Page 31 of I Could Be Yours (The Toronto Terror #6)

NATE

T he sun isn’t even up when I crack a lid in the morning. The clock on the nightstand reads four forty-five, and my stomach feels like it’s eating itself. Also, my skin is itchy. But I’m wrapped around Essie, which is nice.

“There’s food on the table. Please make your stomach stop. It’s been yelling louder than a grandpa without hearing aids for the past hour.” Essie drags a pillow over her head.

I roll over and sit up, blinking into the murky darkness. My stomach gurgles embarrassingly.

“I can still hear your stomach, Nathan,” Essie says from under the pillow.

I pad over to the table, eyes adjusting to the darkness. I pop the tops on three resealable containers and find an assortment of fresh fruit, pastries, and rolls with butter.

Essie lifts the pillow a few inches. “There are cold cuts, cheese, and condiments in the fridge if you want to make sandwiches out of the buns.”

My chest tightens in a weird, uncomfortable way. I’m not used to having someone do nice things for me. “Thanks.”

I scavenge the fridge for the meat and cheese, grab a bottle of water, and plow through everything in less than fifteen minutes. It takes the edge off, but now that I’m not hungry anymore, I’m really fucking itchy. I scratch my back, but it feels raw.

Essie tosses her pillow aside and rolls off the bed with a sigh.

She disappears into the bathroom and closes the door.

A minute later she reappears and flicks on one of the bedside lamps.

She’s wearing a nightshirt with a princess a her gaggle of smiling, hat wearing friends and the phrase the original why choose .

Her hair tumbles over her shoulders in unruly waves.

I want to drag her back to bed, curl myself around her, and bury my face in her hair.

“Sorry you’re awake at stupid o’clock in the morning,” I say as she crosses over to me.

“It’s fine. I was in bed early, anyway.” She taps the back of my hand. “Give me your hand, palm up.”

I do as she asks, and she places a pill in the center.

“Non-drowsy antihistamine. It’ll help with the itching.

You’re supposed to stay out of the sun today.

Sadly, you’ll probably have to wear a shirt and rob me of the joy of checking out your fine-as-fuck body from behind the protective cover of my sunglasses. ”

I huff a laugh and take the pill. “Thank you for taking care of me last night. Sorry if it meant you didn’t get time with Rix and the girls.”

“Rix was busy boning your brother. Or being boned by your brother. As were the rest of the girls—except for Dred. She’s on her fourth book already.” Essie runs her hands through my hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine apart from really fucking itchy.”

“I can apply more of the cream the nurse gave you.”

“I can probably handle it.” She’s already done more than enough in the taking-care-of-me department.

“I don’t mind. It’s probably easier for me to get your back.”

Her hands on me seems like a good way to start my day. “If you’re sure.”

She unscrews the lid and squeezes some onto her fingers, moving to stand behind me as I sit in a chair. “It looks so much better this morning.” She swipes gently over my skin.

I let my head fall forward and my eyes close, enjoying the contact. “That’s good. It doesn’t feel nearly as awful. Thanks for the food. That was nice of you.”

“I figured you’d be hungry when you finally woke up, and my purse snacks, while good in a pinch, probably wouldn’t have been enough.”

“Purse snacks?”

“Yeah. I always keep snack items in my purse. Mostly it’s a leftover habit from my university days with Rix,” Essie explains.

“She does that, doesn’t she? Always carries crackers and stuff.”

“Mm-hmm.” She settles one hand on my shoulder and skims my ribs with the other. I move my arm so it rests on the back of the chair, giving her better access to my side. “Fortune cookies, soup crackers, animal crackers, fruit leathers, mini bags of nuts—her purse is where airplane snacks live.”

“We went to a maple farm once when we were kids, and Tris and Rix came along,” I tell her as an old memory surfaces. “She wanted to buy one of those little bottles of maple syrup so badly.”

“I remember her talking about it afterward. All she ever had growing up was the fakle stuff,” Essie says.

“Fakle?” I parrot.

“Fake maple syrup. The kind made with corn syrup and food coloring.”

I nod. “Oh yeah. I’ve never heard that term for it.”

“It’s what she always called it after she tried the real stuff.”

“Makes sense. I didn’t even know the fake stuff was different when I was a kid. I thought everyone had the real stuff until my dad explained that it’s expensive and not everyone could afford it. Tristan went out and bought a big container for her family with his own money. ”

Essie’s fingers stop moving for a second. “I thought it was your dad who did that. So did she.”

“It was Tris. He’s always had a soft spot for her.

At least until our mom left. Then all his soft spots disappeared for a while.

” She moves around to my right, and I finger the hem of her nightshirt, less pleasant memories from all those years ago floating to the surface.

