Preston?” Claire leans across the coffee table to grab the sweet chili dipping sauce, pouring some on her plate. After a taxing week of classes, we’ve done the only logical thing: ordered a boatload of Thai delivery. I figure it’ll make for a nice, hearty pregaming meal to soak up whatever we drink at Drew’s birthday party.
We’re in various states of readiness, with Claire’s hair tucked into a towel turban and Julianna’s makeup half-finished. I’m in the black dress I’m wearing tonight with an old, ratty sweatshirt thrown on top to help protect it from any food spills.
I clear my throat. “Yeah. You could say that . . .”
After driving her and Julianna crazy all week, rehearsing speeches and opening lines, I finally did what Nash asked and let Preston down easy. Or tried to. I went into it thinking Preston and I were on the same page and that it was going to be redundant. But based on his reaction, I guess it was a necessary conversation.
Looking down, I drag my fork through the pile of coconut rice on my plate. “I told him I valued him as a friend, but I didn’t see him as anything more and I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.”
Claire’s eyebrows lift because being so direct isn’t my usual MO. Maybe Nash is rubbing off on me. “Good on you for being honest. How did he take that?”
“Uh, not great. Not sure if it was my delivery or the message itself.” I seize a forkful of green curry. “Why isn’t it socially acceptable to have talks like that in writing? I’m certain it would go better if I did.”
Julianna gives me a sympathetic look. “He’s probably just hurt, Violet. It seems like he took that one kiss and got carried away with it in his head.”
“Maybe so,” I say. “Preston seemed pretty pissed. Then he asked if it was because of Nash, which I obviously couldn’t answer. He topped it all off by calling Nash toxic and said I deserved better.”
That part irked me. Other than the rumors floating around school, many of which I now know aren’t true, Preston hardly knows Nash. But I didn’t argue with him because I wasn’t keen to twist the knife in an already painfully awkward conversation. I also didn’t want to inadvertently own up to our relationship when it’s against the rules.
“Ouch.” Claire grimaces. “What are you going to do?”
“Not much I can do. He’s been freezing me out ever since we spoke, so I guess I’ll give it some time.”
Next to me on the couch, Julianna waves her spring roll. “Speaking of freezing people out, guess who tried to apologize?”
“Marcus?” I offer. Not a huge surprise. It seems like guys usually come crawling back after they wrong you. Most of them should stay gone. Nash’s redemption was an exception, not the rule.
“What a dick,” Claire mutters, stabbing her Pad Thai with a fork.
“Yup.” Julianna pops the “p”. “He’s been texting me for two days straight saying he’s sorry. After blowing me off for nearly a week. I think he’s just trying to keep me on the back burner.”
I think she’s right, and I’m glad I didn’t have to be the one to say it.
“Fuck him.” I shovel a bite of green curry and coconut rice into my mouth, immediately realizing the possible double entendre. “Wait. Not literally. You know what I mean.”
Jules makes a face, heaping a pile of noodles onto her plate. “Please. I’m not interested in a second round of disappointing sex. If I wanted to be depressed, I’d go watch a re-run of Grey’s Anatomy. Just wish I didn’t have to see him all the time.”
“I vote you act like nothing even happened,” I tell her. “Don’t ignore him, just pretend he’s some random guy on the team. Acting like you’re not fazed will bother him more than you being angry.” I’m speaking from experience, because it drove me crazy when Nash did it to me at the start of the semester.
Claire holds up her fork in assent. “Seconded.”
“Good news is, Marcus won’t be there tonight.” I lean forward, nabbing the last spring roll. “You can go out and forget all about him.”
“Are you staying over?” Jules nudges me with a grin.
“Yeah,” I tell her, butterfly wings taking flight. “I am.”
***
“Full house,” Claire murmurs as we squeeze through Nash’s front door. Bodies clutter the entrance, bass thumping in the background.
“No kidding.” I scan the crowd for familiar faces, coming up short. There are a lot more people here than I’d been expecting.
