His words have me shattering around him, and my scream is swallowed by his lips as he groans his pleasure into me, each twitch sending another rope of cum coating my insides.
I’m not sure how long it takes us to catch our breath. Nate takes some of his weight off by sitting on his knees, torso still draped over mine, heart thundering against my ribs. Or maybe it’s mine pounding against his. He kneads my arms, legs, shoulders, and neck, and I soak up his attention, marveling at how he can ravage me with his cock and fulfill my deepest needs with the gentlest of touches. It doesn’t matter how hot or mind-blowing sex with Nathan Leighton is, it’s his care that makes me fall more hopelessly in love with him every time.
“I missed you in my bed,” I whisper, and kiss his chest.
“I know, sweetness.” He presses his lips against the bite mark on my shoulder and continues massaging my calves and ankles.
“Why didn’t you come?”
I don’t want to sound needy. We’re busy. Life happens. This is why we decided to wait to move in together until I finished this program, so we wouldn’t distract each other from work. I still miss every time I don’t wake up next to him—in my bed or the on-call room.
His shoulders tense, and he moves off my chest. “I got home late. I knew you had an early morning. Figured it’d be better if I didn’t wake you.”
It’s the right answer. The answer of a caring boyfriend. Still, the room feels colder now. Then the timer goes off, relaxing his jaw.
“Perfect timing. Let me plate the lasagna,” he says, standing. He slides into his pajamas, shirtless, the heat from his body lingering in the air. “You get dressed, wash up if you want.”
I watch him go into the kitchen, then take my time savoring the softness of the couch and the way he moves with ease plating the lasagna. I’m sipping my wine by the time he returns with two generous portions and a teasing grin on his face.
He sits next to me, and I watch him take a bite, admiring that little wrinkle forming between his eyebrows when something tastes just right. Then he peels the first layer of his portion, the one with all the melted cheese, and drops it on my plate with a smile. He nudges my arm with his shoulder. “It’s your favorite part, when it gets all crunchy.” The gesture has butterflies erupting in my stomach.
I laugh. This is exactly what I needed. Gooey limbs and gooey food.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“I just told Julian he needed more rest and fewer orgasms.”
He chokes on the wine, then laughs, eyes creasing at the corners. “How did he take it?”
“I’ll never live it down if he figures out I didn’t follow my own advice.”
“True, true.” He wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb, amusement lingering. “How’s Julian doing?”
He finishes chewing, gaze on me, curious but relaxed. “I think it’s getting to him, you know? How hard it is to connect when you have the kind of schedule we do.”
Nate’s brows draw together, the flicker of an emotion on his face gone before I can name it. The kitchen light catches the reddish strands in his hair, and for a second, his amber eyes seem darker. He must be feeling pretty fatigued himself.
“Did you have a good time with your college buddies? How’s Tessa feeling about being back?”
He leans back, the movement almost jerky. “Oh, you know, same old jokes, some new quirks.” He shrugs, lifting his glass to his lips.
“I know how that goes,” I say, watching him. “It’s always strange, that combination of new and old when you see college friends.” I smile lightly. “And Tessa? Is she doing okay?”
He takes extra long to chew the piece in his mouth. “Tessa’s Tessa. She’ll be alright.” His tone is easy, but he doesn’t dive back in for more food. “What do you want to do this Friday?”
He grabs my hand, and I squeeze back, leaning closer without thinking as his other hand tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Our eyes meet, playful and warm, and that familiar spark returns—the quiet rightness of us. He kisses me, and it deepens without thought. My hand rests on his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath my palm, while his fingers caress the inside of my palm.
When we finally pull apart, breathless and smiling, he nuzzles my forehead. “That’s what you want to do? Just more of that?”
I laugh softly. “Can’t complain.” Shared contentment surrounds us.I have to tell him.
“Shift got moved again,” I say after a pause, voice low.
It sets in his eyes before he speaks. A flash of not even frustration but anger, the muscles in his jaw tighten, and he stops running his thumb over my hand. “You’re kidding, right?”
I shake my head. “I wish I was.”
“Robyn, it wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
