“Can we talk now?” I ask, grabbing the longest fries in the box.
Nash insisted we eat since that was the whole reason we went out in the first place.
He crumples the paper burger wrapper, tossing it into the bag between my legs, and wipes his mouth with a napkin.
“I haven’t eaten as much junk food in my entire life as I have this week with you.” He grabs his Coke, washing down the on-the-go dinner while steering with the other hand.
Even this gets me hot. My body’s constantly ready for him, my pussy wet, my mind dirty. It’s uncomfortable, probably should be embarrassing, but the awe coloring his face whenever he slips inside me annihilates any shame.
I can’t get enough. Everything Nash does affects me way too strongly: the tone of his voice, his posture, how quick and perceptive he is, his tattoos, the way he grips the steering wheel in that sexy, careless manner.
“Is it growing on you?” I ask, diverting my horny thoughts away from the need to rub my thighs together.
It’s not been four hours since we last had sex, but I’m not far off climbing over the middle console to straddle him.
“No.”
Liar, liar. He devoured that burger like it was made by the head chef at a five-star Michelin restaurant.
“Your question?” he prompts, turning the radio down. “Think carefully, Hailey. You only get one.”
I should’ve negotiated better…
He knew what he was doing when he kissed me. He has me wrapped around his finger. I’m too agreeable. So obedient. Melting at his touch like a starstruck superfan.
And I wouldn’t change a thing.
As much as he takes, he gives back tenfold. I wouldn’t have pegged him for a man who’d confidently admit he’s owned, but he did when he tattooed my blood onto his chest.
He hasn’t said it with words, but the permanent gesture on his skin tells me he feels exactly what I do.
While we ate, I turned over every question I want to ask, and I could practically hear his vague answers:
Who called the sergeant? My friend.
How did he get him to let us go? He owed me a favor.
Why did the sergeant look at you like he was afraid? Ask him.
And plenty more like that.
Nash is guarded. He doesn’t talk about his past. Whenever I ask about his life before Lakeside, he tells me the same thing: he was in the army, his parents are dead.
Plausible, but… something doesn’t add up.
It’s not just one thing that has me wondering. It’s all the small details piling up over the weeks. He drives an old, fully restored classic car that must’ve cost a fortune. His style is casual, but all designer. Too expensive for a soldier. The tattoos on his ribs, the guns, chips, and cards, don’t scream military, and there’s also the writing on his neck… above the neckline tattoos aren’t allowed in the army and Nash’s don’t look fresh.
He also doesn’t have the traits my father calls typical for an army man. He doesn’t make his bed, he sleeps in, his moral compass is all screwed up.
The aura of importance and ruthlessness had me fooled at first. As did his closed-off nature, like he’s seen gore beyond my wildest dreams and it plagues him.
Now there’s this clever friend who tampers with security cameras, and whoever influenced the cop to add to the mix.
“Remember you promised to be honest, okay?” I say, hiding my hands in the front pocket of my—well, Nash’s—hoodie.
He rarely lets me wear anything else when we go out, always cursing my thin dresses and good-for-nothing cardigans.
“I remember.” He drops his free hand on my thigh, squeezing gently. “Ask away.”
“Were you ever in the army?”
He doesn’t react.
Not one tell-tale sign he might be caught off guard, though I’m sure he didn’t expect that. His eyes remain on the road, his thumb strokes my thigh, and his knuckles don’t whiten against the steering wheel. His jaw doesn’t even tic like it usually does when he’s annoyed.
It takes longer than I expected to get an answer. The silence between us stretches, and if not for the gentle murmur of the engine, I’d hear my pulse accelerate.
“No, I wasn’t,” he finally says.
My breath whooshes past my lips in a relieved puff, deepening this sense of trust I’ve felt for a while. He could’ve lied. He could’ve dodged the question, leaving me to wonder, but he kept his promise and told the truth.
“Okay,” I whisper, covering his hand with mine.
He flips it, lacing our fingers together. “You’re a clever little thing. What gave me away?”
“Details. Unmade bed, no dog tag, neck tattoos, influential friends…” I sigh, looking out the window as the dark forest blurs past. “None of it by itself would make me wonder, but the list kept getting longer.”
“One day, I’ll show you exactly who I am.” He lifts our interlocked hands, brushing his lips along my knuckles.
“One day soon, I hope.”
“As soon as I can.”