We shuffle past groups of partygoers huddled in the hallway, dodging and maneuvering en route to the living room. I spot Nash the instant we step past the threshold. Hulking size aside, his enigmatic presence is impossible to miss. Our eyes meet, and invisible sparks fly between us. His lips curl as his gaze slowly rakes down my body, so heated that I’m surprised my clothes don’t melt clean off my body. My black dress is short, hitting at mid-thigh, and the look on his face tells me it’s a win.
We exchange a meaningful glance for a few more seconds until we’re interrupted by a black-haired guy I don’t recognize. He looks like a freshman, but he isn’t on the team.
“Hey, blondie.” His swagger tells me he’s significantly drunker than we are. He gives me an air pistol. “Looking good.”
Ryder, one of the athletes in my training group, pushes through the crowd to get to us. “Dude.” His expression can only be described as terrified. He grabs his protesting friend by the arm and starts dragging him away. “Do you want to leave here in one piece?”
Claire and Jules shoot me bemused looks. I, on the other hand, am not even a little surprised. Nash lifts a shoulder, but his smirk is evident even from across the room.
“Violet!” Savannah rushes up, clutching a mango White Claw. She’s rocking a floral minidress with her long, coppery hair in loose waves, and it’s the epitome of boho chic. “I’m so glad you guys came. Want to play Up and Down the River with us?”
We join her and a handful of other people around the coffee table, more for the social aspect than the alcohol itself. Nash hangs back in the periphery, talking to Drew, both of whom occasionally glance over like they’re checking on us. While hovering is part of Nash’s playbook, Drew’s glance lingers on Savannah more than I’d expect.
Spending time around Nash without being able to be with him is strange. It’s one thing to remain apart at school, in a professional environment. It’s another when I slept over here earlier this week and now, I can’t even give him a hello kiss.
My phone vibrates as I raise my drink to my lips. I check the message beneath the table because I have a hunch it isn’t something I want everyone else to see.
Nash: I’m going to put that pretty little mouth to good use later.
Everything fades into the background as a torrent of steamy images floods my brain—some memories, others imaginary.
Claire nudges me. “Violet? It’s your turn.”
“Huh?” I glance up. “Oh, sorry.”
Crossing my legs, I lock the screen without replying so I don’t hold up the game even more. My gaze flits over to Nash, and he flashes me a filthy grin that transports my mind to an equally filthy place. While being forced to stay apart in public is far from ideal, he’s leveraging the situation to his fullest advantage.
One vodka cooler later, I press pause on drinking. I don’t want to get too tipsy if I’m staying over. With my lightweight level of alcohol tolerance, I’d end up falling asleep on Nash before midnight, and neither of us wants that.
“I’m going to grab a glass of water,” I tell everyone, pushing back my chair as I stand. My cell hums in my palm.
Nash: After that, I’m going to bend you over and fuck you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow.
Fighting the rush of heat to my cheeks, I set off for the kitchen, trying to ignore the heartbeat throbbing at the apex of my thighs. As I do, Nash cuts across the room and follows me. I turn on the faucet, running the water until it’s cold and filling my plastic cup. He prowls closer, stopping further away than I’d like due to the partygoers scattered around the room. The faintest trace of his cologne wafts over, making it even more difficult to keep myself at a distance.
“Your ears are red, Vi.” He leans a hip against the counter and juts his chin at me.
“What?” I shut off the tap and smooth my hair, covering my ears. “No, they’re not.”
Nash always used to swear my ears turned red when I was aroused. I never believed it, but he insisted it was true. Maybe there was some truth to it, because I can feel that they’re burning up right now.
Clutching my cup, I turn to face him. He gives me a long once-over, eyeing at me like I’m dinner and he hasn’t eaten in days. Luckily, no one around seems to notice.
“Are you wearing that necklace because it goes with your outfit? Or for another reason?” His voice is sinfully deep, laden with innuendo only I understand.
“The second one.” My fingertips land on the amethyst pendant hanging from a delicate silver chain, resting against my sternum. I caress the stone between my index finger and thumb, and his pupils dilate.
This necklace is our “game on” symbol from before—an invitation to grab me, take me, bend me over the nearest couch. Of course, that won’t be happening since the couch is occupied by a handful of his friends. But it’s still a green light for Nash to come up with something else.
