Page 45 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

A minute later, Nate reappeared, holding two shot glasses of clear liquid in one hand and a small bowl of lime wedges in the other. The shit-eating grin on his face spread wider as my eyes rounded. I shook my head furiously back and forth.

“Nope. No. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on!” He slid one glass in front of me and returned to his seat across the booth. “Nothing says fuck it like tequila, Oli. We have to!”

“No, we most certainly do not. Didn’t you once tell me bad things happen when you drink tequila?”

“Probably. Now come on.” He pushed my glass closer with one finger and leaned over to snag the saltshaker from the far side of the table. “We’re doing this together.”

Oh god.

I eyed the shot with trepidation. I caught sight of Nate’s tongue as it darted out to lick the back of his hand before he poured a small pile of salt there.

Oh god .

My head was starting to swim, but his blue eyes sparkled with amusement and challenge and—

Giving up my resolve with a defeated noise, I licked the back of my hand and held my other out for the salt. His grin spread wide, dimple deepening, as he lowered the shaker into my hand .

“To shitty nights.”

“To terrible, shitty nights,” I replied.

Together, we took the salt, tequila, and lime, and grimaced as the perfume-y liquid went down.

Sometime later—I’d lost track of when—Nate and I lazily approached the side entrance of his apartment building. I was in a dreamlike trance as I climbed the all-too-familiar stairs to his all-too-familiar apartment.

I’d almost forgotten the thrill of walking behind him as he led the way up, but the old sensation buzzed through my fingers and toes. It reminded me of being a teenager sneaking out of the house for the first time.

The minimalist interior of his apartment felt like something I’d seen the day before and a lifetime ago all at once. I took in the full, surreal scene.

There he was. Nate. Leaning against the same marble island, next to the same living room, with the same furniture and subtle decorations that had always been there.

There were only a few changes and additions of note—an extra guitar in the corner, different houseplants, a bigger cat tree Billie lounged in.

Mostly the same, yet distinctly different all at once.

Maybe I’m just different.

Memories flooded my mind, flashbacks of all the time spent together, all the things we’d done, all the places we’d done them in . A hot flush crept up my neck.

“Gosh,” I whispered, mostly to myself, as I glanced around back to where Nate leaned .

He looked a little sheepish—a rare look—like he was recalling the same memories I was. Like he was weighing my reaction as much as I was weighing his. The tug at the corner of his lips had mine turning up, too, and we both expelled nervous, breathy laughs.

The silence that followed filled the air like a thick smoke.

“Come here,” he finally said, his voice soft and husky.

On shaky knees, I closed the gap between us, each step more reserved than the last. He reached out when I was arm’s length away and rested a warm hand on the swell of my hip.

We stayed like that for a long minute, silently connected by only the press of his palm.

His deep blue gaze said so much without saying anything at all.

I see you. I missed you. I ask nothing of you. You are safe to be whoever you need to be here.

We were at that familiar crossroads again, where the constant nagging question replayed again: turn back now or dive in and damn the consequences?

His throat bobbed.

Is he… nervous?

I saw the question from a mile away as his eyes searched my face, like he wanted to ask but was afraid to scare me away. Between the alcohol, the emotions, and the heady feeling of being close to him, I was putty in his hands.

“Can I kiss you?”

My nod was automatic.

The second his lips touched mine, all reason, all thought , all things that weren’t Nate Cassidy shut off.

He cupped the sides of my face, his calloused fingers diving and weaving through the hair at the base of my neck as he sighed deeply against my lips. His shoulders folded inward, cocooning me with his towering height, and I couldn’t have stopped the moan that escaped me if I tried.

He turned us until my back pressed against the island, trapping me further under his frame.

When he grabbed the back of my thighs and hoisted me onto the countertop, my legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him closer.

He deepened the kiss, movements becoming more and more frantic with each press.

Goosebumps rose on my arms when his lips ventured to my neck and down the curve where it met my shoulder.

He sucked gently with each kiss. Not enough to leave a mark, but enough for me to never want him to stop.

Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.

My hands found his shaggy hair, fingers tangling through the longer length of it and tugging.

When his mouth returned to mine, he took my bottom lip between his and sucked, coaxing another moan from me.

“ Fuck , Oli,” he whispered, voice low in my ear. “I’ve always loved the little noises you make.”

He was a man starved, the way he kissed me with such urgency, down my neck and back up, capturing my mouth again and again, his tongue sliding against mine, his taste making me dizzy, his hands roaming every inch of my body.

I couldn’t tell if he was pressing his hips against mine or if I was pulling them closer with my legs wrapped around him.

Either way, his erection strained through his jeans, making me mad with want.

He must’ve felt the same way because just then, he gripped my ass and slid me off the countertop, hoisting me high onto his hips as he aimed for the bedroom.

We didn’t get very far .

Nate pinned me against the wall with an impatient huff, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, forcing me closer to him. I ran my nails through his hair, along his scalp, behind his neck, dipped them below the collar of his shirt.

I wasted no time lifting my shirt over my head when he pushed up the hem. He wasted no time undoing my bra and throwing it across the hallway. He pressed me even harder against the wall, head dipping to my breasts, kissing, sucking, leaving little red spots all over my flushed skin.

When we’d slept together before, Nate usually kept some semblance of control, but now he seemed completely and utterly without restraint. It made my head spin.

“Nate?” I gasped.

He hummed a low, quick response against my skin.

