Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
9
LAURA
“Your chocolate cake is delicious,” I say as I pat my full tummy. “What can’t you do?”
We’re on Nash’s couch after dinner. There’s still no electricity, but the fireplace is lighting the room. Its light casts everything in pretty hues of orange and yellow. My feet are across his lap, and he puts down the saucer on the side table. There’s not even a crumb left. It was too good to waste. “The one thing I can’t do is operate a chainsaw. None of my friends will loan me one.”
I chuckle. The fire crackles, warming the room and making me feel sleepy after all that good food. “Probably a good thing.”
“A bit disappointing though,” he says and reaches for my feet. He starts a slow massage that has me sighing softly. He fed me dinner. Literally fed me every bite from his plate, and I loved it. I love how nurturing Nash is, how tuned into my body he is.
“Where do you live when you’re not...traveling for work?”
Traveling for work is a hell of a way to put it. Normally, I brush off this question. It’s rare that anyone asks me personal questions and when they do, I’m good at evasive answers. But things are different with Nash. I want him to know all about me. “I live in a tiny apartment in the outskirts of New York City. It’s always hustling and bustling, and I move pretty often.”
“Do you like the hustle and the bustle?”
He continues his slow massage, moving his hands higher to my calf. An ache starts between my thighs, and I have to focus to remember what he asked me. “I used to. Then I came here, and I don’t know. The quiet, relaxed pace in the mountains is growing on me. It feels like...” I trail off, not wanting to tell him that I feel like I found home for the first time in my life.
“Like home,” he answers as if he’s reading my mind. “Courage has a way of becoming that for every lost and lonely soul who happens in. I should know. I moved from place to place for a long time until I found this town.”
“Yeah,” I say, my throat tight. I don’t want to tell him that I meant his place feels like home. That would probably be weird.
“Do you ever think about moving away from the city?” He asks, and I hate the hopeful note in his tone. Nothing good is going to come from our time here in his cabin. This is all we get together.
Instead of dwelling on that I run my fingers along his thigh. It wouldn’t take much for me to touch that place between his legs. “Earlier you made me a promise about having all day.”
He grunts when I move higher, cupping his manhood through the material of his jeans. He’s already hard, already excited by the way we’ve been touching.
He moves his hands higher too, brushing against the place where my underwear rests on my thigh. “What color are these?”
My breathing hitches with his fingers so close to my pussy. I rub the straining erection I can feel beneath his clothes. He’s so large, and I can’t wait for him to be inside of me. What we shared earlier was fun, but I need to know all of Nash, need to feel his cock pumping in and out of me. “Blue, about the same shade as your eyes.”
He swears under his breath. “I want to taste your sweet cherry this time.”
My cheeks heat at his words. Somehow that sounds more intimate than what I was thinking about. Then I remember the way his soft beard felt against my chest, the way it felt to have his lips there. What would it be like to feel him kiss that spot between my legs, the one that’s aching so badly?
He moves a finger under my panties to caress my swollen folds. “Let me make you feel good again, honey.”
I whimper softly and spread my legs, urging him on. Tingles race down my spine as he strokes me slowly. So slowly that he’s teasing me. He has to be. “Nash…”
“Is there some other way you want me to touch you?” The amusement in his tone lets me know he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“I…I liked your idea,” I admit in a hushed whisper. It feels weird to be talking about this. It’s not that I’m embarrassed. It’s just that I’ve never done this, and I don’t want to say the wrong thing and make it weird.
“Let go. Just be in the moment with me,” he says as if sensing my hesitation.
I sink deeper into the couch cushion, trying to remember he’s not judging me. Nash hasn’t judged me once. He knows what I am, and he’s heard about my ugly past and even understands that I wasn’t adoptable. Yet he’s never rejected me. Is this love, the ability to unflinchingly listen to all the dark parts of my story without turning away? Is this love, the desire to step into my pain and wrap my gentle hands around my hurting heart?