my breath when he’s turning off the shower. Lifting me up. Carrying me out. Setting me down in front of the sink—and the mirror.
He dries me off slowly, carefully, his fingers skimming across my shoulder, my hip, the sensitive spot on the inside of my elbow. By the time he’s done, I want him again, even before he reaches into the nearest drawer, pulls out a condom, and puts it on.
And then he’s turning me so that my back is against his front.
“I need you, Mallory,” he whispers as he slides inside me.
I need him, too, but the words stick in my throat.
He leans forward, his body covering mine so that we can be as close as humanly possible, and as his wide, vulnerable eyes meet mine in the mirror, I can feel the words—and the emotions—rising inside me. Getting bigger and bigger and harder and harder to tamp down.
So that when I’m right there, my body drowning in a whirlpool of emotions and sensations, there really is only one choice. “I need you,” I whisper as pleasure pours through me, over me, dragging me further and further into the abyss. “I need you, Nick.”
It’s the most amazing—and the most devastating—feeling in the world, and for a second I’m caught in the whirlpool, every part of me spiraling wildly out of control.
Fear rises right along with the pleasure—what have I done, what have I done?—but Nick is there to catch me, to hold me, to shelter me through the storm.
And nothing has ever felt so right.
Chapter Forty-Nine
If Nick doesn’t fall asleep soon—and I mean soon—I am going to go from panic attack to actual heart attack. And sadly, I’m pretty sure that isn’t even an exaggeration. The human heart is not meant to beat more than 130 beats per minute for extended periods of time, and mine has been pounding like an acid rock drummer for way too long.
Add in the fact that the room is spinning and I can’t catch my breath, and I would have thought I’m already having a heart attack if all of this wasn’t clearly a result of me absolutely, positively freaking out…and have been since Nick carried me out of the bathroom and laid me on this bed nearly an hour ago.
We talked for a little while before he turned out the light, but now we’re curled together under his thick down comforter—and by curled together I mean he is wrapped around me like he’s the tortilla and I’m the stuffing. Which also would probably be fine at any other time, considering normally I like being the little spoon.
But right now, after everything that happened in the bathroom, it feels like the room is closing in on me.
It isn’t Nick’s fault—none of this is his fault. It’s my fault for stepping outside my comfort zone and doing something I knew I wasn’t ready for just because I was strung out on desire. I can’t believe I told Nick I needed him. I can’t freaking believe it. I made it what, a month, after vowing to never need another man again? Way to stay strong and independent, Mallory.
And I can’t believe he said he needed me, too. We’ve known each other less time than it takes to grow a tomato, for God’s sake.
He can’t need me. I’m a freaking mess. Broke, in the middle of an existential crisis and a messy divorce, currently living with my mother and my sister…both of whom are also in the middle of messy relationship drama. What about this scenario makes me sound like a good relationship bet?
And I know, Nick hasn’t actually asked me to be in a relationship yet, but men don’t do what he did in that bathroom if they plan on keeping it casual. I may not be the world’s leading expert on relationships, but even I know that much. And earlier tonight, in the kitchen, I know we were taking friends with benefits to a new place. It just went from fun and games to overwhelming me in the span of a breath.
All of which has led to me lying here in his bed, freaking out, as I wait for him to fall asleep. Is it a coward’s move to sneak out while he’s unconscious? Absolutely. Am I going to do it anyway? Abso-fucking-lutely. Not because I don’t like Nick but because I do. More than I want to. Definitely more than I should. And after what he shared tonight about his wife and child,