Page 14 of Wish I Might
She didn’t really, but she took it anyway.“Did you bring me back a present?”
Both eyebrows climbed his forehead this time.“Why would I do that?”
“Because it’s my birthday,” she reminded him, and bit into the apple.
“So it is.”He pulled a flat package in a plastic bag out of his hip pocket.
“Lovely wrapping job,” she said sweetly to cover the spurt of pleasure.
“Shut up and open it.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, just for form, then set the apple on the table to unfurl the plastic bag and dig inside.Pulling out a swatch of cream-colored fabric, she shook it out.
“It’s a tea towel,” he explained unnecessarily.“I got it at a museum gift shop in Glasgow.”
She looked at the towel, at all the words and phrases printed on it—some she understood, most she didn’t.“What’s the writing?”
“Scottish slang words.Most of them are insults, I’m told.”
“Really?”Delighted, she held the towel up.“I love that.”
“I thought you’d would.”
“This is great, Nash.”She beamed at him.“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”He stepped forward and lowered his head to brush a kiss across her cheek.“Happy birthday, Bailey.”
“Thanks,” she managed, and let out a slow breath when he stepped back.
“I’m going to keep unpacking.I’ve got a couple of loads of laundry to do yet, if that’s okay with you.”
“Yeah, sure.No problem.”
“Okay.”He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her.“See you later.”
Her throat felt tight, so she just nodded and took another bite of apple.When she was alone again, and his footsteps had faded away, she nudged a chair away from the table and sank into it.
Chloe wasn’t the only one who was drunk and horny.
He looked so good.That Cubs shirt was so thin and soft from years of washings that it clung to his torso, firm pectoral muscles and the curve of belly that had never had a six pack.Never needed one, she thought with a nostalgic sigh.She’d loved that belly, the firm press of it against her own, the way he shuddered when she traced the muscle—the Adonis belt—that ran under its thick edge with her tongue.
All of him was thick.Some of that was genetics—he was just a big dude—but the muscle under it all was pure Nash.He loved to hike and climb, and had ridden a bike everywhere he could for years—out of necessity when he couldn’t afford a car, now for fun, just like the hiking and climbing and flying across oceans to walk along walls built by ancient conquerors was for fun.
She’d never understood it.She walked to get from one place to another, only worked out to keep her family history of heart disease and diabetes from coming for her too soon, and she’d rather give manicures with her teeth than hike along some crumbling Roman wall.But she didn’t have to understand it to know that he loved it—and she’d never had a problem with the results.Because all that walking and biking and hiking and climbing had given him powerful thighs and a butt like a bowling ball and stamina that could probably give triathletes a run for their money—and all those things had, at various times, made her very happy indeed.
She was looking forward to being made happy again.
A wave of heat washed over her at the thought, and she squirmed in the chair.Normally if she was this worked up, she’d just go upstairs and make good use of one of her sex toys, or hop in the shower and let the pulsing hand-held showerhead do its magic.But Nash was in the house, unpacking and doing laundry and just, well,there, and the stairs leading up to the converted attic that was her bedroom were just down the hall fromhisbedroom.And because whoever had designed this kit home for Sears in 1926 had apparently never anticipated that someone might want to masturbate in the attic while their ex-boyfriend was in the front bedroom, the stairs were open and there was no door at the top.
And because she’d never anticipated such a scenario, she hadn’t bothered to add one during the renovations.
Not that she’d never masturbated with someone else in the house.She’d had roommates for most of the last three years, both to help with the expenses and because she didn’t like living alone, but they’d never been former lovers, and while she did her best to be discreet, she didn’t actually give a fuck if they heard her masturbating in her own house.
Nash was a different story.
They’d been a couple during their junior and senior years of college, prime sexual exploration years, and they’d done more than their fair share.Thanks to her period, and the need to find a work around for the cramps and bloating that made intercourse uncomfortable while still addressing the wild horniness often brought on by her cycle, they’d discovered the joys of mutual masturbation.
He knew what she sounded like when she touched herself, when she fucked herself, when she used a vibrator or a toy or her own two hands.And though she was definitely planning on letting him hear all that again, she was too tipsy, too scattered for that to happen now.
