Page 19

Chapter 18

Tenley

I check out. My brain flips the off switch. I stop thinking about my aunt, my family, the docu-series. There are no thoughts, just the feel of his lips against mine, the slide of his tongue against mine, the push and pull of our bodies as we struggle to undress each other. It’s some kind of unofficial competition, who can get the other naked first. All right here in the kitchen. And then the living room.

Nash grabs the waistband of my jeans after he gets the button open and the fly down. He shoves them down my legs, dropping lower with them until my jeans are at my ankles and he's kneeling in front of me. I run my fingers into his hair as his hands slide up the outside of my thighs and snake their way to the inside. I fight the urge to shiver. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he's getting to me. Not yet. But every brush of his fingers sets my skin on fire.

He skims the edges of my underwear, which aren’t fancy tonight. I wasn’t planning on this and all my fancy, sexy underwear are in the laundry pile I haven’t yet touched since I moved in. They’re basic black cotton, cut like briefs. If he cares, he doesn’t show it. I don’t even get a granny panties tease, which I would expect from Nash. It’s low hanging fruit in the diss world and I deserve it. This undies are atrocious.

He leans in and kisses my belly—above my belly button because my stupid underwear is covering everything below. His hands move around to palm my butt. “You have an absolutely perfect ass, Tenley.”

He tilts his head so his chin is the only part of his face touching my stomach now. His hands move along the waistband of my underwear to the sides, by my hips. “One day I’m going to…”

My mind flashes to what I saw in his top drawer on my first day in the loft and I tense, but he doesn't finish the sentence the way I thought he was going to.

“…smack it while you ride me.”

“That can be arranged.”

"But first, dessert," he says, and before I can think to respond, his fingers hook into my underwear and he pulls them down to reunite with my jeans.

I'm naked and Nash, my sworn enemy, has his face half a foot from an area of my body I would have never ever thought he would see a month ago. And now I want him to do more than see it. I want him to touch it, play with it, claim it as his own personal sundae. Nash's tongue slowly glides across his lower lip. And then he pulls me forward by those firm hands on my ass and leans in… Nash might be a robot, but his tongue… his tongue is all hot-blooded male. The kind your mother warns you about.

My knees quiver and he lifts my left leg over his shoulder, opening me up but also putting me entirely off balance. I reach back and use the arm of the couch to ease myself down onto a cushion. He never comes up for air. Nash and that gifted tongue of his just keep licking and sucking as he touches my right knee and pushes it outward. I should probably care that I'm so shamelessly on display right now but all I can think about are the burning embers of white-hot pleasure growing hotter and heavier in my core about to ignite my entire body.

“Oh God… my God…” I whisper breathlessly.

“Beg me to make you come, Tenley,” he says, his lips brushing my clit as he speaks. “Say my name.”

“N…” I swallow and tip my hips. He pulls away. Fuck. “Nash.”

“You like my tongue?”

“It’s magic.”

“Then beg me to finish you off.”

“I don’t beg.”

He smirks. It's cocky. My robot husband is fucking cocky. He slides two fingers right into place, finding my G-spot on the very first try. My back arches and I let out a moan I didn't know I had in me. His tongue goes back to work and I see stars and give in. "Make me come, Nash. Please make me… Oh God…"

It’s long, breathless minutes before I’m able to do anything more than shudder and moan on the couch. My eyes slowly open and I see Nash, still between my open legs but he’s standing now and leaning over me. He’s still wearing his underwear and there is a massive bulge in the front and a small wet spot on the dark fabric. Pre-cum not cum. Good, I can still repay the favor.

I reach for him, with the intent of pulling down his boxer briefs and giving him the best head of his life. But before I can initiate, he’s scooped me up and is carrying me up the stairs like I’m a house fire victim and he’s a fireman. I’m naked, over his shoulder, ass in the air. “Hey!”

He smacks my ass. I laugh even though I want to pretend to be annoyed.