“Tristan went from being fun to…angry. Lots of dents in the garage siding from pucks after she left.” And broken sticks.

Brody had always been quiet, but after Mom left, he turtled. I put all my energy into school.

“I’m so sorry, Nate.” Essie caps the cream and sets it on the table, hands coming to rest on my shoulders again.

I want the affection. Crave it. Need it, even.

“I just wish she’d stay out of our lives. Everything was fine until she started calling again.” I shake my head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Probably because our families arrive today, and I’m sure that’s a weight for all of you.” Her nails drag gently along the back of my neck.

“Yeah. Maybe.” I settle my hand at the back of her thigh.

Lately I find myself wanting to confide in her.

“Most of my memories of her are shitty. She was always upset with one of us for something. Tristan’s hockey equipment took up too much space, my projects were too messy, Brody was too quiet. And then she was just…gone.”

I wish she would stay that way. I wish the calls would stop, along with everything else. They’re needles under my skin, pricking at a wound that never heals. I wish she hadn’t started calling again last year, acting like she could erase years of silence.

Essie cups my face in her palms. “You can talk to me, Nate. I can’t even begin to imagine how hard that was for your family.”

I pull her closer, needing the contact to ground me and keep me from falling back into a past that always hurts. “Talking about it makes me feel worse. ”

“I can understand that.” She skims the edge of my jaw with her thumbs. “What do you need, Nathan?”

For you to stay. For this not to end after this week .

I try to push that thought back down before it has a chance to dig its nails in, but it’s too late.

As I gaze into her soft, empathy-filled eyes, I realize that somewhere along the way this did stop being about just the sex.

What would she say if I wanted more than this week ?

She traces the contour of my bottom lip. “Do you need a distraction from all the stuff in your head?”

I lean into her touch. I don’t know if I should take what she’s offering, but I want her. Desperately. “Maybe.”

Her expression is as gentle as her touch. “It’s also okay if that’s not what you need right now. You can be honest. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

“I just don’t want to get lost in the past.” I skim the curve of her ass, moving her to stand between my parted thighs. I wish I wasn’t so closed off, that I wasn’t so afraid of the feelings that prick at me.

“I can help with that, if you want me to.” She runs her fingers down my forearm.

I run my hands along her bare thighs, her nightshirt riding up as I settle them at her hips. “Please.”

“Okay.” Essie lifts her nightshirt over her head and drops it on the floor, leaving her naked. The pink gems decorating her nipples glint in the dim room. She drags her nails down my chest and dips her fingers into the waistband of my shorts. “Should I take these off?”

“Yeah. Yes.” I lift my hips and she tugs them down, freeing my erection.

She grips my length and strokes from base to tip. “How do you want me, Nate?” Her eyes are guileless, expression open.

And I’m suddenly terrified that she’ll see the truth. I have feelings for her. Real ones. And I don’t want to risk fucking things up. Not here. Not now. Not when I need her. So I grab her by the hips and spin her around, her back to my chest, and pull her into my lap.

There’s a condom on the table. She tears it open and pushes the latex ring up, holding it out to me. I kiss the back of her neck as I roll it down my length.

I should take care of her first, make sure she comes.

She stayed with me all night, took care of me, brought me food, and here I am, drowning out the shit in my head with her body.

Hiding the feelings I’m not supposed to have.

I’m half a second away from stopping, but Essie reaches between her legs, positions my cock at her entrance, and sinks down.

The relief is instantaneous and damning.

I grip her hip with one hand and bar the other across her chest. Cupping one breast in my palm, I hold her tight and rest my forehead against the back of her neck, letting her warmth seep into me.

Pleasure and need drown out the sadness and anger.

Worry dissipates with primal hunger. “Fuck me.”

“I’d like to, but it’s hard to move like this.” She shimmies her hips, her voice light.

I kiss her neck and slip a hand between her thighs. “Let me take care of you first.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll come if you let me move.”

I unbar my arm from across her chest, and she starts to lean forward.

“No.” I pull her back against me. “Stay here. I want you like this.”

“Whatever you need, Nathan.” She rests her head on my shoulder as she rolls her hips, sliding her tight pussy up and down my cock.

“Just you. You’re all I need.” And I mean it, in ways she doesn’t realize. Not yet. But I could tell her. After the wedding is over. When we’re home.

Her lips brush the edge of my jaw as I move her over me.

“You feel so fucking good, Essie. You’re perfect. Everything about you.” I dip my fingers between her thighs and play with her clit ring until she moans my name and spasms around me. I follow right behind her, holding her tightly.

I can hide how I feel for now. I have to.

But when we’re back in Toronto, that could change.

Fear makes my throat tight but hope tugs at its fingers.

What if she could be mine?