Page 36 of Tessa and Nash

Nash stands just inside the door, suddenly still, the humor has drained out of him all at once.

What am I doing?

I know this is a mistake. I know I shouldn’t be making these sorts of connections, especially not with Nash McCoy.

But at the same time, when was the last time I threw caution to the wind?

Fuck.

Should I run? Should I get out of here?

But then Nash kisses me again, and the world just drops away.

He doesn’t ease into it this time.

He takes my mouth like he’s been holding back for weeks and finally snapped.

His hands slide up my arms, down my waist, back up again, trying to touch all of me at once. I gasp into the kiss, and he makes a low sound in response, a deep, hungry rumble that shoots fire down my spine.

He palms my waist, fingers spreading, pulling me flush against him.

“Tessa…” he breathes against my lips. I’m oxygen, and he’s been drowning.

My head spins as I push his coat off his shoulders, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

His hands move again. Up my ribs, slow enough to make me shiver, firm enough to tell me exactly how badly he wants me. His thumbs brush the curve beneath my bra, barely holding back, making my breath stutter.

He feels the tremor and smiles against my mouth.

“You like my hands on you,” he murmurs, low and sinful.

I absolutely do.

And I absolutely cannot say that.

Which he seems to interpret perfectly.

He steps forward, guiding me backward until my hips hit the edge of my dresser.

“Up,” he says again, darker this time.

I obey without thinking.

The second I’m on the dresser, his hands are all over me, trailing up my thighs, squeezing, guiding my knees apart so he can step between them.

He leans in, his palms sliding up the outside of my legs.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers, eyes on my lips, hands stroking higher, higher. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

I grip his shoulders hard.

“Nash—”

He cuts me off with a kiss.

Hot.

Deep