Page 31 of How Freaking Romantic

It’s like that night outside my building; I don’t know which of us is in control, only that the kiss is equal parts passion and fury, our lips moving in sync as we nip and suck and taste.

My hands are in his hair before I’m even aware of it, gathering the thick strands between my fingers, holding tight as if he might disappear.

His arms wrap around me, forcing my curves into the solid planes of his body. But it’s not close enough; I want to get closer, I need to get closer, to get rid of these clothes and feel his skin against mine.

He groans, breaking the kiss and leaning back just enough to shift his weight, lifting my body so I’m suddenly falling back into the sofa.

Then his body is over me, around me, the delicious weight of him heavy between my legs.

I arch into him, desperate to get close again as his hands grip my sweatshirt, yanking it roughly up and off my body.

The cold air hits my skin and sends a shiver down my spine, but then there’s only heat as he presses against me again, his lips on my neck, my collarbone, my chest. My arms are around his shoulders, so broad it’s like I’m cocooned by him.

His heat and weight and size has me trapped and God, I love it.

“Do you know how much I’ve thought about this?” he murmurs as one of his hands finds the apex of my thighs, tracing over the soft cotton. “Jesus, Bea…”

Then his fingers push my underwear aside and sink inside me.

I gasp, arching my back, pressing myself into him only for him to use his other hand to push me down, hold me in place as his fingers begin to move, curling them just enough to hit that spot over and over and over again.

Soon I’m writhing, aching to break free. And then…

My climax hits me like a wave, crashing and consuming and pulling me under before I even knew it was there. I let out a strangling sound only to have it swallowed up by his mouth as he kisses me hard.

“Your sounds,” he growls against my lips. “I knew I’d love your sounds.”

But I want his sounds. I’ve spent weeks pondering them; the moan he makes when he’s undone, the grunt when he loses control. Just thinking about it has my hands raking down his stomach, feeling the ridge of his muscles underneath my nails until I feel him under my palm.

He hisses, his head coming up to look at where my hand is pressed against him through his briefs. Then he looks up, meeting my eyes. His eyes are so dark and hungry that my breath catches. “Bea…”

I know what he’s asking. I know he’s giving me an out. But I don’t want an out, I want him .

“Please tell me you have a condom,” I whisper, bending up to kiss the corner of his lips, his jaw.

His lips meet mine again, hard and unforgiving, and I meet their challenge, my tongue demanding more as my legs move to wrap around his hips.

Then my mouth moves down to lick up the column of his neck and he leans over, reaching to the side of the sofa.

When he sits up, he has his discarded pants in his hand.

He grabs his wallet from their back pocket and pulls out a foil wrapper.

I roll my eyes and groan. “Of course you have one in your wallet. I bet you have—”

His mouth cuts me off, another deep kiss that eviscerates any words that had been there on my tongue.

“Shut the fuck up, for fuck’s sake,” he growls against my lips.

I laugh, but it dies as he stands, as I watch him shed his boxer briefs. He’s silhouetted by the light in the kitchen, but I can still make out the hard lines of his body as he slowly rolls on the condom.

He doesn’t notice my attention until he’s done. He’s still for a minute, and I can tell he’s taking me in, too. His gaze travels over every inch of me, like he’s committing me to memory. And maybe he is. Maybe he knows that this moment is fleeting. There’s a dull ache in my chest at the thought.

Then he moves, a knee on the sofa as he reaches down and tugs Tuesday down my legs before he comes back down to hover over me.

“You asked me before what I think about when I think about that kiss?” he murmurs, bowing his body above mine as he grabs hold of my hip with his hand, lifting me to meet him.

“I think about what would’ve happened if we weren’t interrupted.

If you had invited me upstairs. What you would have let me do to you. ”

He pushes his hips forward just a little, as if to test me. I gasp.

I do, too , I want to say, but I can’t. I’m overwhelmed, not just by his touch, but the feeling that has exploded in my chest, the relief that’s been released into my veins.

I’ve been holding back for so long, battling against every instinct that told me I belonged right here, with his hands bracketed around my hips and his body between my legs.

The realization that I almost missed it, that this was so close to never happening at all, sends a sharp spike of anxiety to my chest.

A question follows the thought: What if this doesn’t happen again? But it’s hazy, already dissolving before it’s fully defined as he slowly pushes into me.

The air leaves my lungs in one long moan. I feel so full, so painfully full, like if he moves he will break me in two, and God, I want him to. I don’t ever want to get up from this sofa and lose this feeling.

He’s still for a moment, then eases out slowly, only to slide back in. His head falls against my shoulder as he does it again, so achingly slow that I feel every inch. It’s so good. It’s too good.

“I know, I know,” he whispers, and I realize I must have said it out loud. That I’m mumbling, a string of incoherent words as his pace increases, a steady rhythm.

I can already feel the delicious tightening of my muscles again, the growing ache deep in my belly, and I want to chase it even as I want to prolong it, hold on to this lush tension forever.

“Oh my God… Nate…” I hiccup over the words.

He lifts his head so his lips skim my jaw and his eyes meet mine.

“Say it again,” he murmurs.

So I whisper it. “Nate.”

He smiles and then his mouth is on mine, demanding and hard, as his thrusts become faster, more savage and urgent. I raise my hips to meet each one.

The room echoes with the sound of us moving together.

His grunts and my soft cries. The rhythmic creaking of the sofa.

He whispers into my skin—telling me how beautiful I am, how long he’s wanted this—punctuating each confession with his tongue, his teeth.

Then his fingers move lower, tracing the line of my neck, my rib cage, my stomach, until they reach that apex between my thighs.

His thumb begins to move there, slowly at first, then pressing down with urgency and oh…

I

Am

There .

This second explosion detonates deep in my body, and I cry out, closing my eyes and letting it rocket through me, an electric current pulsing through every nerve.

My body is still humming when his thrusts become jagged and fast, prolonging my ecstasy as he holds me tight and forces my body to meet his brutal pace.

I arch up to kiss his jaw just as he groans, his hips offering one last rough push before he collapses on top of me.

My fingers trace the sheen of sweat on his back as I loop my arms around him, holding him tight while his breathing slows. His lips find my neck, kissing my pulse point.

I know there are a million things I should say. But I also don’t want to, not yet. I want to hold on to this perfect moment for just a little bit longer.

But I can’t because Nathan finally stirs, raising his body up to rest on his elbows and lifting his head to look down at me. His expression is soft and pensive, but there’s uncertainty there wrinkling his brow, too. A hint of doubt.

And that awful fear snakes its way under my skin again.

“What?” I ask. My voice sounds small. Scared.

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs, glancing down to where my underwear lies next to the sofa. “It’s just… I could have sworn today was Friday…”

My mouth falls open. “Oh my God. You’re such a fucking ass—”

A smile curls just as he shuts me up with a kiss.

Asshole . I say the word in my head and repeat it and repeat it as his tongue parts my lips. Because he is an asshole for so many reasons, I remind myself. But the incantation fades as the kiss deepens, until I don’t even remember to say anything at all.