Page 12

CHAPTER TEN

paige

There’s a tongue buried between my thighs, torturing me.

I’m wriggling on the mattress, biting my lip in an attempt to swallow my moans.

To keep him from knowing how much I like the way his tongue strokes me, how his teeth graze me. How I appreciate the strength his hands squeeze my thighs with as he keeps them pinned to my chest, spreading me open to be devoured.

I want him to work for my pleasure, to hunt for my moans.

And he does, as his tongue licks up my seam, teeth biting my clit. My back arches off the bed as a guttural moan pierces the air. Pressure in my lower stomach builds, and builds, as I circle my hips more.

Wildly. Desperately. Tectonically.

A bomb wishing to be set off.

He moans into my cunt, and the vibrations from the sound feel like rapture rippling through me.

Oh, God… Bright white light lines the edges of my vision. A shiver of ecstasy.

I can’t see his face, only his dark hair as he works me over. Eating me out like I’m his favorite meal. I tangle my fingers into the strands, pulling him closer. Grinding harder into his face.

“I need to come,” I tell him, eyes watering with heated frustration. Pleasured fervor dances inside me, and it’s all I can think about. All I want.

“Say please first, Princess.” Nate picks his head up from between my legs and grins ? —

I startle awake with a gasp, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat, as utter horror descends into my bones.

No. No. Absolutely not. No. We are not doing this. Not doing this .

Go away. Go away. Go away.

It doesn’t. The images are all but stamped into the forefront of my brain. Teasing me. Taunting me. I feel my heart racing, beating to a dozen different beats as I try to find a stable breath. Try and fail as nothing but images and sensations I have no business thinking attack me.

I just—I just?—

I just had a sex dream starring Nate.

Ugh. Even just thinking that has my brain recoiling.

How could my brain betray me this way?

I blame the weather, the damn red truck, the cabin, and this cursed vacation.

I blame Christmas and Cole, and everything that led me to being stuck in a tight space with Nate’s insufferable ego. It’s choked me enough to cut off the oxygen to my brain, driving me to lunacy.

I blame snow days and movie marathons, uncomfortable couches, and hedgehogs tucked into t-shirt pockets. And for the normalcy I’d forgotten that existed between us. The quiet comfort that I’ve only found with a total of three people.

But most of all, I blame that frozen lake and secluded landscape that was the backdrop to that almost-kiss that’s been stuck in my mind ever since. The way Nate’s body felt pressed against mine, the smell of his Irish Spring soap that’s lingered in my nose, making me intoxicated off the strong, masculine scent.

I’m so wrapped up in the audacity of my subconscious, of having it betray me in such a treacherous way, I almost forget where I am.

I almost miss the way my body is far too cozy for a room so cold, or the persistent ache now throbbing between my legs.

Almost miss the way my body is curled around a very large, very warm side. How my head is nestled into the crook of a strong, broad shoulder, the edges of a beard tickling my forehead. Miss the way I’m wrapped around something like an octopus very opposed to personal space.

I miss it all, until my body is jostled hard enough to yank me from my spiral as warm, bare skin brushes mine, as solid, coiled muscles send tendrils of wanton desire across my body.

My already charged body.

Nononononono.

Everything inside me stiffens. My thoughts, my heart. My limbs lock up to the point of pain. I don’t move, I don’t breathe as slowly, so slowly, I’m pulled from my backstabbing thoughts and back into the room.

To the bed.

To Nate.

And how I’m curled into his body like a pillow, my leg thrown over his waist, arm wrapped around his broad chest. His rose tattoo that so easily captured my attention last night is mere centimeters from my face.

I glare at it as a wave of heat, as violent and destructive as an erupting volcano, washes over me. Overtaking my limbs. Threatening to consume me.

I don’t like it at all.

The bastard. The utter, rotten bastard!

He breached the sleep barrier!

I knew he couldn’t be trusted.

Grrrrrr.

I try to pull away when a strong, muscular arm tightens around my lower back.

Underneath my borrowed t-shirt.

Pinning me in place.

A heady current of awareness spirals out around his hold, making sure I’m aware of just how much my body appreciates his tattooed touch.

I don’t think so .

I struggle to break free, set on beating him with a pillow.

