Page 71 of Nash
"You don't."
Her eyes flash. The spark I've been missing for a week ignites behind her irises, and her chin lifts in the way I've memorized, the angle that means she's about to push.
"Make me take it back," she says.
I kiss her.
My hand slides from her jaw into her hair, fingers threading through the copper tangles, pulling her mouth to mine. She gasps against my lips. Her hands grab my shirt, fisting the fabric, dragging me closer until I'm over her, one knee on the mattress, her back pressing into the bed.
She bites my lower lip. I grip her hair tighter. She moans into my mouth, and the sound vibrates through my chest. My free hand finds her hip and pins it to the mattress.
"Stay there," I say against her mouth.
"Make me."
I press her down with one hand flat on her sternum, holding her against the mattress. She looks up at me, breathing hard, her lips swollen and eyes dark.
"You keep saying that," I say.
"Because it keeps working."
I lean down, brace my hands on either side of her thighs, and bring my face close to hers. Close enough that my breath moves her hair.
"Take off your shirt."
She pulls the oversized T-shirt over her head and drops it on the floor. No bra. Her tits are small, perfect, her nipples already hard. Freckles scatter across her chest, her shoulders, and the tops of her breasts. Every one I've watched appear and disappear under her necklines. Now they're all mine.
She watches my face while I look at her, chin lifted, defiant, daring me to react.
I run my thumb across her nipple. Ruby shivers. I hook my fingers into the waistband of her leggings and pull them down her legs, over her bare feet. She lifts her hips to help.
No underwear.
She was downstairs. On a couch. In a room full of people. My people. With nothing under these leggings.
"Ruby."
"What?"
"You were sitting in that room all night with nothing on under these."
"I didn't exactly pack an overnight bag, Nash. Rider grabbed whatever was in my drawer."
My jaw locks. She sees it. Her mouth curves.
"Does that bother you?"
"We're going to talk about it later."
"That's a yes."
She's bare and flushed, her thighs pressed together, freckles trailing down her stomach. The sight of her on this bed, watching me with those green eyes, makes my hands shake.
I pull my shirt over my head. Her eyes drop to my chest, tracing the tattoos that wrap my ribs and climb my shoulders, then down to my abs, the cut of muscle at my hips. Her tongue wets her bottom lip. She reaches for me.
"Hands down."
Her eyes narrow. "Nash."