Desire gleams in his eyes. “Noted.”
When I return to the game, my phone vibrates again.
Nash: How should I make you come later?
Me: You decide.
Nash: Good girl.
The rest of the night carries on without incident. Everyone else is drunk enough to be happy but not sloppy to the point that there are problems. Everyone but Nash, who’s barely finished half a bottle of beer. I haven’t been drinking much, either. Sex is better sober. So is cuddling after.
Just before midnight, another text comes through as I’m saying goodbye to Julianna and Claire, who are leaving for a club with Silas and one of his friends. He was making eyes at Jules all night and seems like a good distraction from the Marcus debacle.
Closing the door behind them, I check my text.
Nash: Upstairs.
I frown at the screen briefly. Upstairs as in, come up to his bedroom? Isn’t Biscuit locked up in there? He isn’t exactly known for respecting personal space. Maybe Nash relocated him to somewhere else.
Loud music throbs in the background as I scan the crowd, verifying that no one is watching. There’s a heated game of beer pong at the kitchen table, and several of Nash’s teammates are playing a first-person shooting game on the Xbox. Nash is nowhere to be seen.
With all of the action, I’m easily able to slip away to the staircase unnoticed. My hand lands on the railing, and a buzz thrums through me that I can’t attribute to alcohol, intensifying with every step I climb. I reach the shadowy landing at the top of the staircase and a large hand clamps over my mouth, startling me.
“Shh.” A strong arm locks around my waist, yanking me into the pitch-black bathroom. The door clicks shut behind me in the dark, and a shiver of excitement travels down my spine. I missed this more than I can possibly explain. It isn’t even about the sex. It’s about the way we get each other.
Nash’s cologne envelops me, his firm planes of muscle pressing into my back. I wriggle in his titanium grip, making a halfhearted attempt to break free. His husky laugh echoes off the bathroom walls, and his hold on me tightens, securing me against him with no possibility of escape.
“I like it when you fight me.” His other hand slips under the hem of my dress, cupping between my legs with a groan. “Not touching you all night has been fucking torture.”
Heated, open-mouthed kisses glide along the curve of my neck, up to my jaw. My breath turns erratic, and I lean into him, succumbing to his heady influence. “What if someone comes upstairs?”
“No one is allowed upstairs.” Nash tugs my neckline down off my shoulder, and his teeth scrape my bare skin. “Everyone knows that. It’s the first rule of our parties.”
The bathroom lights flick on, dimmed halfway, illuminating the two of us in the mirror. He towers over me, all height and brawn, an intimidating form compared to mine. Our gazes lock, and the devilish glint in his eyes tells me I’m in trouble.
Still watching our reflection, he yanks up my dress, bunching it around my waist. My lacy white underwear come into view, eliciting a rumble of approval.
“These are pretty.” An ache throbs in my center as he leisurely traces the thin fabric covering my center. Tugging my underwear aside, he drags a fingertip along my slick folds. I’m already soaked with need, completely entranced by him. “You look so innocent, Vi. But you want to be fucked like a bad girl, don’t you?”
His thick fingers spear me, and the sudden fullness deploys a shockwave of pleasure through my body, stealing the air from my lungs. When I don’t answer because I’m still catching my breath, his thumb presses my swollen bundle of nerves in an unspoken demand for a response.
“Yes.” A whimper escapes the back of my throat, and he strokes me again.
Heated breath skirts the shell of my ear. “Yes, what?”
His other hand glides between the valley of my breasts, gripping the side of my throat. My heartbeat dances beneath his fingertips, and his grasp tightens, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. He could close his fist and crush me, but I know he won’t.
“Yes, please.”
“Right answer.” Releasing my neck, he wraps his fist in my hair, pulling it taut to angle my face up. His mouth descends, covering my lips with a sudden ferocity. Our kiss takes me to a new high, every sweep of his tongue reminding me that I’m his.
Working masterfully with his fingers, he brings me to the edge almost instantly. My back arches, swaying in tempo with his touch, and ecstasy overtakes all of my other senses. He can get me off with his hands even better than I can, and he’s taking full advantage of that.
