicking on, and then he’s pressing it against the inside of my thighs and sucking at my neck as he inches the vibrating wand closer to the apex of my thighs.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, reaching for the button on his jeans. “I think it’s your turn.”
“I might have had an ulterior motive for buying this for you.”
“What’s that?” My breath catches as he brushes it lightly over my clit before returning it to my thighs. I part my legs instinctively.
“I want to fuck you with this, Hanna. If I can’t have my cock inside you, I still want to fuck you.”
I slide my hands into his hair and lock my eyes on his. “If you want me, I’m yours. I’ve told you that.”
His kiss is hard and sweet at the same time. I know he’s trying to be noble, and I don’t want him to be. I release him from his jeans, and he groans as I take his hard length into my hands.
“I’m ready,” I promise.
He buries his face in my neck and presses the vibrator lightly against my entrance. The sensation is new and intense, and I cry out even as I rock my hips toward the intrusion.
“Just imagine it’s my cock sliding into you.”
I want to make a joke about his magically vibrating appendage, but the words die on my lips. I’m too distracted by the round tip of the vibrator poised at my entrance. He slides it in, inch by inch, while kissing my neck. Slowly in. Slowly out. Long, languid movements that already have my body pulsing in response.
“Nate.” I try to draw back, to escape the sensation before I’m lost in it. He lowers his mouth to my breast and sucks hard. Then instead of pulling away, I’m rocking forward. Instead of withdrawing from the pleasure, I’m running toward it.
“I can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to be inside you,” he whispers. “You are so fucking responsive, and I could get off right here just imagining that pussy squeezing around my cock.”
I cry out, my hips rising off the bed. “Please.”
He groans in my ear and rocks the toy inside me, moving it deeper this time. “I know, baby. I want it as much as you do. But you’ve done something to me.” He removes the vibrator, and I cry out, hungry, empty, desperate.
“Fuck me, Nate.” I wouldn’t have had the courage to say those words to anyone before meeting him, but he brings out this bold side of me. This wicked side. “Don’t make me wait anymore.”
“It would be so damn good.” He touches the vibrator to my clit and my body squeezes tight, climbing higher. “I’d never get enough of you. I’d fuck you from behind. I’d fuck you with your legs wrapped around my waist. I’d fuck you in the shower and until you thought you couldn’t come again.”
“Now. Please.”
He slides two fingers inside me and holds the vibrator snug against my clit. “Not until you’ve made a decision. Not while his ring is waiting in your jewelry box.” With those words, he rocks against my clit and curls his fingers, and I’m gone. Flying. Falling. Releasing.
WHEN MY alarm beeps at four thirty on Friday morning, I roll over in bed and bury my face in the pillow, howling in frustration. I thought about Nate Crane all night—his eyes on me, his dirty words, his wicked touch. And when I managed to fall asleep, I dreamed about him.
My body is a live wire of hot need at the memory, an ache pulsing between my legs that I don’t want to ignore. For thirty seconds, I lie there with my eyes closed and contemplate sliding my hand beneath the sheets to banish the ache, but guilt has me climbing out of bed.
I take a cool shower before dressing and heading for the bakery, where I lose myself in the comforting motions of baking.
Liz comes in at six and works the front while I experiment with a new cupcake recipe—stress management for bakers.
When Drew comes in after school, Liz hands over front-counter duties and drags me away from my flour and sugar. “Time to stop stewing and get cleaned up.”
“What? Who said I’m stewing?” I let her lead me up to my apartment, and I unlock the door for us and push inside.
“You are, aren’t you?”