As if to let me into his world a little bit, he dials a number and, for the first time, he doesn’t disconnect the hands-free system, letting the dial tone ring out.
“You’re entitled to one phone call and you choose me?” A male voice chuckles. “I’m flattered.”
“You wish. We’re heading back. Five minutes out.”
“Alright, I’m on it.” Rapt tapping sounds above the background music and conversations on the other end. It’s less than a minute before he speaks again. “Done. I’ll revert it in ten. While I’ve got you, I—”
“I’m not alone, Ryder,” Nash pipes in. “She can hear you.”
“Right…” Ryder clears his throat. “Hello there, Hailey. Nice to phone-meet you. Good date?”
I sit straight in my seat like he can see me. “Um… hi. I don’t think takeout counts as a date, but it was nice.”
“Sounds like you kids are enjoying yourselves,” another voice says.
“Oh, boy. Wait till he’s back. He’ll make you pay for that,” Ryder mumbles, clearly amused.
“If Nash remembers the dig by the time he’s home.”
“Where is home?” I blurt out, my cheeks burning.
I think this counts as a second question.
There’s a pause before their soft laughter fills the car.
“Cheeky, isn’t she?” Nash huffs, gouging his fingers into my thigh, slowly climbing higher. “I’ll call you later.”
“Alright. You need to make it up to Broadway. He’s pouting that you texted me not him,” Ryder says. “Expect his moody ass to give you an earful.”
“Something to look forward to.” Nash disconnects the call, all the while pushing his warm hand further up my leg. “Home is wherever they are, Hailey. You’ll meet them soon.”
“You’re forgetting I’m a prisoner at Lakeside and my father’s hiding something big from me. I can’t leave.”
“Let me worry about that.”
He makes a left turn, passing the gate and then heading right to park beside a red Ferrari. Ten minutes later, Nash closes his bedroom door behind us. He kicks off his shoes, and yanks his jacket off, throwing it haphazardly over the loveseat’s armrest.
“Strip,” he tells me, opening the bathroom. “You need a shower.”
I glance at the grime and dirt stuck to my clothes. “I guess I do,” I mutter, pulling his hoodie off and finding a small tear near the elbow.
Nash frowns, putting his finger through the hole.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Forget the fucking hoodie.” He steps closer. His towering frame and a flash of something dangerous in his eyes has me instinctively backing up until my legs hit the bed. “You could have been killed when you rolled out onto the street.”
He’s suddenly angry, like he filed that incident away and now the cabinet’s burst open, scattering the pages around us.
“I didn’t know what I was doing. I was trying to get away… I didn’t feel pain.”
From the moment I saw the gun in Nash’s glove box, until I hit a dead end in the alleyway, there’s a black hole in my head. I don’t remember running or rolling out of the car, the same way I don’t remember the last two years.
It’s scary that when my worst memories return, my mind abandons the here and now. As if my brain can’t concentrate on past and present at the same time.
Nash grips the hem of the knitted sweater I had on under his hoodie, dark eyes tracing my exposed skin, teeth almost gnashing between his lips. I follow his gaze, finding purple blooming over my ribs where I connected with the ground.
Taking a deep breath, he slides my zipper, urging me to lift my butt. More bruises come into view as the denim glides down my legs. Nash ghosts his fingers over one marking my hip. It’s big, almost as big as his palm. The stormy look clouding his features as he gently presses his fingers around it tells me he’s beyond furious.
It hurts, but I’m not about to show him that.
“How do I get you to stop hurting yourself?” He shuts his eyes briefly, reining in his temper. The fire is still there, burning bright when he opens them again but it’s covered by a layer of pain. “You can’t do this to me, Hailey,” he growls, his voice rough, biting colder than ice.
I want to say he’s overreacting, that bruises heal, but I bite my tongue. I have a feeling this isn’t about the mark. It’s about what would’ve happened if I’d rolled straight under a car.
We probably wouldn’t be talking right now.
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional.”
“I’m aware.”
He scans the rest of my body, checking my arms, legs, back, even my butt. He pauses and frowns at every scratch and bruise before he scoops me off the bed.
The shower starts running a minute later, clouding the small bathroom with steam. I hook my fingers in my panties, but Nash is faster. Touching me seems to calm him down, so I don’t stop him.
I’ve never been treated this way. No one ever doted over me like this. Mom raised me to be self-sufficient and Dad taught me how to fight. I’m not his little princess. Always his sunshine, but he didn’t fawn over me.
