I DIDN’T MEAN to fall asleep.
I fully planned on getting dressed and sneaking out long before anyone else in the house woke up. Although I meant it when I agreed to no more sneaking around, I really, really don’t think the greatest way for Cass to find out about my new relationship is by walking in on me naked in his best friend’s bed. Especially taking into consideration what I undoubtedly look like right now; the phrase thoroughly fucked comes to mind.
I learned very quickly that Nicolas Silva does not do just one round—all of ten minutes passed before he was inside me again, hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise while I bounced on his lap. After round three, I assumed he was done but I made the mistake of joking about him having great stamina for an old man. Next thing I knew, I was face down, ass up, my hair bundled in his fist while he slammed into me from behind. Only when the party downstairs wound down, the music muffling our antics coming to a halt, did the sex stop.
The touching and the kissing did not.
The hickeys on my chest aren’t alone anymore; they have friends scattered across my collarbones, my stomach, trailing over my hips to the inside of my thighs. I can’t say for sure but there’s a high probability that there’s a few dispersed across my back and shoulders too. I think there’s even one on my ass. The part of me that isn’t revelling in the sick pleasure his little marks are evoking is kind of concerned about blood clots.
It’s safe to say we tempted fate last night. We loudly threw caution to the wind. When his head was between my thighs for the umpteenth time, somewhere in the back of my sex-addled mind, I acknowledged that we were pushing it. I decided that no matter how much I wanted to, no matter how late—or, more accurately, how early—it was, I couldn’t stay over.
So, when I wake up to the sound of voices in the hallway and the smell of bacon sizzling, I panic. “Shit.” Squinting against the bright morning sunlight, I grab my phone and swear again when I see the time. 2PM. “Shit.”
As fast as my aching body will allow, I wriggle out of Nick’s grasp and roll out of bed. The naked man who fell asleep half on top of me after promising he wouldn’t stirs with a groan but I ignore him, too focused on gathering my clothes strewn across the floor while simultaneously coming up with a plan on how the hell I’m getting out of here without being seen. Considering I can barely move without the dull throb between my thighs summoning a hiss, my options are severely limited.
A sleepy, sarcastic chuckle freezes me in place. “One night. You lasted one night.”
Spinning around, I find Nick watching me with narrowed eyes, expression rife with disappointment. Disappointed but not surprised, and my heart aches at the realization that, on some level, he was expecting me to flee. And I am, technically, living up to that expectation but not the way he thinks.
“I’m not running,” I insist in a low voice, paranoid despite the voices in the hallway having moved downstairs. A frustrated groan leaves me when Nick’s expression remains unconvinced. “I swear, I’m not running.”
To prove my point, I stop the frantic clothes retrieval and leap back into bed, crawling until I’ve hovering over Nick, knees planted on either side of his hips. “I. Am. Not. Running.’ I punctuate each word with a chaste kiss, drawing out a smile. ‘But if Cass finds me here looking like this, I don’t think either of us will leave this house alive.’
Hands grip my bare hips before I can move away, keeping me in place and pulling until my naked chest crashes against. Nose brushing mine, his hands inch up my thighs, golden eyes aflame. “What a way to go, hm?”
“Don’t even think about it.” Despite the aroused shiver tickling my spine, I slap his wandering paws away, pinning him with a warning look that hopefully conveys the fact my vagina is off limits for two to three business days while it recovers from the damage done last night.
The smug smile Nick tries and fails to pass off as innocent confirms my message was read loud and clear. Palm stroking up the length of my spine, he applies pressure to my shoulder blades until I’m almost horizontal atop him, until it’s as easy as a flex of his neck for him to kiss me softly. “Stay.”
When I try to argue, he kisses me again, harder this time, only retreating when I’m limp in his grasp. “He’s already awake, querida. There’s no way you’re getting out of here without being seen. Unless you wanna risk your brother asking why you’re limping out of here, stay.”
Nick is right, obviously, but I scowl anyway, resenting the proud smirk lighting up his face as much as I find it attractive. Cocky bastard.
Smoothing out my furrowed brow with his thumb, his smirk softens to a smile. “Stay,” he repeats for a third time. “Please.”
God, I’ve really got to work on strengthening my resolve because if it keeps melting the moment this man utters a plea, I’m in so much trouble.
Sighing dramatically, I sink into his chest, pressing a kiss to the ink etched on his collarbone. ‘Fine,” I relent with more despondency than I actually feel. “Only if you smuggle some food in here because I’m starving.’ Endless rounds of sex really takes it out of a girl; I think I burnt more calories last night than I have in any workout ever.
Nuzzling the top of my head, Nick snickers. “I can think of something much better to eat.”
Jesus Christ, this man is insatiable. Rolling from his grasp—he must believe I’m not going to bolt before he lets me, albeit reluctantly—I flop onto my front beside him. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Silva.”
