Page 31 of Never Forget

I scowl down at the erection that’s been plaguing me since I laid down and tried to force any thoughts of Scott Riley away. It’s no use, though. I’m pretty sure I can hear him breathing, maybe even snoring a little.

Is he actually sleeping?

This is bullshit.

With a huff, I sit up and stare at the door, straining my ears to hear any signs that Scott is uncomfortable or sleeping.

Was I imagining that I could hear him?

I can’t hear anything now. No snoring or even rustling of his too-big body on that too-small couch. One would at least think he’d be moving around to get comfortable.

I think I saw him move the coffee table. Maybe he decided to sleep on the floor instead? That would be smarter. It’d probably be more comfortable. He probably only set himself up on the couch to prove me wrong or something stupid like that, but I’m not going to say anything, I don’t want to make him feel welcome here. Because he’s not.

I don’t want him here. I don’t.

I really wish I hadn’t spilled all my shit to him earlier. I can only imagine what he thinks of me now after I word-vomited all my over-privileged first-world problems. Hell, I don’t even know what kind of background he comes from. I’ve never asked about his family or life outside of being my annoying shadow. Which is his job.

He’s only here because he’s doing his job, and I’m being an ungrateful brat. But I feel certain that Blake would have set him up with a room somewhere, or hell, gotten him his own damn trailer or an RV or some shit. The label can afford it.

But no, he has to be here, in this tiny space that’s supposed to be mine and mine alone. My paradise. My escape. And his giant body and even bigger presence are taking up all the room.

I can’t breathe without inhaling his soapy, musky scent. I can’t move without feeling his body heat, even from the other end of the trailer. I can’t open my eyes without seeing his stupid grin or knowing that he’s just on the other side of that wall. And I can’t think with this massive boner, knowing that I can’t do anything about it because he’ll fucking hear me.

This is stupid.

EIGHT

SCOTT

I knew he was awake. I’ve heard him tossing and turning in there for the past hour. I could even hear him muttering to himself. It was all I could do to keep my laughter down, so I didn’t truly press my luck and piss him off. Although riling him up is a really good distraction…

If he actually wanted me to go, I would. Only, I really don’t think he wants me to.

I expected his surly attitude. I expected him to pretend he hates me and take a while to acclimate to having me in his space. I even expected him to pretend not to like having me around to take care of him.

What I didn’t expect was to open my eyes and find him standing at my feet like some kind of sleep paralysis demon. In the darkness of the room, with barely any moonlight filtering in to soften the shadows, he looks terrifying all hunched over with his hair falling into his face. His eyes are nothing but black voids, and the tattoos all over his nearly naked body almost look alive with the movement of his heavy breaths. He’s like some kind of beautiful demonic entity come to suck my soul from my body and drag me to hell.

Not the worst way to go, I suppose.

“You’re infuriating,” Naz says simply, right before he climbs over my body, straddles my lap, and takes my mouth in a fierce, punishing kiss.

His tongue forces its way between my lips, and I open for him, weaving my tongue with his. I don’t fight for dominance or try to take over the kiss, I give it all to him, surrendering myself to his demands.

This is… different. In a good way—I’m definitely not complaining that Naz Lester is in my lap in nothing but a pair of tight boxer briefs. His typical way of initiating any type of intimacy is with some show of submission, a nonverbal ask to play. This doesn’t feel like he’s needing a session.

It feels like what he needs is me.

It takes me a few moments to get over my initial shock, but when I notice the hardness of his erection pressing into my lower stomach, I can’t help but react. My hands move up his body, over the bare skin of his muscular thighs and up his back, pressing him harder against me as I roll my hips beneath him. Naz gasps into my mouth and grinds down on me.

Repositioning us on the small couch so I’m sitting up with my feet on the floor instead of hanging over the end, I lick into his mouth and run my hands up and down his torso. He groans when my fingers tease the edge of his underwear and push beneath the waistband of his briefs to cup his ass, kneading the flesh and encouraging him to keep rocking against me. I still when the tips of my fingers glide through the cleft of his ass, feeling something wet.

Oh shit.

“Did you—” I choke out, but Naz silences me with his mouth again before pushing one hand between us to grip my cock.

Okay, so we’re not talking tonight.

Taking all my cues from the possibly demonically possessed object of all my affections, I help rid him of the boxer briefs and let him pull my shorts off. It’s not until he’s lining up my dick with his entrance that I start to question anything.