He drops me on the bed and drops himself on top of me and we make out like it's our job and we're employees of the year. Despite just having an earth-shattering orgasm I'm ready to do it again, so when Nash rolls us over and I'm on top, I straddle his hips.

He swears like a trucker as I slide down on him inch by inch. His hands start wandering up from my hips to my ribs to my… I hold his wrists and push his hands back down. Our eyes connect. “You’re going to have to tell me what that’s all about.”

“When you tell me why there’s a vibrator in your dresser.”

“Later,” he mutters and bucks up into me, urging me to get to business and I happily oblige.

Nash is thick and long and I feel him everywhere. I take it slow at first, so I can adjust, and find a rhythm that makes me tingle and has him moaning. He smacks my ass cheek again. I grab his hand and move it to my clit. “Help a girl out.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice. When I come for a second time he sits up, wraps his arms around my back, and swallows my cry in a kiss. Then I collapse onto his chest as he holds me, and he rides out his own release moments later. When he leans back into the bed, I curl my head into the curve of his neck and inhale. He smells like shampoo and aftershave. A mix of heavy spice and sharp clean citrus. I’ve gotten used to the smell and it brings me comfort now, which is… not a good idea, but I can’t control my body’s reactions.

We lay there on top of the covers, groggy with sleep and oxytocin, his fingers lazily making circles on my bare back, until there’s a cellphone ringing in his pants pocket. He groans and rolls me off of him. I sigh. “I knew it was too good to last.”

As he heads downstairs to answer his phone, my thoughts turn to my aunt and get dark again. I don't know if I believe in God but I pray anyway. She needs to be okay. If something happens to Aunt Callie… our family won't recover. I won’t recover.

I hear Nash’s side of the conversation with someone and it sounds like hockey crap so I tune it out as I slowly rise from the bed, stretch, and make my way into the bathroom. I’m reaching for the tap to turn it on when he appears in the doorway. “Hot tub is better.”

"Twist my rubber arm." I smile. He grabs two towels from under his vanity and heads into his closet. He wraps the towels around us and then pulls down the ladder stairs.

As we sit in the warm, frothing water Nash looks up at the sky. “You can see all the stars in the Maritimes.”

“You mean Nova Scotia?”

He nods. “Yeah. And New Brunswick.”

“Like Maine.”

“I haven’t been to Maine all that much, even though it’s technically a neighbor,” Nash confesses. “We split our time between Nova Scotia where we grew up, and New Brunswick where my dad grew up.”

“Which do you consider home?”

He thinks about it. I watch his face carefully. He really is… well, hot as all hell. Gorgeous. I hate to admit that to myself, and would never say it out loud to anyone else, especially Nash himself, but there isn't a thing about his face or body, that isn't appealing. "I think… New Brunswick. Because we spent every off-season there when we were really little and Dad was still playing. We moved to Nova Scotia when we were pre-teens and he was finished playing because of the hockey program there. Dad thought it was the best program in Canada at the time."

“But you were born in the US, right?”

“Yeah. In San Diego while Dad was playing.” Nash looks at me. “Where were you born?”

“New York,” I reply. “Lived there until Dad quit hockey. I was a pre-teen too. But he took a coaching job, briefly, in Toronto so I lived there for two years.”

“How was that?”

I shrug. “Too far from Maine.”

He laughs but not in a judgy way. In a ‘he-thinks-I’m-cute’ way. I’m more comfortable with being judged by him. “You’re very far from Maine right now.”

I nod. “Maybe because half my family is also here it doesn’t feel that way. But… when things happen, I feel it. Like with my aunt.”

“Makes sense,” he replies and then he stares at me for a second. “Come here.”

I stare and remain where I sit across the hot tub from him. He sighs. “Come. Here. I dare you.”

“Well, fuck,” I mutter and start to slide toward him on the round bench. When I’m within arms reach he grabs me and yanks me right over and turns his body so I’m tucked in against his side.

“What are you doing?” I ask, panicked.

“Comforting you.”

“You hate me.”

