Page 51 of Nash
His eyes open. Dark. Burning. The look in them makes my stomach drop.
"When I take you to bed, Ruby, it won't be against a wall at one in the morning." His thumb traces a slow circle on my inner thigh. "It'll be because I've decided you're ready. And you'll know because I'll tell you."
My breath catches. The promise in his voice is a physical thing, pressing against my chest, settling between my legs where I'm still throbbing.
"And if I don't want to wait?"
"You'll wait." His grip on my thigh tightens. Releases. Tightens again. "Because I'm asking you to."
The shift is instant. He's asking. Not telling. A man who controls every room he enters is asking me to trust him. Part of me wants to push. Grind against him one more time, break his composure, make him lose the control he's holding by a thread.
But the part of me that goes quiet when Nash says my name, the part that said okay, taken in the shop today, that part answers.
"Okay," I whisper.
His grip loosens. He lowers me down the wall slowly, my body sliding against his until my feet touch the floor. Every inch of the descent drags my center across the hard length of him, and we both shudder. His hands find my waist. He holds me there, forehead against mine, breathing unevenly.
The hallway is dark. The apartment is quiet. His heartbeat pounds against my chest.
"Nash."
"Yeah."
"That was worth fourteen months."
His mouth twitches. Both corners. The full smile I've been chasing since the day I met him, right there, pressed against my forehead in a dark hallway at one in the morning.
I earned it.
He lets me go. Steps back. His hand drags down my arm as he pulls away, his fingers catching mine for a second before releasing. The loss of his body heat is immediate. Cold air rushes into the space where he was.
"Go to bed, Ruby."
"Yes, sir."
The words come out differently this time. Quiet. Stripped bare. The voice that makes his eyes darken and his jaw flex, the same voice he heard in the shop. Except now it's carrying the taste of his mouth and the memory of his cock pressed against me.
He watches me walk back to my room. I feel his gaze on my body the entire way. At the door, I turn around. He's standing in the hallway, shirtless, his jeans sitting low on his hips, his hands at his sides. The ink. The muscle. The restraint carved into every line of him.
"Nash."
"Yeah."
"Next time, I'm not stopping."
His jaw works. His eyes hold mine. The muscle in his forearm twitches.
"Go. To. Bed."
I close the door. Lean against it. Press my hand over my mouth.
Through the wall, the bathroom door closes. The faucet runs. He's in there for a long time.
Sliding down the door, I sit on the floor with my back against the wood, my sleep shorts damp, my pulse still hammering between my legs. I press my hand over my mouth and grin into my palm until my face hurts.
I can still taste him.
Chapter 13