But it’s like Nate’s fortified his muscles with steel or iron or something because all it does is have my body rubbing up against parts of his shirtless chest that I don’t need to be touching.

A rush of heat pulses— Nope. There will be none of that.

Now reduced to limited movement, I grit my teeth and glare up at Nate with a volatile expression. The urge to throttle him is so, so strong. But he remains blissfully unaware.

The soft, limited light from the curtain-free window casts a hazy glow around the room, illuminating his smug, handsome face. Sleeping like nothing is wrong. A thief with no worries, like he didn’t break the one rule I had when he crossed the mighty wall of blankets and kidnapped me.

I stare at him for a beat, at his thick lashes resting across his cheeks. He looks so peaceful. It’s almost a shame someone has to ruin it.

Oh well.

“Wake up,” I growl, smacking his chest with my open palm. So I can maim you properly.

Nate doesn’t stir, and it only makes me want to hurt him more as his chest continues to rise and fall in that slow, tranquil rhythm.

Nothing about this is tranquil! “Wake up, Nathan Gabriel?—”

I go to smack him again, but before I can, with reflexes faster than a sleeping man should be allotted, Nate seizes my wrists, pulling me until I’m straddling his chest.

I suck in a sharp breath, hidden flames scorching my body as I force myself to ignore the way it feels to be spread out on top of him, but it’s hard to not notice how my arousal has seeped through my underwear and now soaks the crotch of my pants. Pants that are directly touching Nate’s bare chest.

“It’s not nice to hit people, Princess.” Nate’s sleep-addled voice cuts through my thoughts.

His voice is so husky and deep, the sound runs straight to my pulsing libido.

Nate’s eyes are still shut as I hiss, “It’s not nice to kidnap people in their sleep either.” All the irritation in my body is fighting for dominance right now. “Let me go.”

But all Nate does is tighten his grip, putting my hands behind my back. Restraining me. His ink-covered arms brush against my hips in the process.

My heart feels heavy in my tight chest as I fight to break free.

Until a sweet, sweet friction zips through my body as I rub against his. Dots prick my eyes, then I freeze. Not daring to move, save for my laboring breath.

Nate’s eyes finally flutter open. Those brilliant blues are laden with sleep, making the color look all the more vibrant as he takes me in, straddled on top of him.

A deeply satisfied smile, like a fat cat who ate an off-limits canary, spreads across his bearded face. “Now, what did I do to get this kind of wake-up call?”

Sex and seduction and smoke fill that question.

I try not to focus on the mess of his dark hair, the half-mast eyes or the way his abs constrict under my thighs as I give him the most hate-filled stare I can muster. “I wouldn’t look too pleased with yourself just yet, Nathan. Not when it’s the very last thing you’re going to see.”

Instead of having a lick of concern for his well-being, Nate sinks further into his pillow. “I beg to differ. I can’t think of a better way to go out than with you on top of me.”

My nails dig into his wrists, but he doesn’t hiss in pain, doesn’t pull away. I watch as his eyes darken, and I stop immediately.

Ugh, he won’t even let me hurt him without enjoying it. How is that fair?

“Just for that, I guess I’ll spare your life.” There would be no fun in killing Nate if he enjoyed it, anyway. Never mind the faint pang in my chest at the thought. At the idea of him not being around to annoy me, to get under my skin.

“Aw, sweetheart, I always knew you cared about me,” he teases.

“It’s not for you, Nathan,” I tell him sternly. “The orange jumpsuits in prison would clash with my hair. I couldn’t live like that forever. This is strictly a vanity choice.”

“Hmm, of course. Not because you’ll miss me.”

“Right. Because I wouldn’t.” That pang echoes again.

“No,” he agrees, so much amusement in that two-letter word. “How dare I ever think that.”

“I’ll forgive you if you give me back my hands.” I shake them behind me for emphasis.

“I don’t know.” Nate gives me an over-exaggerated frown. “I was having a really good dream when I was woken up with your fists of fury.”

“They were my palms,” I correct matter-of-factly.

“Care to explain why you felt the need to hit me with them?”

“I’ll tell you if you let go of my hands.”

Nate stares at me for a moment. Like he doesn’t trust me. Internally, I scoff.

