THE DARKNESS in the back of this Uber is giving me more confidence than it should.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the post-qualifying high, maybe it’s the way Nathan’s body responds to mine, and how he’s practically dicking down my ego by telling me I’m the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life.
His hand is about an inch away from making this journey home more interesting, but I tried to avoid this, in my defense. I tried to sit with Henry, whom I knew would go entirely out of his way to ensure our bodies touched as little as possible.
Shit, he probably would have forced me to sit on the floor of the passenger seat, and I’d have been good with it. But now, I find myself dealing with the consequences of my actions, with no one to blame for my aching, wet vagina but myself.
My traitorous hips are moving of their own accord, a desperate whimper slipping from my parted lips as Nate slowly and deliberately rolls his hips forward, hand still interlocked with mine between my legs.
His other hand leaves my thigh, and my arm instinctively raises to sink my fingers into his thick, dark hair. My breathing slows as he presses his palm flat to my body and travels across my stomach, over the curve of my breast, circling my nipple but not quite adding enough pressure for me to be satisfied.
“Nathan…” I whimper impatiently. His chuckle is dark and devious, telling me with no words that he does not give one fuck about doing what I want. His hand moves across to my other breast, the same frustrating light touch that has me arching into his hand just to feel more. “Nathan, please…”
I tug with the hand still gripping his hair, trying to ignore the goose bumps spreading across my skin every time his hot breath dances across my neck.
His fingers finally pinch my taut nipples, nose nudging my head to the side, the stubble covering his jaw scraping over my hammering pulse, teeth nipping the lobe of my ear. “You only like me when you’re drunk and horny.”
“Not true.” I finally let go of the hand settled between my legs, leaving his there as he strokes against the inside of my thigh gently. I twist to watch him over my shoulder, his eyes dark and heavy as they meet mine. “I don’t like you at any time.”
Lips crash into mine and his hand moves to grip the front of my throat. It’s rough and passionate, overwhelming and heated, and a whole host of other words my brain can’t even process right now. He squeezes my throat as his tongue explores my mouth, moaning when my teeth sink into his lip.
It’s not enough; I want him closer, need him closer. He loosens his grip, trailing his mouth across my jaw, kissing and sucking my neck, voice rough as I roll my hips against him. “Don’t tell me you don’t like me when I can feel how wet you are all over your thighs, Anastasia.”
“It’d be all over your hand instead if you did something.”
I’m incredibly close to taking matters into my own hands, although I’m unsure where masturbating in his lap would put us on the frenemy-ship scale. A normal person would be worried about their audience, but I could scream until the windows shattered and our exceptionally drunk friends wouldn’t notice. Drunkenness aside, Taylor Swift’s “Cruel Summer” came on the radio, and Kris turned it to full volume.
We’re in our own little world back here; the temperature is hotter, the air thicker, tension stealing every last bit of oxygen from my lungs.
I couldn’t even tell you how far away from Maple Hills we are or how many minutes have passed since I climbed in here and settled on Nate’s lap. His knees nudge mine farther apart, mouth descending on mine again, more possessive, more dominant. His nose brushes mine. “Can you be a good girl and be quiet?”
I nod, prepared to finally feel his long, thick fingers easing the throbbing between my legs. Instead, he drags one finger gently over my swollen clit, and I can’t help the huff of frustration that escapes me. “I’m so close to doing it myself. Tell me if you don’t know what you’re doing, Nathan.”
The last time I goaded him about not being able to pleasure a woman, he proved me very, very wrong.
His free hand sinks into the hair at the bottom of my neck, tugging so I look up at him. He increases the pressure on my clit and a satisfied moan grumbles in my throat, jaw slacking as the pleasure rolls through my very tense and sexually frustrated body.
Swapping to the heel of his palm, his other hand tightens in my hair. “One day, I’m going to fuck your pretty little mouth, and you’re not going to be able to be such a bossy, impatient little brat.”
He covers my mouth with his, absorbing my satisfied moan as two fingers slide into me, deliciously stretching me.
I shouldn’t have promised to be quiet.
The slick, wet noise of Nate’s fingers pumping in and out of me would be enough for everyone to know without me even saying a word. The music is still blasting, our friends paying attention to anything but us, and the familiar red-hot pleasure shoots up my spine.