“Don’t ask impossible things of me, Hanlon,” is his quipped retort. As though going a moment without touching me is simply incomprehensible, Nick strokes my back again, and something akin to a purr rumbles in my chest as he absently draws shapes. Vaguely, somewhere in the back of my exhausted mind, I register that they’re not so random; he’s connecting my freckles like they’re constellations to be charted. “You going back to sleep?”
I hum sleepily in reply, my eyes already closed.
A quiet chuckle washes over me and when I crack an eye, Nick’s right there in front of me, suspiciously solemn. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, he offers a nervous smile. “I meant it, okay?” No more rules. No more secrets. No going back. “I’m all in.”
All in.
Two words with so much meaning.
“Nicolas Silva,” I drawl through a tempered yawn, “are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”
Golden eyes flash and my heart skips. “I’m not asking.”
I laugh and Nick swallows the noise, kissing me leisurely like he has all the time in the world and as we lie there, limbs tangled and breath shared, I feel something I haven’t genuinely, completely felt in a long time.
I’m happy.
Hot, thick steam floods the bathroom as gentle hands carefully work the knots out of my hair. Nick really did a number on my curls last night; I did a double take when I spotted myself in the mirror, horrified at the mess atop my head. Luckily, he was more than willing to fix the damage he caused, and I wasn’t going to say no to a free head massage.
I almost burst into tears again when he cracked into the stash of toiletries beneath his sink, and I’m still stifling them as the scent of products he bought solely for me surrounds us.
“I love your hair,” Nick murmurs so quietly I almost don’t hear him over the din of hot water pelting down on us. “That was the first thing I noticed about you.”
I say nothing, too entranced by the way he’s stroking my scalp softly, lulling me into an almost dream-like state despite the fact I’ve slept most of the day away.
“It was longer then.” A hand travels from my head to the slope of my waist and back up to my collarbone, where he presses a kiss. “I like it short.”
So do I. Dylan didn’t; anywhere close to my shoulders and he said I looked too ‘manly,’ according to him. When I cut it to my collarbones at the end of last semester, he threw an Oscar-award winning tantrum.
Dipshit.
Pushing my ex from my mind and focusing on the wonderful man behind me, I tilt my chin so he can see my raised brows. “Exactly when was that?”
I don’t expect him to really answer; I anticipate an eye roll and a sarcastic comment. So when he utters the following words, it’s enough to jolt me back to full consciousness. “July, I think.”
“July?” Months before we met. Eyes wide, I gape at him, mind reeling trying to figure out how he noticed me yet, before he opened his big mouth, I never noticed him.
Hands snaking around my waist to rest on my stomach, Nick drops his head to my shoulder, his soft smile palpable against my skin. “I was at Greenies with Jackson. You were working. He was drooling over Luna and I couldn’t keep my eyes off the little redhead cursing out the old man who kept trying to cop a feel.”
My barked laugh drowns out the roar of the shower. “I remember that day.”
“I’m sure he does too. You poured hot coffee in his lap.”
Damn right, I did; the old creep pinched my ass. My outburst earned me a month of the dreaded weekend shift but it was so worth it.
With his confession, everything falls into place. Everything suddenly makes sense. His slightly panicked reaction when he found out who I was, what I meant to Cass, and why Cass was a little weird. How he knew how I take my coffee. All the little quips and jokes Ben consistently makes but I never quite get.
With a smirk that rivals Nick’s infamous one, I turn in his arms, looping mine around his neck. “You’ve been pining for me.”
Now, I get the eyeroll I was expecting before. “No.”
Shrugging me off, Nick shuts off the water and steps out of the shower. I shiver immediately at the loss of heat, both from the running water and the human radiator of a man, but I’m not cold for long; Nick tugs me after him, engulfing me in a large, fluffy towel. “Oh, come on! Admit it!”
Ignoring me, Nick wraps a towel around his waist and heads for the bedroom. I move to follow him but my reflection in the slightly foggy mirror catches my eye. Downright startles me, actually.
I can’t get over how utterly content I look. Bright eyes, skin glowing, an embarrassingly wide smile. Somehow, despite the dark circles underneath my eyes from lack of sleep and the dripping wet messy hair, I look better than I have in months. More alive. Why the hell did I try to run from this man again?
The bruises peppering my skin catch my eye too, and it astounds me how different they make me feel compared to the bruises I had the last time I was here. Those ones stemmed from anger and jealousy and bitterness.
These ones are the opposite. These ones only remind me of a man who makes me feel safe and comfortable and….
Loved.
What a terrifying concept.
Smiling like a fool, I practically skip back into Nick’s bedroom. ‘You know,” I lower my voice now we’re not shielded by the sound of the shower, eyeing him greedily as he tugs underwear up thick thighs, “if you’d spoken to me instead of stalking me, maybe I would’ve been pining too.”
A grunt and clothes being chucked in my face is the only response I get.
Snickering to myself, I dry off and dress. I’m using a spare t-shirt to dry my hair when a loud exhale sounds.
“Fine,” Nick admits, husky and sweet and worthy of all the affection he lavishes me with. ‘I was pining a little.”