"You're a pain in my ass Ten, and always will be," Nash replies and uses his palm against the side of my head to push my head into his shoulder. I want to immediately lift it up but… it is rather soothing to lean on him. "But no one deserves to feel what you're feeling right now. I would be freaking out if it were my Uncle Seb or my Aunt Shayne."

“Do you really want to make me feel better?” I question.

“Yes.”

“Then explain the vibrator in your drawer,” I reply and think back to that day before the camera crew first came, when I opened his drawer intending to throw in some of my clothes and leave the drawer open so it looked lived in. Instead I found one of those little bullet massagers. It was purple and there was lube beside it.

“No.”

“I’m your wifey-poo. You can tell me anything,” I insist in a saccharine voice.

He clears his throat. “Can you just drop it?”

“Look if it belongs to your ex or something?—”

“It’s mine,” he cuts me off. His words are rushed like he’s so embarrassed he has to spit it out as quickly as possible. “I like ass play.”

“What?” I know what ass play means I’m just… my brain can’t register this uptight, rule-following, robotic guy having a kink.

“Prostate is full of nerve endings and?—”

“I don’t need a sex education talk,” I interrupt and start to turn toward him, but he pushes his chest into my back so I can’t. He doesn’t want to make eye contact. He is that uncomfortable. “So you use it on yourself?”

“Sometimes. If I’m in the mood when I jerk off,” he says, his voice soft. “Or girls use it on me when they give me head.”

“Huh,” I say and quickly follow it up with, “Cool.”

“Have you ever…? With someone?”

“Nope. But no one has asked,” I reply and turn my head so I can catch a glimpse of his face, which is pink and I don’t think it’s just from the hot water. “Feel free to ask.”

“And why are those perfect tits of yours off limits?”

“I thought you said my ass was perfect,” I say, stalling.

"You've got a lot of perfect parts," Nash replies. "I guess to offset that personality of yours."

I elbow him gently in the ribs and he jumps, not expecting it. He manhandles me like he's so freaking good at, and the next thing I know I'm straddling his lap again, this time in the bubbling hot tub water. I try to look anywhere but his face but he grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger and forces my eyes to him. "Ten, why are your boobs off limits."

“I don’t like them being touched,” I say casually. “It doesn’t turn me on. It annoys me.”

“Why?”

“Because, okay?” I snap and he looks startled.

His hazel eyes darken and slip down to look at my boobs, which are mostly covered by the thrashing water. His hands are on my ribs, holding me in place, and I feel him feather out his fingers and start sliding them upward. Every muscle in my body tightens. He freezes, feeling the reaction. “Someone did something.”

Fuck. Why does he have to be so intuitive? I climb off his lap and start to get out of the tub, but he stands too and gently touches my shoulders before I can escape. He turns me to face him and he tilts my head and lays a soft, deep, toe-curling kiss on me. Against my lips, when it’s over, he whispers, “I’ll respect your boundaries. I just… I want you to know that whatever happened, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything,” I say and pull away, climbing out of the tub and wrapping myself in my towel. He climbs out after me and does the same. “Besides, I’m overreacting to something long gone. I know that. My brain just… doesn’t think rationally.”

“Tell me,” Nash presses. “I mean fuck, if you can’t tell your fake husband, who can you tell?”

Maybe he’s right. I’ve never told anyone about this. Maybe he can give me some kind of perspective I’m lacking. It’s been eight fucking years and I can’t let it go. I take a deep breath and decide I’m not ready to explain every nasty detail. “A dude groped me once. Grabbed one of my boobs.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nash looks like he’s suddenly flipped some internal switch and is filled with all the emotion he’s been bottling up. I see fire in his eyes sparked from pure rage. “That’s a fucking crime.”

You don’t know the half of it , I think. "I punched him in the face within a second of it happening. I reacted so fast that for a split second, I worried it was a mistake. That he accidentally touched me and I was overreacting. But I wasn't. He said something as he rubbed his face that made it clear he knew what he was doing."