“Is it bleeding?” he asked when I came home crying because I’d hurt myself. If the answer was no, he kissed my head, smiled, and told me I’d live. If the answer was yes, he did the same and added a Band-Aid.
My bra hits the floor.
Nash leans into me, one finger under my chin, tilting my head so he can kiss me.
“Why does it bother you so much?” I ask, helping him out of his t-shirt.
“I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
“That’s not a reason. Merely a statement.”
He steps out of his boxers, my concentration swaying when I zero in on his thick, buzzing erection, the first bead of precum glistening at the tip.
“Don’t distract me,” I breathe, forcing my eyes up to feast on his muscular chest. “If you don’t want to tell me, say so. Don’t brush me off.”
I’m sure there’s a solid reason behind his almost pathological anger at the sight of my bruises. His reaction is too intense, too single-focused not to have a deep-rooted cause.
He knows it’s not his fault. He didn’t shove me out of the car. He didn’t send me into the forest where my face got scraped by those low-hanging branches, yet he acts responsible.
“I have you in my bathroom, naked, and…” He skims his hand down my stomach then between my legs, taking a quick swipe of my pussy, “…wet. If we get into why your bruises feel like fucking gunshot wounds, I’ll be wasting a perfectly good opportunity to watch your sweet soapy ass as I fuck you from behind, pretty girl.” He grips my wrist, dragging me under the hot water. “And I don’t like waste.”
“I should stop spending the night here,” I say, when he grabs a bottle of shower gel. “I smell like a man.”
“That’s cute.” He smirks, lathering the spicy gel into my chest, taking extra care of both breasts and nipples.
His fingers have magical powers. He knows how to twist, knead, and pinch so I’ll mewl and crave him.
“What’s cute?”
“That you think I’d let you sleep away from me.” He moves lower, soaping up my stomach and hips, then teases my clit, cleaning me and driving me wild in the process.
I can give him a taste of his own medicine.
Reaching for the shower gel, I squirt a bit over his pecs, biting my cheek to keep the moans at bay.
I love his body. Big, toned, strong. I love how I feel so precious and small when he sleeps behind me, and so much like his prey when he towers above me.
“You’re fighting it,” he grunts, backing me against the cool tiles. “Don’t. I want an orgasm out of you. Now, Hailey.”
He has no idea how hard I’m fighting the sounds trying to escape my throat. Nash doesn’t need pointers. He knows how to send little sparkling fireworks along my clit. It takes immense focus not to give in, rest my forehead on his chest and let him tip me over the edge.
“I’m busy,” I utter, running my palms down his muscular arms, my voice strained. “You’re doing great, I promise.”
“Don’t patronize me.” He sucks my neck hard. “You think you can deny me? If I want to see you come, you fucking come, pretty girl.”
He grabs the showerhead, rotating it to jet flow, and aims between my legs.
A shudder shakes me, mind-numbing pleasure skittering along my nerves. I don’t swallow my moan, delirious when he slips two fingers inside me, curling them to stroke my G spot.
“Now that’s a good girl. Give me an orgasm. Show me how pretty you are when you come for me.”
I brace against his chest, my eyes rolling back into my head. The water hits at a perfect angle while Nash works his finger into me faster, driving me to the brink. The orgasm looms so close I can barely keep myself standing. My knees buckle every time he touches the button inside me, but I hold on out of sheer fucking stubbornness.
Forcing my eyes open, I drown in the dark, hungry possessiveness radiating off Nash.
He owns me… but I own him too.
With a soapy hand, I grab his cock. He groans, losing focus for a second as he thrusts into my touch.
“Jesus Christ…” He clamps his jaw, fighting his instincts the same way I’m fighting mine. “That’s how you want to play?”
“First one to come, loses,” I pant, stroking him faster. I unglue my other hand from the tiles, playing with his balls. “We need a prize.”
His forehead drops onto mine as he takes half a step forward to give me better access. “If I win, you’ll ride my face until you come. I don’t care how long it takes.”
“Okay. If I win…” My head hits the tiles when he bends his fingers in a come here motion, hitting that perfect spot. “I want a taste. I want you in my mouth.”
I’ve thought about it since he took my virginity. He’s always so careful with me, adjusting to my pace and giving me time to learn the ropes. The memories of Alex fucking my throat taint this heaven I’m living through with Nash and I think… I hope… if I go down on him, I’ll somehow erase the stigma.