“Your pussy is so perfect,” he rasps into my ear. “So wet and tight.”
My hips are bucking against his hand, incoherent pleads and moans slipping from my lips. My knees try to close, my body trying to shy away from the building feeling in my core.
He pins my legs open with his, and I’m about to fall headfirst into oblivion. “You gonna come for me? Come all over my fingers, Anastasia, show me what it’s gonna feel like when I’ve got my dick buried inside of you.”
Releasing my hair, his hand clamps over my mouth to smother my cries as the orgasm rips through me, and I give being so loud the windows shatter my best attempt.
Every bit of me is physically shaking, pleasure spreading through my entire body until my eyes roll back in my head and my back arches off him. He keeps pumping his fingers until the spasming stops, and I slump into a sticky, satisfied mess on his chest.
He gently pulls out his fingers and presses his lips against my damp forehead. “Open your mouth,” he tells me, a curious glint in his eyes as I look up at him, confused.
I do as I’m told, too content to argue, and wait with an open mouth. He presses his two wet fingers against my tongue, and I immediately taste the heady, salty-sweet taste. “Suck. See how fucking good you taste,” he whispers.
“Na—”
The music cuts off abruptly, and my entire body freezes, eyes widening as Nathan quickly pulls his fingers from my mouth and unpins my legs so I can close them.
“Does anyone want McDonald’s?”
I PROMISE myself the remaining ten minutes in the car back to Maple Hills will be uneventful.
Sabrina shoots me a suspicious glare over her shoulder as she drops the window. “It’s, uh, too hot. Need fresh air.”
Looking up at Nathan, feeling a mixture of drunk, sleepy, sated, I wait until he looks down at me before whispering. “Does it smell like sex?”
He snorts and presses his lips to my nose affectionately. “All I can smell is your shampoo. I’m going to be getting hard over honey and strawberry because it’ll remind me of this. Very impractical, Allen.”
Nate is right; it is very impractical, but right now I don’t mind. He holds me close, keeping me chatting and laughing until we pull up in front of his house.
Everyone charges toward the door, some carrying full McDonald’s bags and others attempting to carry each other.
I follow Sabrina into the house while Nate helps grab Robbie and JJ, who are so drunk they’re fast asleep. As soon as we’re out of earshot of the other guys, she tugs my arm and drags me to the kitchen corner. “Did you have sex in the Uber?”
Her voice says outrage, but her face says pride. So, so, so much pride.
“No, I did not!” Technically not lying.
“You did something, Anastasia Allen.”
Large arms wrap around my waist from behind, and I feel his mouth kiss my shoulder. “Brin, Robbie said to tell you to go and get your chicken nuggets.”
Her eyes widen and she probably forgot all about them, knowing Sabrina. When she runs off in the direction of the living room, Nate turns me in his arms so we’re facing each other, a pleased smirk on his face. He pushes my hair behind my ears. “Do you want to go to bed?”
“So badly.”
Grabbing a couple of water bottles from the fridge, he threads his fingers through mine, navigating us toward the staircase through his drunk teammates littering the living area.
He lets me go first, his hand gripping my waist tightly to ensure I don’t lose my balance in these ridiculously tall heels. “Stop looking at my ass, Hawkins.”
“Stop having an ass that looks like that.”
We finally reach his door and I press in the code, frowning when the keypad flashes red instead of green. I do it again. Red. “Your door is broken,” I grumble, trying one more time.
“It worked a few hours ago. Are you putting in the right code?”
“Yeah!” I punch in the numbers again. “Two-five-three-nine…It’s red.”
“That isn’t my code,” he says, shuffling me out of the way to put in four different digits. The keypad immediately flashes green.
“What do you mean it isn’t your code? Have you changed it?” He shakes his head, ushering me through the door. I’m adamant I’m right, until the tequila fog clears for a split second, and I realize I’m not right. “No, sorry, tequila brain. It’s the code for Ryan’s room.”
It’s like the room temperature chills as I watch almost every emotion sweep across his face at once. Uncapping one of the water bottles, he takes a large swig, nodding to himself like he’s having a conversation I’m not invited to.
He kicks off his shoes, pulls off his socks, and unbuttons his jeans, dragging them down over his muscular thighs, reaching over his shoulder to pull his T-shirt off his body.
