Page 24 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

Four Years Ago, November

Lyricists have this habit of being known as people who are good with words. What happens if we’re actually terrible with them?

I groaned dramatically, falling back onto Nate’s couch with a throw pillow over my eyes.

Nate’s computer chair creaked from the corner of his living room as he turned around. He’d been plucking away at the acoustic guitar in his lap, bouncing from that to the electric keyboard in front of him for the last hour. “You good over there?”

I lifted the pillow and lolled my head to stare sidelong at him.

He’d just gotten out of the shower when I got to his apartment, and his wet hair had dried gradually in all directions, making him look adorably unkempt.

His constant finger-raking didn’t help. He blinked expectantly, hands holding his bulky headphones an inch from his ears so he could hear.

“I quit.”

With a nod, he settled the headphones around his neck, committed to the bitch-fest that was about to ensue.

Fall semester had been tough, and I felt the pressure of graduation—my future—pressing stronger with each passing day.

As he turned the chair to face me fully, my gaze drifted to his bare chest, the sunrise tattoo peeking over the top of his guitar.

“You quit what?”

I pressed the pillow back over my head, pushing on my eyes to dull the blooming headache. “Everything.”

“Will you at least let me keep your record collection if you quit everything?”

I hurled the pillow, which he caught with a smirk.

“I feel like my brain is going to melt and pour out of my ears,” I groaned. “I seriously cannot look at a laptop or a textbook for another minute, or I will scream.”

He shrugged. “So take a break.”

Smug asshole.

My eyes narrowed. “Thanks, I didn’t think of that.

Oh, wait.” I swung my legs around until I sat crisscrossed.

Billie chirped in protest at the sudden movement and hopped onto her cat tree.

“I can’t take a break because I’m so fucking behind.

This assignment is taking forever, and I’m just getting further and further behind. ”

Nate nodded contemplatively, turning to face his keyboard once again, but left his headphones hanging around his neck.

“This girl in my project group is breathing down everyone’s neck to finish their sections because she did her section the day it was assigned. I can’t focus when I see her stupid icon hovering on the shared document. It’s like she’s watching me. Menacingly .”

Nate snorted.

“I’m serious! She’s judging my every move, I know it.

Someone else in our group already told her to back off.

” I crossed my arms over my chest and huffed against the cushions, mind reeling.

“And while I’m at it, why am I still having to endure group projects in the final year of grad school?

Why am I even in grad school again? I’ve lost all reason. Can you remind me?”

As if settling on a debate, Nate nodded once and lifted his guitar from his lap, carefully resting it against the wall. He glanced over his shoulder at me, brows high to accompany his teasing grin.

I stared back. “What?”

“You seem very stressed.”

“And?”

“You know I could help with that, right?”

I cackled. “You think you can solve all my problems?”

I imagined his hands—his mouth—on me. It was a constant, unsatisfied craving to want somebody so much.

“No.” He ran a hand through his hair as he turned to face me fully, leaning back with a cocky expression.

“But it’s gotta solve one problem, right?

At the very least, it’ll give you some dopamine, which you are clearly lacking.

” His gray sweatpants did wonderful things when he adjusted in his seat. He wasn’t kidding.

“Are you going to fix that for me, Cassidy?” I challenged, heat pooling in my core.

He stood before I finished my sentence. “Happy to.”

Within minutes, his fingers were stroking into me at a slow, lazy pace.

Nate took his time, unhurried as he peppered open-mouthed kisses to the tender skin where my thigh met my pelvis. He curled his fingers up, sliding against my sweet spot with torturous accuracy. Soft hums and sighs tumbled from my lips in response as I enjoyed every second.

“ Fuck. ” His forehead dropped to my hip. “The sounds you make. ”

He peered up at me, studying my face with a cheek pressed to my thigh.

Dark hair fell over his forehead, and I ran my fingers through it, sighing again when he sank his fingers deeper.

With a languid dip of his head, he licked a circle around my clit, then kissed and sucked on my sensitivity, taking it into his mouth in time with his fingers.