“Promise not to hit me?” he asks with lifted brows.

“Of course,” I agree easily.

Nate looks skeptical, but he does as requested.

Too bad for him I lied.

“You.” I attack his chest, smacking him with a newfound vengeance. “Crossed.” Another smack. “The.” Smack . “Sleep divider.” Smack. Smack. Smack ? —

Nate seizes my wrists in a tight grip, and my nostrils flare in agitation. Damn his reflexes.

“Let go of me!” I try to pull free, but he rolls over, on top of me, trapping me between the mattress and his body.

I swallow thickly, hoping Nate can’t hear the thump, thump, thump of my accelerating heart as he lowers his head to mine, our lips almost touching as he rasps, “What did I say about the hitting?”

The sleep is still in his voice, and I try to ignore how husky he sounds, how heavy my body feels despite Nate holding his weight above me.

All while my body grows warmer. These baggy clothes— Nate’s clothes— feel tighter.

“I don’t care about being nice. You breached the blankets!”

“No, I didn’t.” His brows stitch together. “I was on my best behavior, as per usual.”

He’s going to break our agreement and then lie to me about it?! “Yes, you did! You came over to my side and pulled me on top of you.”

Nate pulls back, giving the turmoil brewing inside me a reprieve, and takes in the scene of his crime.

My eyes narrow as the corner of his mouth ticks up. Not sure what he’s smiling about when I promised retribution for such an offense. Locking him out in the frigid cold sounds like a good start…

“Hate to break it to you, Princess, but I’m not the reason your little Do Not Cross Zone failed.”

“Then what is the reason, Nate? A ghost?” I roll my eyes. Please. “Nice try.”

“Not a ghost.” His eyes are now bright with a delight I don’t like, striking me in the lower belly like a lighting bolt. Nate’s grin stretches wider as he says one simple word. “You.”

“I did not,” I gasp. The very idea that I would is so absurd, so ridiculous, so?—

Without saying a word, Nate gleefully points to the side of the bed. My side of the bed, the side I didn’t wake up on this morning, and at first I’m not sure what he wants me to see, but then I do.

And my stomach drops.

On the floor is every single blanket, every single jacket and pillow I had placed between us, scattered and flung across the ground. The different patterns and fabrics cover the whole floor, like a wild animal came through and threw them all out of its way.

Except there was no beast.

There was only me.

Oh, God.

My wide, wide eyes dart back to Nate, who’s hovering above me with smug satisfaction.

“I can explain,” I all but shout. My pulse is racing. But I’m not sure if it’s from the crime or Nate’s proximity.

With his tattooed arms bracketing either side of my head, Nate peers down at me with captive interest. He practically purrs, “Go on.”

“Clearly, there has been some misunderstanding. I would never actively choose to cuddle with you, if it wasn’t imperative for my health.”

“You saying I’m imperative to your health, sweetheart?”

“ No. ” God, no. “Only that if I had a choice between surviving or not, and my only option to live was through you, then I’d have to pick you.”

“So what you’re saying is you had to cuddle me last night or else you wouldn’t have made it?” We need to get this man that CT scan immediately. There is something loose in the logic part of his brain. Especially as he muses, “That the raw power of my body is enough to keep you alive?”

“I’m saying that it must’ve been so cold in here last night that I had to find some way to warm myself up. Don’t read anything else into it. It was purely survival.”

My explanation only amuses Nate further. “You decided to bypass all those blankets because you knew they couldn’t keep you warm like I could.”

I glower at his grin. That self-satisfied, delighted grin. He’s enjoying this far too much.

“Clearly my subconscious makes poor judgement calls.” Case in point: the sex dream. That stupid, stupid sex dream. “But now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I think you can get off me. And we can get on with our day. Lots to do, cabins to leave, all that jazz.” Cold showers to drown in.

I need Nate to get off me. Every part of my body is humming under his, demanding more. The ache that settled between my legs when I woke up has only intensified with every subtle shift Nate gives.

But Nate doesn’t relent. Still holding my hands above my head, he stares at me like I’m seconds away from disappearing. It’s a look that strikes a chaotic rhythm in my chest, beating deeper and deeper into my psyche.

