Page 30 of Best Things in Life

I’m not sure of anything, but my body has needs and it needs him.

He stops his hand just short of the prize and I whimper because I can feel my panties creaming and my pussy pulsing, waiting for him. “Don’t stop… I need … release.” It’s the best I can do.

He stares down at me, his eyes on fire, and I stare back begging as I watch his war of indecision on the other side of my chaotic battle. The instant I see a steely flicker in his gaze, I know I’ve won. I pull his shirt from his pants and shove my hand down across his hot flat abdomen as a string of curses comes from his mouth. His hand shakes and he squeezes my thigh as if to hold onto his control when I want us both to lose it. But only up to a point.

And he knows it.

“Sarina, I’m going to make you wild until you find your release all over my fingers—”

“Shhh. Just do it.” I take his cock in my hand. The solid hot silky feel of him, familiar and far away at the same time, makes me moan and buck my hips. He chuckles and I see the veins on his neck pulsing as he moves his deft and oh-so-talented fingers to my panty line. He slips one under and inside me. A gush of air escapes my lungs and I clench everywhere.

“You’re so fucking wet. Dripping,” he says into my ear because he knows I love to hear him talk in that rough voice while he fingers me. Anticipation shortens my breathing and my hips start pulsing as he circles his thumb all around that center nub and then flicks it. I jump and he does it all over again, coiling me up tight so that my breathing stops altogether, spots appear in my vision, and the world shuts down around me.

Then he presses down hard on my clit hard and gives it a pinch. The explosion knocks me into another dimension, a universe away from here where light flashes, blinds me, and every nerve ending is on fire, every muscle clenched hard. Whatever words are coming from my mouth are lost inside his as he covers my mouth with his, swallowing all the orgasmic energy as I spiral up and then slowly back down, his hands wrapped around me.

He’s whispering how beautiful I am in my ear, caressing my face, brushing the wild hair from my face. I open my eyes to stare at him, realizing I’m still holding his stiff dick, tight, as if it’s my life preserver. He smiles a slow and sexy smile and so I test his restraint as if it’s a test of his trustworthiness, running my fingers over his tip and then spreading his juices all over his cock, caressing and pumping my hand up and down.

When his hand on my face starts to shake and his breathing gets ragged I speed up and squeeze tighter. He buries his head in my hair and groans out my name and I remember it’s the same way he’s always come into me, into my hand, my mouth, all over my breasts and my face. And I want that all again as his hips pump and he presses his cock hard against me, gushing into my hand and onto my dress.

My heart beats so fast as that feeling of euphoria takes me the way it always has, as if nothing has changed, as if he never left me. As if whatever happened before this doesn’t matter. And maybe it doesn’t if I can look forward. But I can’t forget the bad any more than I can forget the good we’ve shared. And I need to make peace with it. Somehow. One way or another.

“I’m so sorry, Cookie,” he says, moving away from me, wiping my hands with his shirt. “We’ve made a mess. Didn’t exactly think this one through, did we?”

“That’s how all the best things happen. Spontaneously, right? Don’t I remember some brash hockey player telling me that once or twice?” He laughs and lowers his mouth to mine. The kiss is warm and filled with affection and promise and need, a reflection of what’s in me. But not all of what I feel.

“I need to clean up,” he says. “So do you.”

“You go first,” I say.

He excuses himself and I know he’s going to jack off again in my bathroom. He’s the most resilient man I’ve ever heard of. But I’m resilient too and instead of cleaning up, I touch myself to a second orgasm while I hear him pant and grunt in that sexy-as-fucking-hell way, but it’s when and the way he says my name, as if it’s been tortured out of him, that sends my euphoric spasm to the next level.

God, how much I’ve missed him, how much I want him. As he returns to my bed, pants all zipped and under control, the longing is so powerful that I want to tell him I’m all his right now.

“I should get going—”

“Stay the night. Just hold me. I promise I’ll be good.”

He laughs. “I bet you have your fingers crossed behind your back on that one.”

Now I laugh too and show him my crossed fingers.

“Seriously, Nate. I need you.” Fuck, I shouldn’t have admitted that. He sucks in a breath and sits down on the bed next to where I’m lying, my messed-up dress bunched and my panties half down. He surveys me with those sexy eyes.

“I’ll stay.” His voice is like gravel, the sexy kind that rubs against my skin, that I can practically feel flicking my clit. “But you have to promise to wear flannel pajamas or I’m not responsible for my actions.” He’s smirking and I nod. We both know it’s a mutual thing that’s hard to control if our history is any clue.

* * *

Later I do wear a flannel nightgown, one I found in the bottom of my drawer and that I haven’t worn since I was fourteen. We climb into bed together under the comforter. He’s wearing his T-shirt and boxers. Snuggling into his side like I have on so many nights—and days—in this bed, he holds me, his mouth next to my temple, breathing steadily. If my life were to end now I would be happy. If I could capture this moment and relive it every night I would be the most blissful person in the universe.

“Good night, Cookie.” He kisses my temple, then in a whisper he adds, “I love you.”

Everything in me wants to scream back I love you too, but I don’t. Instead my heart hammers and I remember Bigs is coming here. Tomorrow.

* * *

When I wake up the next morning and find myself in Nate’s arms, my heart stutters and a flood of warm elation spreads through me. No anger, no fear, not even a speck of remorse. At least not for the moment while I listen to Nate’s steady breathing, feel the solid beating of his heart, feel the thumping under my hand as I caress his chest, running it over the smooth powerful muscles, getting myself hot in the process. Then he turns his head to me and smiles, one of those lazy killer grins that hides nothing, especially not the ravenous intent. My belly clenches.

“This changes everything, you know,” he says. His eyes tell me all the truths behind the statement. That I can’t stay with Bigs, that Nate and I belong back together. He eases away from me as if he’s reading my mind.