It feels unfair to witness this for the first time not stone-cold sober. I’m scared I’ve missed a muscle or an ab, perhaps a freckle somewhere on his chest. He’s unbelievable, and he’s not even reacting as I shamelessly stare at him as he walks around his room in tight, gray boxers.
He grabs a black T-shirt from a drawer, the Titans logo visible near the neck, and hands it to me. He sighs, finally saying something. “Ryan, yeah, I forgot about Ryan somehow. The guy you’re fucking.”
I should have seen this conversation coming. “We’re not hooking up.”
Following him with my eyes, I watch as he sits on the bed, shoulder muscles tense. “You told Henry you’re fucking him. I even got to see him in your bed.”
He doesn’t sound mad. He sounds, I don’t know. I don’t know how he sounds; I don’t know what’s going through his head.
“We’ve had a friends-with-benefits thing for a while. He wants to date Olivia, so we’ve stopped.” I shrug, hoping my brief explanation is enough, but I can tell by his face it’s not. “We didn’t even do anything the other night; we watched a movie and went to sleep. He’s my best friend, Nate, and it isn’t any of your business. Why are you jealous?”
He ignores my questions, tugging my hips until I’m directly in front of him. I expect him to say something now, but again, he doesn’t.
Reaching to my feet, he unbuckles each heel and instructs me to step out of them. The relief of pressing my feet against the flat, hard floor after hours of torture is arguably better than the orgasm Nate gave me earlier, but I don’t feel like now is the right time to bring that up.
He runs his hands up the back of my thighs gently. “I’m jealous because I want you all to myself, Stassie, and I’m jealous of any guy you freely give your attention to. I’m even jealous of Henry, for fuck’s sake, and I love that kid.”
“Ryan and I worked so well because we didn’t get jealous. We didn’t care what the other did outside of our arrangement…”
“That’s swell,” he says sarcastically. “But I’m not Ryan.”
He grips the back of my thighs and pulls them forward so my knees fall on either side of his hips, straddling him. I’m painfully aware of the no-panty situation when my dress begins to ride up, stopping only when his large hands squeeze my ass, and he uses his grip to grind my pussy against him.
“I don’t wanna share you with some other guys. You know I can keep you perfectly satisfied all on my own, in every way you need.”
This feels dangerously close to exclusive territory, something I do not want. I brush his hair back from his face and press my lips against the corner of his mouth gently. “Stop overthinking and fuck me. It’s not that serious.”
Rolling me onto my back, Nate climbs between my legs, applying pressure exactly where I want it. My fingers sink into his back to pull his body on top of mine so I can feel every breath. I need more friction, more pressure, more him. “Do you have a condom?”
His nose brushes against mine, once, twice. A garbled moan rumbles in his throat when I roll my hips against where he’s straining against his boxers. “I fucking hate myself right now, but we’re not having sex.”
Of all the things I was expecting him to say, that was somewhere right near the bottom. “What?”
“I don’t want to have sex with you. No. Shit, I do, but not right now.” He presses his forehead against mine, lowering his voice. “I want you to want me when you’re sober, Anastasia. I can’t do another week of you avoiding me. I fucking hate it.”
The sting of rejection sinks to my stomach, and it’s like I can’t breathe. “Oh, okay. That’s fine. C-could you get off me, please?”
“I didn’t mean it the way it came out; I’m sorry. I just don’t want to be another drunken hookup. Put the T-shirt on; we can talk or sleep, whatever you wanna do.”
What he’s saying makes sense, but somehow it doesn’t soothe the embarrassment I’m feeling. My lip wobbles, despite my attempts to concentrate on him saying he does want me. It sounds like he only wants me if I offer him more, which I can’t do. The need to please him and escape him are battling against each other in my brain, suffocating me.
“Stassie, please don’t cry, fuck. I want you so badly; I just don’t want the first time we have sex to be something you regret.”
Saying nothing further, I reach for the Titans T-shirt and head toward the bathroom. When I’ve changed out of my dress, cheeks still pink and eyes threatening to water, he’s already in the bed, so I climb in beside him.
He leans over and presses his lips to my temple, kissing repeatedly.
“Do you want to cuddle?”
I rest my head against the pillow. “I’m not a cuddler.”
He chuckles, kissing me one more time. “Good night.”
I wait until he’s fast asleep before requesting the Uber.