My hand gripped his hair, bobbing with the movement.

I was floating and entranced and so, so relaxed. Reveling in the feel of his lips against my skin as he savored me, I let my head fall back against his pillows, happy for him to have his way with my body.

When my orgasm washed over me, I hummed my release, my fingers tightening on his brown waves.

Nate kissed his way up my body, teeth grazing over my thighs, my hips, just under my breast. His hard length strained against his sweatpants, tenting the soft cotton.

“Turn over, Oli.”

I obeyed, turning on my stomach and lifting to all fours.

One of my favorite parts about sleeping with Nate was getting to watch him.

Being able to study each micro-expression that painted his brow, watching the pleasure I gave him as it spread through his whole body.

Not being able to see him drove me wild in the best way, like he was forcing me to do nothing but feel .

He was behind me in an instant, already rolling a condom on. Easing my legs farther apart with his knee, he positioned himself between them, sliding the tip of his cock through my release. I jumped at the sensitivity when he teased my clit, then moaned when he eased inside of me.

Nate pumped into me slowly, letting me take him little by little to adjust. With one hand at my waist, he urged my hips lower, and with the other at my shoulder, guided me into more of an upright position .

The new angle overwhelmed me. Every stroke had his cock pushing against my front wall so deliciously I couldn’t help but clench around him.

“You feel so good,” he breathed into my neck as he picked up the pace. “You feel… so… good.”

He swept my hair out of the way to kiss my neck, the sensation causing all thought to stutter then cease.

My hands gripped the air, begging for purchase but found none. I was practically on his lap, my weight supported by his thighs and chest. He couldn’t have been any deeper.

He snaked an arm around my waist, thumb grazing the underside of my breast. “Can I try something?” his breath fanned against my neck.

I nodded, gasping as he slid into me again.

“I need to hear it, Oli.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” I didn’t know what he was going to do, but I was on board. I wanted to take anything, everything he had to give.

His hand rose, pausing to palm my breast before resting at the base of my neck.

Fuck, yes.

Pressing a thumb to my pulse point, Nate used his leverage on my neck to pull me tighter to him, locking me in place.

Back flush against his chest, I felt every movement of his body, every breath as his chest rose and fell, every thrust of his strong thighs under me.

He increased pressure against my pulse, not too hard, but enough to keep me focused there, to keep my attention zeroed in on his body against mine.

Sooner than I thought possible, I was winding up again, higher and higher with every thrust. He knew it, too, and released his grip on my hip to reach between my legs and draw tight circles around my clit.

My head fell back onto his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut against the pleasure.

It was too much. The rhythm of his thrusts, his deft fingers between my legs, the hand wrapped around my throat, his heavy breaths hot against my ear.

“I’ve got you,” he grunted, focused on his steady movements.

I could only manage a whisper. “You’re so deep.”

He groaned, burying his head into the crook of my neck, but his pace remained unchanged.

“Oh, fuck .”

“I got you,” he repeated.

I clutched at his wrist against my neck, digging my nails into his forearm, holding myself closer to him. He licked a line up my neck, adding another layer to the sensations flooding my body.

Inching to my second release, overwhelmed and oversensitized, I could do nothing but hold on.

“Say my name when you come, Oli.”

Oh, god.

I came around him with a shudder, repeating his name over and over again, rolling my hips as I rode out my orgasm.

The hand at my throat crossed around my shoulders as his tempo broke along with his restraint. Clutching me harder, he slammed into me, his other hand palming my breasts, my hips, anything soft and squeezable within reach.

He moaned his release a moment later, the sound like honey in my ears, sending shivers down my arms.

When his movements at last slowed, his body went limp against my back.

Fifteen minutes later, I was back at my spot on his couch .

Nate emerged from the bathroom. “Water?”

“Yes, please.” I opened my laptop, balanced it on the arm of the couch, and patted around for my phone. “Your birthday is coming up pretty soon,” I said. “Are you planning anything fun?”