Nash won’t hurt me. He won’t force it. He’ll teach me how to make him feel good, how to enjoy it.
I need that. I need to know that no matter what’s happening or how close he is, he’ll stop if I can’t take it.
That he’ll put my comfort above his pleasure.
“Do we have a deal?” I ask.
Immediately, the water jet moves from my clit to my thigh, and his fingers slow, taking a lazy tempo that’s nowhere near enough to get me off.
“What are you doing?”
He smirks at the outrage lacing my voice. “My pretty girl on her knees for me… do you think I’ll let you lose when you want to suck me this badly?”
I squeeze his cock harder. “That’s not fair. Choose a different prize. Something you really want. Something I won’t give you unless you win.”
He circles my clit with his thumb, a slow, perfect little circle. It takes a minute, but once his fingers resume their greedy assault and the jet’s rushing up against my clit, I know he’s thought of something else.
“I want your ass,” he says, dipping his head to kiss my neck.
My eyes widen, but in the next second, I nod, lost too deep in the throngs of overwhelming pleasure to deny him.
“Okay,” I pant.
My pussy clenches around his fingers in sync with mine jerking him off.
“Good girl. You’re on. Show me what you’ve got.”
He seals the deal by taking my mouth, his hot tongue tangling with mine. I crane my neck, unleashing my frustration at keeping my orgasm in check on his lips.
I kiss, nip, and all-out bite, writhing before him, but the sweet torture is so satisfying. Especially that he’s losing his cool too, thrusting into my hand faster. He rocks his hips like he’s trying to help me, or maybe he can’t help himself, leaning into my touch on instinct.
“Harder, pretty girl,” he grunts, pushing his fingers in and out of me. “Twist your wrist at the tip.”
I do, moaning as a body-wide shudder shakes him like he’s about to blow. “Whose team are you on?”
“You… on your knees for me is almost too fucking good to pass on, but…” He moves his hand, using his index and ring finger to fuck me and his middle finger to—
“Oh God!” I cry out, my mind erupting in fireworks the second he circles the other hole.
The orgasm hits despite my defenses. I lose touch with reality for a few blissful seconds, trembling and moaning.
“Easy, pretty girl,” Nash tuts in the shell of my ear, his arms suddenly around me, our bodies squished together. “I’ve got you, Hailey. Open those gorgeous blues.”
I stare up at him, my vision a little hazy, my knees so weak it’s a miracle I’m still upright. “That was…” I huff out a breath. “I guess I lost.”
He swipes his fingers along my navel, lifting them to show me his milky cum. “We both did. You’re too fucking hot when you come.”
I grip his wrist, closing my lips around his finger. His nostrils flare as he watches me twirl my tongue, my cheeks purposefully hollow. I release him, resting my head against the wall.
“What do I taste like?” he asks, cinching my waist.
I meet his eyes, a dreamy look on my face for sure, my muscles mellow. “Like you’re mine.”
“That’s right, pretty girl. Yours.” He stamps his lips on my forehead. “I want to know exactly what makes you tick, Hailey. I want to check how many kinks I can unlock.”
He switches the shower off, hauling me into his arms.
“Kinks?” I ask when he lays me—dripping wet—on the bed, and crawls over me. “I don’t know many.”
“I know plenty.” He thrusts inside me with a deep grunt, eyes on mine as he sinks balls-deep. “I already know you’re a praise girl. You love it when I tell you you’re doing so good for me.” He whispers the words, his voice husky, gritty, like tar on a hot summer day. “Don’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasp as he falls into a rhythm, one hand cradling my neck, the other gripping my waist.
I love everything about him. I love it when he’s so close. I love it when his warm breath sighs against my neck. I love it when he holds my head in place, watching my face as he pulls out and pushes back in.
I love it all… and I love him.
“Good girl,” he breathes.
Those two words work like magic. Every time without fail, pure euphoria blankets my senses, a hot glow spreading through me. My chest tightens, abdomen cramps, and skin tingles, elevating every sensation.
Nash smiles against my cheek, nudging me with his nose. “Yeah, you definitely love praise. Your pussy grabs my cock like it never wants to let go whenever I tell you you’re my…” He pulls back and powers in, “…good…” Another thrust, “…girl.”
He drags his parted mouth from my temple, lower, then across, and stamps a kiss to the tip of my nose, the tempo of his hips rocking into me changing into an intense lullaby.
