Page 59 of Wild Fire

But there’s also a part of me that thinks this is more than that, even if we’re not saying it.

Because friends don’t kiss each other like they can’t breathe.

Friends don’t make each other come in their pants or go down on each other in public.

Friends don’t fantasize about all the ways they can make each other come.

I haven’t gone on an actual date since I was in college. Probably since I was Nate’s age. But the desire in me percolates as I hold his gaze, my heart in my throat.

I want to go on a date with him. A real date.

But every time I try to ask him out to dinner, or to go do something, I panic and talk myself out of it.

I’m too old for him.

I’m too fucked up.

I’m too traumatized.

There’s a million reasons why I shouldn’t pursue Nate, but all I can focus on is the one reason I should.

Because I think I’m falling in love with him.

If you would have told me three weeks ago when I pulled him out of that fire, that I’d be sitting in La Fonsos’s dressed in my Sunday best, with my heart in my throat, my cock twitching in my khakis, and my mouth watering to feel his sweet lips, I would never have believed you.

I’ve never been in love before, so I’m not sure that’s what this is, but…

I think it is.

Because every moment spent away from Nathaniel Barrett is torture, and not the fun kind.

He occupies my thoughts more than I want to admit. And now that I’ve tasted him, really tasted him, I want more. More of his harsh touch, his sweet mouth, his pleasure…

It’s been three days since I had his cock in my mouth, and it’s driving me crazy. I know I could easily take what I want; and I don’t think Nate would fight me on it. In fact, I think he’d be more than willing to feed me his cock under this table if I told him to. And that’s why I have to stay in control. Because if I give in to this, if I submit to these feelings, to Nate, I give him the power to rule me.

The power to destroy me.

But despite the fear, the little voice in my head telling me that what I should say is that we can’t do this anymore because it’s too much, and I can’t sustain any more damage than I already have, I dare to hope for more.

“Hey…” Nate says, blinking as he looks me over.

“You look—”

“Like an old man?” I tease him, but there’s a hint of bitterness in my words, too.

“I was going to say handsome,” Nate says as he pulls out his chair and takes a seat. He crosses his legs—the motion drawing attention to his tight jeans. But it’s not his legs that I notice. It’s the hoodie he’s wearing.

My hoodie.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” I shrug.

“Told you it looks better on you.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his ears.

There’s an awkward silence between us, and all the warmth dissipates as his smile fades.

Anxiety laces my chest as panic sets in.