I smile into my glass. “Yeah. She’s still fuming over that botched discharge.”
He tilts his head, brow lifting. “I mean, discharging a guy who’s forgotten a decade of his life. Just hours after he got injured. With some random woman. Yikes.”
“Exactly—” I sigh. My shoulders loosen some more because I love that he remembers. “Now we’re all under insane scrutiny.”
He rubs a thumb along the inside of my knee, absentminded but grounding. The touch draws a soft breath from me. Smiling, he sets his glass aside. His thumb lingers at the back of my mid-thigh, searing through my leggings. I snake my hand up the firm line of his arm, over the subtle flex of muscle, and slide my fingers around the back of his neck.
He leans in, his breath warm against my cheek. “It’s so good to have you home.”
The words shouldn’t hit as hard as they do, but there’s an edge to his voice. His thumb drifts higher, brushing against my hipbone under my shirt. When I tilt my head, he leans in more.
“I missed you too.”
“Good. Glad to know it’s mutual.” His voice dropped an octave.
I laugh under my breath, but it dies when his gaze flickers to my mouth, then back to my eyes. For less than a second, he stops long enough to make sure he isn’t the only one closing the distance between us. He exhales, half relief, half anticipation when it’s clear I’m meeting him halfway.
The kiss starts tender, so familiar with each other’s rhythms, it deepens, unhurried. He slides his palms up my sides. When I shift, he catches my waist, guiding me onto his lap, and the eager moan that escapes me draws a low laugh from him.
“I love you, Robyn,” he says against my throat.
I trace the faint line of stubble along his jaw, the familiar dimple in the center of his chin, the sculpted dip of his Cupid’s bow, and that soft groove leading up toward his nose. It deepens when he smiles. I’ve kissed that curve a hundred times, but I still feel the tug of it—the quiet ache to imprint myself right there and taste the breath that catches.
“Then don’t stop.” I intended a command but delivered a plea.
Nate doesn’t make me beg, though. His lips fall back on mine with a desperation I return wholeheartedly. There’s this intensity between us that’s always simmering, lulled in the demands of our routines. Right now, it’s boiling and overflowing.
We strip each other with urgency because the fabric in the way is an offense. Skin against skin doesn’t calm the hunger; it only sharpens it. Between quick breaths and dragging his mouth against my nipples, he asks if we should go to the bedroom. Something about the blinds. About how anyone could see.
“There’s”—I tug at his hair—“no”—my nails rake down his back, and red marks bloom on his skin—“time.”
Biting his shoulder, I push him down, exploring the hard lines of his chest and abs. I caress the ridges and dips I know by heart. Nate’s thick body hair catches in my fingers. The scent of his body wash clings to him—cedar and fresh pine—heightening my arousal. He shifts to take off his boxers, and his thick length slaps against his stomach. A bead of precum forms at the tip of his head coming to rest against his belly button. His cock throbs, red and eager, veins pulsing with every heartbeat. I’m ravenous for him, so I lick him from base to crown, flattening my tongue against the throbbing vein on the underside. Saliva pools at the back of my throat and runs down his shaft as I lap at every vein and ridge on his dick. Wrapping my lips around the head, I hollow my cheeks and swirl my tongue.
“Shit, Robyn,” he groans, head falling back. “I love it when you go down on me.”
Smiling with his cock in my mouth, I rub my lips over the hardened vein just under the head, and warm wetness runs down my neck. He’s groaning, growing firmer in my mouth. I gather what’s spilled over and use it to massage his tightening balls.
“Sweet thing, if you don’t ease up, I’m going to shoot my cum down your throat.”
I don’t want that, not today. I want to feel him pulsing and spilling inside me, so I release him with a pop. He whines and pants heavily, but I’m already standing, finding room to straddle him so I can ride him. As I lower myself, he digs his fingers in my hips, holding me in place. For a second, I hover, knees braced on either side of him. He straightens his back, breath hot against the hollow of my throat. He’s right there; I’m wet and ready. All it would take is an inch down from me or an upward push from him, and we’d meet. The need to take him, to guide him in, makes me shiver.
But that’s not his plan.
In a smooth movement, he turns us, bodies sliding against the cushions until I’m flat on my back and he’s above me braced on his forearms. The air catches in my chest. His hair falls forward, ends brushing my cheek as he looks down at me with wild intensity. His cock hits my swollen clit, and he grinds in a maddening rhythm, each sway rubbing his head against me—my own saliva and his precum wets my clit and dampens the curls on my pussy.
I follow his spine, feeling the muscles and bones arching with the rocking of his hips. He slips, hitting my entrance, and I think he’ll slide right in with the way he’s been grinding, but he doesn’t. In a seamless, deliberate motion, I find myself sitting, breathless, pulse echoing in my throat. Nate kneels between my legs, palms sliding up the inside of mythighs so softly I feel worshipped, loved, and teased to insanity. Everything he does and says caters to what he knows I crave.
“You did that on purpose,” he says, slapping my clit with his dick. “You took me right to the edge, right until my head was swollen between your lips and ready to explode, only to pull back.” His tongue laps at my left nipple until it pebbles. “Lucky for you, my girl, I like it better inside your cunt. Especially with how you milk me when I make you come.” He smirks. “And you know how easy I do that, don’t you?”
He dives between my legs, lapping at my clit, determined to get me there. I drop my head, and it bumps the wall behind the couch, but I don’t care. All that matters is Nate’s wet tongue circling me and the way he sucks so hard that all I can do is scream and come against his mouth. As I reach the peak, my toes curl, waiting for that swirling pressure he does to prolong my orgasm. He pulls away, though, and now it’s me who whimpers. A second later, he’s thrusting into me, and I clench his girth, reveling in him pounding in and out, fingers on my clit, teeth on my shoulder. Nothing hurts, but every movement carries demand and ownership.
I try to push his hand away. It’s too much.
“Come on, Robyn,” he murmurs against my earlobe, licking, a whiff of my arousal hitting me from his breath.
I shake my head, and he lowers his mouth to the hollow of my throat, then moves farther down and wraps his lips around my right nipple, drawing as much of my breast into his mouth as he can. To reach, he arches his back, which makes his thrusts shallower. He doesn’t slow down, though. The widest part drags in and out quickly, angling upward so it glides against the spot behind my clit every time he pushes inside, fast and relentless. His crown broadens, signaling he’s close, and the low moan he lets out, my breast vibrating in his mouth, adds to his tell.
“Now, sweet thing, show me how you come so beautifully around my cock.”
