Page 67 of The Fool
“But thank you for offering, Nate, I mean it.” I smile while reaching out to hold his hand.
“You’re calling me Nate,” he says with a genuine smile, “does that mean I’m forgiven?”
“Let’s say we’re starting again,” I tell him with a firm nod. “You’re no longer my boss; perhaps we can begin on more of an even footing.”
“I’ll take that,” he says as he squeezes my hand in his, “Bea.”
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Bea
After a gorgeous, albeit extremely healthy dinner, we go to sit together on the couch, which I can now confirm is as hard as it looks. However, I’ve drunk enough wine not to care. In fact, I’ve allowed my usual barriers to lower a little. Soft music is playing, compliments of my smooth host, and I am finally feeling comfortable in his company. Nate Carter has worked his magic and I am finally feeling ready for it. When he sees this, by the expression on my face, he leans toward me and grabs my foot, and places it on his lap.
“I’ve been told, by my mom, that I give a mean foot massage,” he says as he begins to rub my foot. Unfortunately for him, all it does is make me giggle. “Ticklish, I see?”
Being a seasoned playboy, he takes the opportunity to begin tickling me until I end up a laughing mess on top of his seriously uncomfortable couch. Call it cheesy and cliché, but we eventually end up kissing, which feels nice, playful, and genuine. However, I remind myself to not be too trusting of him, he hasn’t earned that yet. I’m not even sure any man can.
I push back and awkwardly shuffle up, noticing how he retracts his hands just as quickly. He looks conflicted and I guess I am giving him mixed messages, but it’s not something I can control.
“Bea?” he says, turning to face me head-on. “Talk. I get I deserve your cautiousness but you’re acting a little more hot and cold than usual. What’s bothering you?”
“Date,” I blurt out, then instantly shake my head at myself.
“What?” He frowns and tries to reach out for me, but I pull back again.
“I know you have a date tomorrow,” I spit out, “Finn told me. And it’s totally fine, I mean I know we’re not… But I don’t know, I can’t fool around with someone who is planning on messing around with someone completely different tomorrow. That’s just not how my brain is wired.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” He bursts out laughing and it raises my hackles, especially now that he knows what happened. “Bea, I’m seeing Callie tomorrow night. Shit, you thought…” He laughs again so I cross my arms indignantly.
“Well, it’s not completely farfetched, is it?” I snap. “I have seen the way you treat women; I’ve sent the flowers and made the rainchecks for you.”
“But that’s not what I am going to do to you,” he says, reaching out for my hand again, “and if I have to tell you that every day, I will.” I look back into his eyes, wanting to believe him, but I think he can see that I’m still holding back. “You will trust me one day, I promise.”
Nate places a hand on my cheek and another on my waist before pulling me into him, lowering me gently so that I am completely beneath his body. I soon feel his arousal hardening against my stomach, but it doesn’t make me nervous this time. Instead, I reach for the back of his head and run my fingers through his soft, chocolate-colored hair. I open my legs to let him fall between them, which encourages him to move his hand up to my breast where he begins to massage my flesh with a pressure that makes me want to kiss him harder. He moves his kisses down my neck and my eyes fall shut while his mouth and hands work on me. This time, I don’t want him to stop.
I move upward so I can lift my tank top over my head, all the while staring into his hooded eyes as he watches me. Once free of my top, his fingers reach out to trace the outline of my bra, making me bite my lip nervously before breaking into a shy smile.
“I haven’t done this in a long time,” I admit with a glowing blush all over me. “I’m not sure what to do.”
“Just kiss me,” he says, “besides, we’re not going beyond third base tonight.”
“We’re not?” I ask, confused and disappointed.
“No,” he confirms while shaking his head, then carries on kissing down between my clavicle, all while his hand works on unfastening the button of my skinny jeans. “I’m not doing that with you knowing that I have to get up and leave you early in the morning.”
He takes my breast out of my bra and begins to kiss and suck slowly while moving a hand inside my matching lace panties. I feel exposed but oh, so good at the same time. Nate runs a finger through me, and I feel a tingle of electricity I have not felt in a long, long time. He begins biting at my nipple as he inserts a finger inside of me, causing me to gasp over the alien feeling.
“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers against my chest, almost having to force himself to pause.
“No, but…” It stings a little, having not had anyone do this to me in years. It wouldn’t surprise me if my hymen had grown back, it’s been that long.
Nate nods his head as if in understanding and I worry he’s going to stop. He sits up, kisses me gently on my lips, then grabs the top of my jeans and pulls them down slowly, looking at me the whole time. I don’t tell him to stop, I want him to go further. His mouth finds the inside of my thigh and begins to kiss and nip at my skin before he finds my sensitive spot. Running the tip of his tongue from my opening to my clit, I take in a deep breath of air to try and calm myself. His tongue is a lot softer than his fingers and it helps me to relax. He keeps licking and sucking until lust takes over and I buck my hips to reach him more greedily. Gripping hold of my hips firmly, his movements become harder, quicker, and even offers the odd nip between his teeth. I place my hand to my mouth as a climax begins to build and when I try to push him away to ward off the impending release, he doesn’t move. Instead, he holds me in place and keeps going, relentlessly giving me what I need until I orgasm, almost violently.
As I come back down, he moves up to my stomach, which is still clenched up tightly, then kisses me gently before resting his head against mine. I stroke his hair while my breathing begins to even out. His hand clutches hold of my hips again, and he looks down to where he finds my rebellious tattoo, something I got about a year after I tried to end my own life.
“What does this mean?” he asks quietly, now tracing the black outline with his forefinger.
“It’s a Viking symbol…for strength,” I reply in a tone that mirrors his own. “I got it about a year after I took the overdose. There’s a Ben Jonson quote I think of when I look back at it all,‘He knows not his own strength that has not met adversity.’”