Page 25 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

LINCOLN

I’m so fucking tired of fighting. ” Those were the exact words Nash had used.

They were stuck on repeat in my head. He’d said them to me about my request for him to spend the night and recover at my place, but something about the words hit deep.

So much deeper than the concept of a night in a decent bed.

I wanted nothing more than to believe it was just about being too tired to fight me, and for the night, I chose to believe it. I ignored the hair-raising feeling that slipped through me and stuck to my bones.

“Here we go all over again,” I murmured as I let us both into my home.

I flipped on the little hallway entry light, and that was it.

While Nash seemed pretty mellow after all the medication at the hospital, I didn’t want the light to bother him.

I paused and took my shoes off as he stood awkwardly in the doorway.

After a moment, he did the same, kicking his boots off on the mat.

“I said thank you,” Nash snapped. The anger in his voice made me uncomfortable. I stopped what I was doing to stare at him—probably glare at him. I wasn’t about to be his punching bag, and I made sure my expression reflected that sentiment. He relented quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re tired—”

“You don’t know a thing about me, Linc.”

“You told me you’re tired,” I replied and gave him a tight smile. “I’m just repeating your words.”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s fine.” It was. I honestly couldn’t begin to imagine what he was feeling. The whole situation was a lot for someone who didn’t exist in his circumstances. Even still, I wasn’t about to let him take his feelings out on me.

He said nothing as he followed me, letting me lead him right back to the guest room he hadn’t used the first time. I opened the door and stepped aside.

“You can use the bed,” I told him pointedly. There was no need for small talk, and he certainly wasn’t a conversationalist. “The bathroom is yours as well. You can make yourself at home.”

If last time was any indication, he wouldn’t, but I left it at that.

“Okay,” he said.

“Good night, Nash.” I made myself say the words and shut the door behind me. I could’ve made more of it, but I didn’t. I wasn’t in the mood. I was a little too worn thin after a long night to do so.

I was a little too wound up to sleep. I was painfully aware of the fact that Nash was here. In my home. In the next goddamn room.

And by painfully aware, I meant I felt it in my dick. The insatiable need he incited in me was irritating and irrational. How had the man managed to burrow his way under my skin just by existing? It wasn’t like we knew each other.

The circumstances of the night should’ve negated all of that, but they didn’t.

“Can’t sleep?” His deep voice rolled over my skin like silk, and I tensed, the reaction involuntary.

I rotated on the barstool to find Nash standing behind me, wearing nothing but his jeans. His long hair fell soft around his shoulders, messed up and finger-combed. He looked tired and worn around the edges, but that didn’t stop me from openly admiring him.

“Nope.” I shook my head slowly and diverted my gaze.

“Me neither,” Nash said. After a moment, he muttered, “Obviously.”

I chuckled. How could I not? The simple gesture seemed to break some of the awkward tension rising between us, and he wandered closer. I opened my mouth to say something, but promptly closed it because I refused to ask the man if he wanted a damn snack again. I had more tact than that.

He, on the other hand, didn’t as he closed the distance between us. Forward and direct. That was Nash.

His hands braced on the counter, caging me in, and his mouth hovered over mine. The warmth of his breath fanned over my face, and fuck, the scent of mint and musk was intoxicating. Heat prickled across my skin, and I shifted, letting him lean in closer.

“Tell me to stop, Linc,” he whispered. No, he almost practically ordered it like he didn’t want me to want this. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Whatever this was, it was lust-fueled and maddening. It was full of bad decisions—for both of us.

Still, I breached the distance between us and kissed him, a gentle brush of my lips against his.

A small sigh passed through him, quiet and almost inaudible.

And for a moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was as starved for genuine connection as I was.

The kind of connection where eternal expectation was lost in favor of momentary bliss and satisfaction.

Of just existing and being. Where it was just me and him as the world ceased to turn.

That feeling was addictive. It struck something deep inside me, awakening the same urges and needs all over again. Ones that only he seemed to ignite in me.

I brushed my fingers through his soft hair and anchored my hand at the back of his head. My tongue touched the seam of his lips, and he opened quickly, his tongue sliding against mine. Kiss after kiss, we devoured each other. Hands, teeth, tongues. I couldn’t get enough of him.

We broke, both needing air.

“What’re we doing?” I rasped, my forehead pressed against his.

“I don’t…” Nash shook his head slightly. His quick breathing matched mine as a silence settled between us. He kissed me once. Twice. Three times. Between each one, he said, “I just want to feel good, Linc.”

I understood that desire. I kissed him harder as I stood, wrapping my arm around his waist. Making him feel good was absolutely something I could do.