Page 56 of Living with Fire
Nate took some of that weight tonight. Eased my burden, and for the first time in such a long time, I felt my lungs expand in a way I had forgotten they could. And now, with his lips to mine, I feel light and airy, my body buzzing with that hum of energy that I’ve started to become accustomed to being in Nate’s presence.
He tilts my head with soft, firm fingers, and when I open to him, his tongue sweeps through my mouth. The taste of him makes me moan. Fresh and minty, and I recall the pack of mints someone pulled out that went around the table tonight. Perhaps for an occasion such as this.
Suddenly his kiss turns more aggressive, the sound I made propelling him to claim more of me. His hand slips into my hair, holding me against him as our tongues dance and twine together. I’ve wanted this since I met him, and now that I’ve gotten his kiss, I want so much more. I won’t be satisfied without it.
My hands travel down his neck, over his pecs and abs until they land at the waistband of his pants. While I’m not going straight for the prize, I can feel him pressing against the fly of his pants as my fingers search for the end of his shirt. All I want is to feel some skin while he’s kissing the breath from me, but I quickly realize he must think I’m going for gold because one of his large hands stills both of mine. Then he’s breaking our kiss, leaving us both panting.
“Sav,” he rasps, pressing his forehead against mine.
Tilting my head to find his lips again, I murmur, “Don’t stop.”
There’s a muted chuckle from him, and while he kisses me back, it’s not the same frenzied pace as before.
He also hasn’t let go of my hands; he’s moved them further up his body, pressing them into his stomach. That’s when I remember he’s not wearing his usual t-shirt, he’s wearing a button down. I groan that I went so low and interrupted the heated kiss when I could have just gone for anywhere on his torso if I wanted a sliver of his warm skin.
“Sav,” Nate murmurs into my mouth. It’s a gentle request, not a moan. Not that it would take much to get him to do the latter.
Pulling back enough that I can look at him, my eyes are full of questions. Releasing my hands, he moves his to my face, gently skimming his fingers along my jawline which has my eyes half closing, a delicious shiver running down my spine.
“We don’t need to rush anything,” he tells me, and I nearly whine. I know it hasn’t been that long, but after living under his roof this entire time, working in his bar, it sure as hell doesn’t feel like we’re rushing anything at this point. “I haven’t even taken you on a date.”
I blink at him. One of Nate’s best qualities is that he doesn’t push me into anything—for the most part. Under other circumstances, I like that about him, but right now I might go out of my mind because of it. “You’re taking me on a date tomorrow.”
“I know,” he says, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear. “All the more reason to slow down tonight. It’s late, and it’s been a long night for both of us. Getting some sleep after everything isn’t a bad thing.”
Everything? I can’t help but wonder if he means the drinks with friends—that one beer he nursed all night before switching to water, and my two beers and two shots I finished hours ago—or our chat. My confession.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is better to get some sleep. I want him, badly, but going through my history wrung out a lot of emotions I’ve been holding onto. My body and hormones don’t agree, but it would probably do me some good to get a good night’s rest.
Dropping my head to his shoulder, I sigh. “Why do you have so much self-restraint? It’s kind of annoying.”
That earns me a deep rumbling laugh that I feel vibrate through me which makes my lips curve upward.
“Trust me,” he murmurs into my ear. “It’s not because I don’t want to. I’ve spent most of the evening picturing you bent over a bar stool, laid out on a table, or riding me on the pool table. Those shorts have been driving me insane.”
As if for emphasis, his hand drops, and he tugs on the hem of my shorts. The brush of fingers on my thigh, and the fantasies he’s putting in my own mind, aren’t helping the wetness pooling in my panties.
“I put them on this morning thinking about you,” I confess, and I’m rewarded with a groan. If he’s going to put thoughts into my head, I’m going to do it right back. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring at my legs when we’ve sat on the couch.”
My hands slowly slide up his body to his chest, my fingers curling ever so slightly as I press my hips into him. I drawl, “Or my ass when I’m wearing yoga pants. Or my boobs, especially when I’m not wearing a bra. Which I now do on purpose.”
Another groan has my center throbbing.
“Drives me fucking insane,” he mutters.
As if he can’t help himself, his hands are wandering, both coming to my ribs, thumbs grazing the underside of my breasts. My nipples tighten, the sensitive peaks straining against my bra, and I can’t help my moan. I know he wants it just as badly as I do. He needs to say screw being a gentleman for once, but I say nothing. I don’t want to push him after everything he heard tonight.
I knew I had to tell him the truth after breaking that glass. The way I reacted, jerking away from him when he was trying to help, and then the tears I know he saw. I didn’t have a choice. He deserved the truth, and he got it, even the parts that were hard to tell.
I was so sure he would think I was pathetic. Positive that if I looked at him, all I’d see was pity. But I didn’t. That abrupt “no” he gave me, the words that followed. The burning rage I saw in his eyes that he tried to hide when I finally turned his way. It gave me the strength I needed to tell him the rest. It made me feel less alone than I’ve felt in months. Maybe years.
“Will you take me back to the house?” I ask, lifting my head off his shoulder. “We can pick up my car tomorrow after our date.”
Nate’s thumbs run along the side of my breasts again, and I can see the thoughts warring in his mind. The man is caught between fondling me and being the wholesome gentleman that he is.
Putting him out of his misery, I step back, my hands dropping from him, and his from me. Tomorrow after our date isn’t that far away, considering it’s the middle of the night now. Hopefully then he’ll be more inclined to touch me in all the ways I’ve been wanting him to.
Taking his hand, I lead him back into the kitchen where we dump our water glasses, and quietly finish cleaning up before securing the safe. Neither one of us says anything, though we catch each other’s eye more than once.