It still feels like I’m too tight to take him. Like he doesn’t fully fit, yet he does. Pushing himself up, he leans on his calves, moving my legs to his waist. I don’t think I’ll ever stop staring at this man. I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of this darkness that softens only for me.
He toys with my breasts, kneading and pinching my nipples, the other hand holding my hip, fingers sinking into my skin.
“Where’s my orgasm, Hailey?” he grunts, licking his thumb before using it to rub small, tight circles on my clit. “I want to watch you come. Don’t fucking hold it.”
“It’s close, I promise… just don’t stop.”
“You’ll sit on my face next.”
“You wanted my ass, and—” I pause, almost crawling out of my skin when he speeds up. “I didn’t lose.”
“We both did.”
“No prize for double-loss,” I mewl, grasping the comforter with both hands, my body bowing off the bed the second the orgasm slams into me.
“Fucking finally,” he huffs, falling forward to kiss me, his fingers tangling in my hair, hot chest slick against mine.
Our tongues mingle while he slows his thrusts then stops completely, buried deep inside me. So deep it feels like he’ll rip me wide open.
“What else do you like?” he whispers, nudging my nose with his before, in three moves, he untangles my arms and flips me onto my belly. “You love this vanilla shit as much as you love it when I pull your hair and fuck you from behind, don’t you?”
He presses his big hand between my shoulder blades, pushing me down. Dictating the rules, he moves me to my knees, my ass in the air.
I bury my face in the pillow, bracing for a wild ride when a clap lands on my ass. My pussy throbs as the sound cuts the air. Nash quickly soothes the mild sting, gently rubbing his fingers over the sore spot.
“I asked you a question, Hailey. I didn’t get an answer. Tell me you love it when—” He moves the head of his cock to my entrance, forcing his way inside, the sudden intrusion making my back arch and fingers tighten on the sheets. “Tell me you love it when I fuck you like I don’t care about you.” His hips rock into me faster, the sound of flesh meeting flesh so loud I’m sure the whole floor can hear it.
He never fucks me like he doesn’t care. He’s hard and demanding with his cock, but every other part of him worships my body. He’s always close, making me feel wanted, needed.
“Tell me you love it when I fuck you like a cheap, dirty, slut.”
My muscles seize and the air escapes my lungs in an instant. Reality blurs so fast it makes me sick.
“It’s okay, pretty girl,” Nash says, his voice distorted, his hand gliding down my back. “Degradation isn’t your thing.”
We’re both naked, close, skin on skin, but somehow he’s touching me through layers and layers of fabric.
I can barely hear him.
I can barely feel him while he thrusts into me, leaning over my back to shower my neck with small kisses.
It’s like he’s kissing me through a pane of glass.
I try anchoring myself in the present to hold on to reality, but it swirls, spins, and blurs. My world splinters apart. I fall through the mattress, through the floor, and emerge in a different room. I’ve seen it before and during the past few weeks of those flashbacks, I realized that it’s my bedroom in Ohio.
“Dirty fucking slut,” Alex snaps, tearing off his t-shirt to wipe the puke off his cock. “Look what you’ve done!”
I’m heaving, doubling over by the wall, and retching onto the floor, panting for air.
“I couldn’t breathe,” I choke out. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Sorry?” He throws his t-shirt on the floor, tucking his cock back into his pants.
There’s puke there, too, mixing with swirling saliva.
“I was this fucking close. You’re supposed to breathe through your nose! How many times do I have to tell you?!” Stomping across the room, he opens my closet, pulling out a t-shirt from the back.
He yanks it on and it fits him perfectly, which means he kept clothes in my room. Why? How often did he have to change after shoving his cock down my throat for so long he made me puke?
“Clean up the mess. I’ll finish in the bathroom and then I need to go. She’s waiting for me.”
The room fades.
I’m back at Lakeside. Back in Nash’s bed, my face nuzzled in his chest, his arms clasped around me. Tears slide down my cheeks and bile rises to irritate my throat, making me fight against Nash’s strong hold.
“Let me go,” I mumble, clasping a hand over my mouth.
Normally, he wouldn’t. He’d hold me tighter, kiss my head, stroke my hair, but the urgency of my voice coupled with how pale and clammy I feel makes him lift both arms.
I jump out of bed, bolting into the bathroom, and reach the toilet just in time to see the burgers and fries we had earlier come pouring back out of my mouth.