“Oh, uh…” His face was hidden by the refrigerator door. “No, probably not. I might go see my mom or something.”

When I found my phone, there was one unread text that I had to read over twice.

Austin Guy From Lit

Hey Olive! Any thoughts on this weekend?

Fuck.

I’d completely forgotten. Austin, the guy who sat behind me in my Lit lecture, was quiet but as sweet as could be. The week before, he’d asked me if I wanted to join him at a new exhibition at the Art History Museum. A celebration of Día de los Muertos during the first week of November.

We’d had a few classes together in previous semesters, and we always got along, but we’d never done anything together outside of class.

My first instinct was to turn him down. Whether from platonic disinterest or some kind of loyalty to Nate, I had no idea.

Instead, I told him I’d get back to him, and I’d completely forgotten about it until this exact moment.

I must’ve made a face when I saw the text because Nate gave me a questioning look from the kitchen.

“What?” he asked, handing me a glass of water.

“This guy from one of my classes texted me. He sort of asked me on a date the other day and I totally forgot about it. ”

“Forgot about when the date was, or forgot that he asked you?” He plopped back down in front of his keyboard and grabbed his trusty leather notebook from the small music stand in front of him.

“I forgot that he even asked me until he texted me about it. It’s a thing at the art museum, but I don’t think I’m going to go.”

Nate glanced back from his chair, a question sprinkled across his features. “Why not?”

What a loaded question from the man who was inside of me not thirty minutes ago.

A familiar ache bloomed in my chest. An uncomfortable mixture of longing, frustration, affection, and rejection came like clockwork every time I let myself think too deeply about the situation with Nate. The complexity of my feelings towards him.

“I don’t know,” I answer simply. The effort of explaining would be asinine and ultimately pointless. “I’ve never really talked to him outside of class. He seems nice enough though.”

He nodded as he leafed through the pages of his notebook.

There was a palpable sense of an imaginary ball being lobbed into Nate’s court.

If I was being completely honest, I would have turned Austin down in half a heartbeat had Nate asked me not to go.

But we had never had anything close to a conversation about what we were.

About where we wanted to go with this weird situationship we had going on. If it would ever go anywhere.

My silence was an invitation for him to say something— anything —about how he felt.

I stared at my phone and counted to ten, willing him to speak.

By the time I got to three, I already felt ridiculous.

Waiting for him to speak up—to tell me how he felt, that he wanted me all to himself—was useless .

But I couldn’t help the question bubbling to the surface. A straightforward question required a straightforward answer. A telling answer.

“Do you think I should go?”

He hesitated for a beat. “I don’t see why not.”

The fact that he didn’t even look up from his weathered notebook as he continued flipping through the scribbled pages only pissed me off.

“Maybe I will.”

I watched the back of his head as he nodded his response. Without another word, he found the page he’d been looking for, secured his headphones back over his ears, and resumed plucking piano keys.

I stared blankly at the freckle between his shoulder blades.

Well, I put the ball in his court, didn’t I? I guess I can’t get mad when the ball gets firmly thrown out of bounds.

If there was ever a question about what we were, what we had, or what we wanted with each other, the answer was pretty damn clear now.

Nate wanted exactly what we already had going on, and nothing more.

Which I had to be okay with, because having him in my life as my friend, my friend with benefits, my fuck buddy, whatever we were, it felt better than not having him in my life at all.

But damn, it felt like hell in the moment.

Frustration built within me. Did he even care? Did I occupy space in his mind? Did he struggle with trying to figure out how he felt like I did? Did he have feelings for me at all? Or was I just something to keep him company? Pass the time? Blow off steam?

I shook the thoughts out of my head as I quietly gathered my things. I reminded myself again, like a mantra, that we didn’t owe each other anything. I had no right to be upset with him without also being upset with myself because I was just as responsible for our status as he was.

As I shut the door to Nate’s apartment, I pulled up Austin’s text and replied.

Me

Hey Austin! Yes, I’d love to hang out this weekend.