“What did he say?”

“‘Don’t blame me, you’ve been asking for it. Besides, you’re destined to ride hockey dick. It’s all you’re good for and you’d be lucky to start with mine.’” I force myself not to shudder as I repeat the words that have been seared into my brain like a brand on cattle.

“ Start with his?” Nash repeats. “How old were you? Why didn’t you have him arrested?”

Oops. I overshared. I don’t want to confess how old I was because Nash is a Boy Scout and he will lose his shit… or think less of me. I can’t handle either response right now so I just shake my head. “Do you know what that would have done to my family? Besides I was young enough to be confused into believing I might have been at fault. I mean, I did think he was handsome. I had a crush. I might have sent signals without knowing it.”

“When was this?” Nash repeats. “And who was this? Is it a Quake? If I play on this fucker’s team, Ten?—”

"Not a Quake. No. Relax. See? This is why I don't talk about it. Anyway, I still don't like my boobs touched, with or without consent," I say quickly. "And this isn't helping me feel better so can we just stop talking about it and never bring it up again?"

“I think—” I glare at Nash and his words come to an abrupt stop. He inhales sharply, frowns, and exhales. “Okay. Thanks for trusting me.”

“Thanks for telling me about the butt stuff.”

He turns pink again. “Don’t say butt stuff.”

“Butt stuff. Butt Stuff. Butt Stuuuuff!” I sing the last one for effect. He rolls his eyes and walks away from me, toward his closet. I notice he’s definitely limping. Not badly but enough that I notice. “Leg bothering you?”

“Yeah,” he says, stepping into the closet and pulling out his travel suitcase. Their road trip starts tomorrow. “That call earlier was Gabby. There’s an issue with my x-ray.”

“What? Why didn’t you say something sooner?” I feel my heart jump in my chest in fear. Is he badly injured? Will he be able to continue in the playoffs? I can’t imagine a Nash who is sidelined for playoffs. He’d be like a cornered alligator.

“It’s just that it wasn’t clear. Gabby and the team doc think it was a mistake by the tech and I have to get another one,” I reply. “Not worth updating you on.”

Something doesn’t sit right in my gut as I process that information, but my phone buzzes from the pocket of my jeans downstairs so I retreat. It buzzes again as I make my way down the stairs and again as I pick it up. Family Group Chat.

Aunt C: I need a Family Zoom. When works for everyone?”

Con: Everyone? Like the whole fam damily?

Theo: Your dad jokes suck. I’m free whenever.

Grady: Unlike Theo, I’ve got hockey.

Theo: Fuck you.

Aunt Rose: Theo! Rude.

Grady: We fly to Vancouver tomorrow, early. But we have time in the afternoon, I think. Tate?

Tate: Yeah. Like after 3pm EST. What’s this about?

Harlow: Everything okay?

Devin: Everything is fine right now. So let’s go with 4pm tomorrow?

Aunt Leah: Cryptic.

Uncle Cole: I have work but I’ll make it happen if it’s important.

Shelby: It’s important, Dad.

Shelby knows! I think. Of course, she does. She's a nurse at Silver Bay Medical Center. I'm suddenly both relieved and furious that my cousin didn't share, or push Aunt Callie to share.

Liv: Okay… this is weird.

Aunt C: Nobody stress. Talk tomorrow!

Mom: Callie… I’m calling you.

Aunt C: I won’t answer.

I decide to add to the chat because if I don’t it will look weird. So I send a thumbs up. I feel sick and weepy again. God, this night has been a rollercoaster and suddenly, all I want is to get off this ride. I look up the stairs. Nash is at the top, about to come down, my clothes neatly folded in his hands. “You okay?”

“I think I just need to go to bed,” I say and meet him halfway to grab my clothes. “Night.”

“Oh. Okay. Good night.”

I head down the hall, my damp feet making a slapping sound against the polished concrete floor. I dump my clothes on the floor, drop the towel, and crawl into bed.