Page 161 of Tessa and Nash

I choke on the taste of him, salt and cold and want. Above me, his hands brace against the tree, and his whole body arches, straining toward something sharp-edged and urgent.

I close my eyes and let the panic and desire tangle, heat boiling up under my skin, the stupidest, bravest part of me winning out.

He mutters my name, a disbelieving prayer, and I dig my nails into his thighs, just to feel the tremor that shudders through him.

I flatten my tongue and open up, taking him as deep as I can, which turns out to be farther than he expects. He moans, and the sound punches straight through me, lighting everything inside me on fire.

My pulse throbs between my legs, hot and needy, echoing the tension in him.

His breathing is strangled with disbelief and gratitude and something a little petrified, nerves pinging off his bones.

Everything is sharp and full of him, and I can hardly breathe except through the sound of his voice above me. His hands leave the tree, hover uncertain, then land with a jolt on my head, just enough pressure to make my heart stutter, just enough to let me know he’s given up control.

I want to ruin him.

I hollow out my cheeks and push down, push until he knocks the back of my throat, and it hurts, and I love it, and he groans so beautifully I almost come undone just from the sound.

My fingers curl around his hips, bruising, holding him back even as I take more. He starts to shake, every muscle a wire about to snap, and his knees buckle a little, forcing my mouth deeper still.

I twist my tongue and pull back, dragging across the head, letting it pop free, and I look up at him, daring. His pupils are blown wide, mouth twisted open in a silent, animal sound.

His tie is askew, shirt riding up over a shock of pale skin. If anyone walked up the trail now, they’d see everything.

I lean in and taste him again, slower, gentler, then swirl my tongue with a flourish that makes him curse, low and ugly.

“Fuck, you’re…” He breaks, words vibrating through both of us. He glances around, frantic, as if someone might see, but then he shoves my face down, desperate, the pretense gone.

I let him, swallowing him, letting him use my mouth for leverage against his own undoing. He tastes of frost and brine, the strange, almost metallic honey of his sweat.

“I need to feel you,” Nash growls as he pulls me to my feet. “I need you, Tessa, you have no idea.”

With my head all in a spin, I know I need him too.

He's already kissing me, bruising my mouth, working me backwards until my ass hits the tree. My thighs grip his hips, slippery heat grinding up under his stomach as he lifts me rapidly.

Nash’s breath is sharp, deranged with hunger, the kind of desperation that only comes from someone who spent the entire day picturing this.

He sinks to his knees and tugs off my panties, parting my thighs further. His tongue lightly grazes my clit at first, making my whole body stiffen with anticipation. He’s teasing me, driving me over the edge, sending me wild.

I honestly don’t know how I’m still on my feet.

Every flick of his tongue sends me spiraling higher. The sounds coming out of me are incomprehensible. I can’t think. I can’t track time. There’s only sensation and the undeniable fact of him between my thighs.

“You’re close,” he murmurs against my core. “I can feel it.”

He’s right. I’m right there. I want to stay in this suspended moment forever, balanced on the edge, every nerve screaming. I want to remember this exact second for the rest of my life, forgetting about everything else, and all the drama that comes with it.

But my body betrays me.

The orgasm hits hard and fast, stealing my breath, my balance, my dignity. I shatter completely, every nerve lighting up as if I’m no longer real.

“Fuck me,” I cry out, too loud since we’re in public. “I need you, Nash.”

He’s on his feet in a second and pushes me back, holds me against the tree, kisses my cheek, my jaw, everywhere.

His hands find my ass, and, fuck, he lifts me up against the tree. A branch cracks somewhere behind me, but I don’t even flinch.

I tangle my arms around his neck, grind against the thick line of his cock, not caring about the sticky mess between us. There is no decorum, no pretense left, just the animal fact of wanting.