“Not so fast, Princess,” Nate draws out slowly. “I think I recall you saying there would be consequences for anyone who crossed the barrier.”

“I was talking about you.” Heat spreads across my chest under his stare.

“And I think I said something about promising to return the favor if you crossed it instead.” Nate’s so close, his eyes, his scent. His being. Everything is drowning me. “And I always honor my promises, Paige.”

That stupid organ in my chest wallops. From his words, his stare. The possibilities lingering beneath both.

I swallow thickly.

“The question is—what should I make you do?”

It’s almost hard to hear him over the banging in my chest, the pressure building in my lower stomach.

It’s too much. He’s too much. This is all too much.

Everything that I’ve tried to fight since I saw him in the lobby days ago refuses to be suppressed, everything I’ve tucked away two years ago fights to break free.

“There are so many possibilities,” Nate continues, letting go of my wrists to drag his hands down my arms in the softest caress.

I shiver, not from the chill that clings to the room but from the coil of want that runs down my spine.

“I could have you make me breakfast,” he ponders casually.

“I’m a terrible cook,” I argue, my voice coming out all breathy as Nate continues to run his hands up and down my arms, in the most featherlight touches. Teasing touches.

“Hmm,” he hums, “then maybe I’ll just make you compliment me for fifteen minutes straight, and if you slip an insult in, the time resets.”

“You’d hate that.” I focus on my words, not Nate’s hands as they travel down to my sides, his thumbs pinching the shirt’s fabric, pulling at it so it stretches across my chest to reveal my hard nipples. “You like me being mean to you, remember?”

“Maybe.” Nate coaxes his hands along my sides, slipping under my shirt. I startle under his cool touch, my skin tingling with lustful demands. “I think I could like you being nice to me, though.”

I barely hear his words, despite looking at his mouth. I’m too busy tracing the outline of his lips, unable to tear my gaze away as I wonder what they would feel like against my skin. If they would feel similar to how they teased and touched and punished me in my dreams. I wonder what it would feel like to have his beard scrape the sensitive flesh of my thighs.

Nate and the emotions, these visceral, choking emotions that he’s always been able to stir up inside me, are getting harder and harder to push to the side.

Harder for me to keep putting effort into something I don’t want to push aside, something I don’t want to ignore.

Maybe for the first time in my life, I don’t care about what I should or shouldn’t be doing. I don’t want to think about the past or the future, to only drown myself in the now.

I want to be reckless. I want to be completely unleashed.

Pressure builds and builds, until I have no thoughts left in my head, no voices of protests, nothing stopping me from getting what I want.

“I could?—“

“Kiss me.” Not a suggestion. But a demand.

Nate pulls back, shock overriding his expression, but before he—or I—can question what I just said, before better judgement can find me, I lean up with almost desperate courage and fuse my lips to his.

It’s nothing but a brush, a whisper of a touch. Tentative and unsure, powered by all the nerves that are rolling through me.

Someone check on hell, I think it’s frozen over.

Because as wrong as it should feel, as much as I should probably pull away in horror, I’ve never felt more right in my actions. Never felt more sure than when Nate moans against my lips, his shock instantly melting away, as his hands slide into my hair, fisting the strands, deepening the kiss.

My heart smacks into my chest with wild abandon at the explosion of want, of pent-up frustrations. Of all the grievances that we haven’t said and resentments we’ve worn like badges. More hard than soft, as we kiss and taste and explore each other.

As if this is our first time meeting.

And I guess, in a way—it is.

I whimper as Nate’s tongue traces my lips, persuading me to open for him. I don’t take much convincing, giving in to what he wants with ease. Because I want it, too.

His tongue tangles with mine, and I wrap my arms around his neck. One of his hands leaves my hair, running his palm over my throat, along my stomach, before winding his arm around my waist, pulling me closer.

Chest to chest, my legs wrap around his waist. The heels of my feet push him closer into me, and I gasp at the straining erection rubbing against my sweatpants-covered heat.

A strangled cry tears through my throat, and it’s more than a physical response. Something inside me is coming apart, unraveling in ways I don’t think will be able to be put back together.

It should terrify me. I should stop.

But I don’t.

I can’t.