When he bites the sweet spot above my shoulder, my mouth falls open with a cry, and he clamps his palm over it again.
“Quiet, Vi, or I’ll stuff those pretty panties in your mouth.” Lost in the sensation, I swallow my next moan, grabbing his other hand to urge him on. In our reflection, a dark, wolfish grin emerges across his face. “Actually, I have a better idea.”
He removes his fingers, leaving my core heavy with pent-up desire. Taking my hands, he places my palms on the bathroom counter with my dress still hiked up and my lower half exposed. My pulse careens, and I glance over my shoulder at him questioningly.
Nash brackets my jaw, steering my face back to the mirror. “Don’t move.”
I watch him guide the scrap of lace down my hips, baring me to him. His reflection disappears as he bends down and carefully picks up my feet one at a time, helping me step out of my underwear. As soon as they’re off, he grabs my arms roughly, pinning them behind my back. Lacy fabric winds around my wrists, twisting and pulling snug until they’re firmly bound together.
“Clever.” I struggle against the restraint, testing its strength. It’s stretchy enough that I have some wiggle room, but tight enough that I can’t escape. Not that I’d want to.
Behind me, Nash shoves down his jeans and boxers in one fell swoop. “I thought so.”
In a blur, he spins me around and sets me on the edge of the counter, spreading my legs. With my hands bound together, unable to hold onto him or the countertop securely, I’m slightly wobbly. Which I suppose is his intention because it leaves him in control.
His gaze drops to the space between my legs, and he strokes my tight, aching bundle of nerves with such precision that my hips jolt. I let out a breathy gasp and teeter to the side, nearly losing my balance.
Nash lets out a low chuckle, catching me before I even come close to falling. “I’ve got you.” His large hand slides under my dress and braces my bare lower back, steadying me in a way that’s both tender and dominant. He studies me with fondness across his face, dragging his thumb along my bottom lip and pushing it into my mouth. I bite down, and he groans.
Dipping his head, he brushes his lips against mine, plying them open. Our tongues tangle as he teases me with the head of his cock. Raw desire rushes through me, verging on desperation. My back arches, my body greedily seeking his. He pulls away, and my thighs clench around his waist with need. My first instinct is to reach for him, but fabric cinches my wrists together, stopping me. The lack of control is frustrating and exhilarating all at once.
“Who do you belong to, Violet?” Nash pushes into me again, barely entering. It’s delicious agony, so close but so far from what I want.
A needy whimper slips through my lips. “You.”
“That’s right.” In one fluid motion, he thrusts so deep inside of me that I see stars. “Don’t fucking forget it.”
He captures my cries with his mouth, each plunge of his hips more forceful than the last. Pleasure unfurls in my center as he nudges that glorious spot that only he’s ever hit, coaxing me closer and closer to a climax. Drunk on ecstasy, my eyelids drift shut.
Nash seizes my face. “Look at me when I’m fucking you.”
I obey, finding his green eyes blazing with an intensity I’ve never seen before. Still anchoring me in place, he slams into me again. My entire body tenses, and his whispered name tumbles from my lips. Euphoria ignites in my core, burning brighter with every passing second.
Gaze locked onto mine, he fucks me; claims me; owns me. Our breaths blend together, ragged and rapid, blurring into one. My walls clench around him as his next thrust takes me over the edge. Glitter sparkles in my field of vision, and everything detonates.
As I come undone in his arms, he lets out a low growl and buries himself to the hilt, losing control right along with me. He shudders with release, crushing me against him before falling still. Dropping his forehead to my shoulder, he heaves a sated sigh.
After a few more seconds, he lifts his head and kisses me gently, reaching behind me to untwist my underwear and free my hands. The fabric slips off, leaving them unencumbered.
His thumbs caress my wrists where the fabric just was, moving in slow, smooth circles along my skin. “Fuck the party, Vi. Let’s go to bed.”
“Thank God. I don’t think I could go back downstairs and behave normally if I tried.” Not only am I tired, I’m dazed. My ears are still ringing, and my brain has gone completely offline. It may not return until morning.
“Me neither,” he admits, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear with a grin. “Plus, we’re due for some naked snuggling after that.”
