Page 18 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

LINCOLN

The uncomfortable expression on Nash’s face plagued me.

It was obvious that he didn’t like being here.

Hell, the car ride over had been awkward, as if he didn’t know how to sit in a car.

The socio-economic differences were a glaring red flag between us.

I wanted him to feel safe here, to breathe a little easier.

But if anything, I had a feeling he was more wound up than before.

Maybe the forty-minute shower would help. Well, forty-five and counting. At least something in my home had been inviting enough for him to use. I couldn’t imagine that the options to get clean while unhoused were plenty.

How did he take care of his basic needs?

A multitude of scenarios ran through my head as I made a late-night snack—or attempted to because all my usual go-tos didn’t sound appealing.

I had an island full of random ingredients and no clue as to what I wanted to make.

Somehow, I settled on dipping coconut strips in melted chocolate with the promise I’d work it off later.

“What the hell are you making?” Nash’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I turned.

Yeah, I shouldn’t have done that. He stood in my living room wearing nothing but a towel wrapped low around his hips.

The lack of clothing showed off his lean body.

Somehow, despite his situation, he managed to maintain lightly toned muscles from head to toe.

Both arms were covered in full sleeves made of mountains, forest scenes, and more.

A compass tattoo on the left side of his chest faded perfectly into the design, while a large raven filled his right side.

His long hair was damp and hung around his shoulders, sending droplets of water over his chest and abs—ones I wanted to lick up.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

Jesus fuck, I needed the man to put clothes on.

The sight of him standing there practically naked did things to me—things that had my dick thickening.

And I didn’t need that. Not when all I had on was a pair of gray sweatpants.

The last thing I needed was to be sporting a hard-on that made things even weirder between us.

“Not really sure,” I replied, clearing my throat. I promptly put all my focus on the things spread over my counter. That would help. Coconut and chocolate didn’t turn me on. I could focus on coconut and chocolate. Shit, my brain was struggling. “Do you want something?”

I dipped a finger in the melted chocolate, looking for something to shut me up. Yes, Nash was undeniably attractive. There was no question of that. But I’d also explicitly said this wasn’t about anything more than me giving him a place to stay for the night.

When I glanced up, Nash had closed the distance between us.

His fingers locked around my wrist. Before my brain could fully process what was happening, he ran his tongue up my finger and swiped up the melted chocolate.

Those deeply green eyes were heated as they locked on mine.

He pulled my finger into his mouth and sucked.

I bit back a groan as my face flushed hot. This goddamn man. The chuckle he let out was almost as erotic as the way he watched me intensely.

“Having an issue, Linc?” he asked.

“Nope.” I shook my head. I refused to be derailed by him. His being here wasn’t about that, and I didn’t want him to think I expected a single thing out of him. “Do you want a snack?”

What kind of fucking question was that?

“I do.” His gaze flicked down, his smirk growing. My cheeks flamed hotter as I tried to think of anything but how he turned me on. Unfortunately, my body was on full autopilot, coming to life with the kind of desire I knew could have catastrophic consequences if I wasn’t careful.

This wasn’t careful.

This wasn’t controlled.

This wasn’t… but fuck, I wanted it.

I wanted him.

“I didn’t bring you here for this,” I said instead, doing my best to push the impulses aside. I wouldn’t use him like that.

“I know,” he replied. Leaning in, his nose skimmed down the column of my neck and left a path of misfiring nerves in his wake. I grabbed the counter for support and clung to it for dear life. “But you can’t tell me you don’t want to, Linc.”

I nodded. Or shook my head. Or something in the middle.

His lips brushed against the spot under my ear, and I let out a sound that would’ve been embarrassing if I wasn’t clutching to my last bit of self-control like a goddamn lifeline.

My skin was on fire, and my breaths were ragged as every part of my body reacted viscerally to him.

“Nash,” I began, “this… not a smart idea.”

“I’m clean, I haven’t been with anyone in years, and I know I don’t have to, but fuck, I want to.” He ran through it like a list, as if it was about him—and yes, they were all good things to know. Things my impulsive self wouldn’t think to ever ask.

But this was about me.

One taste of him had sent me reeling.

One moment had me wanting.

And one night wouldn’t be enough.

If I had him, I’d want more.