Again with the praise. It worked like a charm. A+ student, yes sir, I’m so,sogood for you.
“Taking me like you were made for it.” He thrust up into my rhythm, meeting me, and I cried out. “Fuck, your perfect tits bouncing like a fuckin’ dream, you’re perfect, Maggie.”
I’d never felt more beautiful, more wanted, more seen?—
“Gonna fill you up,” he said, low and rough, almost to himself. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy up so good?—”
“I’m close?—”
“Fuck yeah,” he gritted out. “I want…trying to last for you, but?—”
“Don’t try, come with me,” I begged. “Please Nash?—”
“Okay, baby…okay…shit?—”
We came apart at the same time.
His hands gripped my hips so hard I’d probably have marks tomorrow and I didn’t care, I didn’t care about anything, I just rode it out — every wave, every aftershock — his name on my lips and my name on his, rough and desperate, and for one suspended moment the whole world was just this room and this man and the way he was looking at me like he hadn’t expected this either.
Like I’d surprised him.
Good, I thought again, faintly. Good.
Then I collapsed.
Draped across his chest, completely boneless, his heart slamming under my ear. His arms came around me automatically, one hand finding my hair, stroking slow and absent like he didn’t even know he was doing it.
Neither of us said anything for a long moment.
The town was quiet outside. Somewhere down the street a car passed. The maple trees were probably still doing their whole aggressively pretty thing out there in the dark, completely unbothered.
“Still alive?” Nash asked finally. His voice was rough, wrecked in a way that sent a small, satisfied thrill through me.
I did that. I made him sound like that.
“Barely,” I said.
His chest moved in an almost-laugh, too exhausted to make it whole.
His hand kept moving through my hair. I needed to get up—needed to go home, shower, sleep in my own bed, walk into school tomorrow with my head held high and my professional boundaries fully intact.
This had been a mistake—albeit a veryfunmistake.
There was this annoying sound going off somewhere close by, and it didn’t occur to me that it was a phone ringing for way too long. Nash’s phone—still in his jeans, which were crumpled on the floor. He moved just enough for me to realize he was trying to get up, then he stretched his arm out to find his jeans and grab his phone.
I was still on top of him, suddenly very,veryself-conscious.
“Hey,” he said to whoever was on the other line. “Yeah, I’m here. I’m still awake.”
A pause. I could hear a tiny voice on the other end, too small to make out words.
“I know, baby.” He sat up slowly, careful not to dislodge me. “Did you have a bad dream?”
My god, he was still inside me, and I was pretty sure he was on the phone with his kid. I didn’t know if I was the bigger monster, or he was.
“Yeah.” He was already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah, of course. Come home. Tell Aunt Claire twenty minutes.”
He hung up.