“Bedroom.”

He lowered me to my feet and all but dragged me into the bedroom, barely lifting his lips from mine to close the door. He backed me to the foot of the bed and eased me down. The sensation, the weight of him, fueled my fire that much more.

I tugged at his shirt, and he leaned back onto his heels, impatiently removing and discarding it. I barely registered the new tattoos across his chest and arms before he was scooting backward off the bed toward my feet. Grabbing my left ankle, he carefully untied and removed one shoe.

“Take these off.” He tapped on the button of my jeans and reached for my other shoe.

I did as he said, breathing heavily as I unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them over my hips.

He dropped my sneaker to the floor and took the liberty of dragging my jeans the rest of the way, pulling them inside out in the process .

“I want to taste you,” he whispered, almost to himself.

My panting was the only response when he hooked his fingers around my panties. He took a single beat to catch my eyes. With a furious nod from me, and an almost imperceptible “Yes,” he slid them the rest of the way off and settled between my thighs.

His sense of urgency didn’t subside.

He planted a single, soft kiss on the inside of my thigh before he hooked his arms under my legs and ravished me like his life depended on it.

Running the flat of his tongue up my core, he circled my clit, sucking on the sensitive bud, and repeated the torment again and again.

I gasped at the pleasure, desperately fumbling and gripping at the comforter beneath me.

He snaked one hand up to my breast to drag a calloused fingertip over my nipple while the other stayed at my thigh, squeezing the soft flesh and no doubt leaving purple marks.

My brain couldn’t keep up with what my body was experiencing.

It was all I could do to keep breathing as his unrelenting cadence continued.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered into the dark, digging my fingers into his strong shoulders, his hair, anything to anchor myself to him. He hummed his affirmation against me, sending me gasping at the vibration against my clit.

The hand at my breast eased back down my body, not stopping at my thigh but continuing lower until he slid a single digit inside me, joining in the steady rhythm of his tongue.

He added a second finger, twisted, and angled upward until he hit the spot that was my undoing.

I came with a shutter and a cry, squeezing my eyes shut as he continued to pump his fingers until I rode out the rest of my orgasm .

He kissed the inside of my thighs again, planting his lips over and over, sucking gently as he rose over my body. I tasted my release on his soft, swollen lips.

I ogled him openly when he slid back off the bed and tugged off his jeans.

His erection sprung free, and I relished in the familiarity of his naked form.

I couldn’t resist reaching between our bodies as he settled back over me to touch him and was blessed with a deliciously long moan from his lips.

He gazed down at me with heavy lids, skating his fingers over the flushed, freckled skin on my chest and neck.

“You’re so pretty, Oli.”

Leaning back on his knees again, he grabbed himself and pumped once, slowly, as his eyes roved over my body—laid out, blushing, waiting for him.

He didn’t look away as he rolled a condom over his hard length and slid the head of his cock through my release.

He teased my core in a painting motion, gliding himself up to my overly-sensitive clit, circling down to my slick entrance, and back up again, making me squirm and wiggle impatiently beneath him.

“So pretty,” he murmured again.

In one fluid motion, he dipped to my entrance and pushed inside, not stopping until he was fully seated.

I gasped at the exquisite pressure, adjusting myself around him as he waited, panting heavily.

He hooked a hand around the back of my thigh and lifted my leg nearly to my chest, increasing the tight pleasure even more.

His thrusts were deep and unrelenting, like he couldn’t wait a second longer before having me. He bent forward and captured my mouth in a fervent kiss. I cupped his face, kissing him again and again, memorizing the feel of his mouth against mine.

Long fingers wrapped around my wrist and pulled my hand away until he held it with an iron grip above my head.

He shifted, grabbing my other wrist and repeating the motion, holding me hostage by both wrists at the headboard.

From this angle, he had no choice but to lower his face to my neck, his unshaven scruff teasing the soft skin and adding to my hypersensitivity.

“ Fuck ,” he breathed against my neck, sliding into me again. He was unyielding, pumping harder, harder as he chased his high.

But I was rising again.

Needing more, more, more, I threw my legs around his waist and hooked my ankles around his thighs, holding on tightly to him. A slew of curses tumbled from his lips, and his soft whimpers in my ear sent goosebumps rising all over my body.

“God, Nate. I’m going to come again.”

I heard the change in his breathing from uneven and shaky to focused and steady. He was shifting his concentration, staving off his own release until I could get mine again. Jaw flexed, he worked his hips in a deliberate, unchanged pattern, driving into me in exactly the place I needed him to.

Considerate as always.

My fingers curled into fists, begging for purchase where he still held me tightly by the wrists.

He loosened his grip just enough to lace his fingers through mine, never letting up on his pace.

Tiny moans erupted from my throat as he pushed me closer—rising, nearing the edge with each thrust of his hips.

When I couldn’t rise any further, I shattered apart a second time, shuttering around him, moaning his name. He chased me over the edge only a moment later.

“F— Fuck, Oli. Shit,” he whimpered into my ear, gripping my hands so tightly I could feel blood pumping in my fingertips.

Only our shared panting filled the silence. He didn’t move out of me. Instead, he loosened his grip on my hands and relaxed, burying his face into my neck. We laid, unmoving, until our breaths synced, and even then, we didn’t move.

We breathed through the descent from our shared peak, breathed in each other’s scent, each other’s breath, and through the stillness that followed. We breathed in the moment, so familiar yet so very different, together.