Chapter 20

TWENTY

NOLAN

A mber doesn't have a show tonight, so after Teddy leaves, we order lunch and then she has a short meeting with Brian and a couple guys in suits. When they're done, we spend the afternoon on the terrace which boasts a private pool and a couple of gigantic overhead fans that keep the air moving but don't do much to keep us cool.

By midafternoon, it's so hot that Mina gets in the pool and doesn't get out. She keeps her phone within reach and tucked safely in a towel, checking it periodically. Brian comes and goes and the third time he joins us outside, he sits down in the shade to talk to Amber and takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves.

It's difficult to keep myself from staring at Amber on a regular day. But the white bikini she's wearing makes it a million times harder. I lose my train of thought more than once, and when I go inside to refill our water bottles I almost walk right into the glass door.

By the time dinner rolls around, we're all sticky, sweaty messes.

Mina orders food and then goes to her room to grab a shower. Brian leaves to get ready for an event he's attending that evening and after I grab a quick shower, I take Maddy so Amber can do the same.

When Mina returns, Maddy is rummaging in a bag of toys, taking out one at a time and setting them behind her, and I'm sprawled on the floor nearby.

"The food will be here in ten," she says. Her cheeks, forehead, and nose are an angry red.

"Yikes. You got too much sun. Do you need aloe?"

I start to get up, but she waves me off. "I already put on lotion, and it'll turn into a tan by morning."

"Are you sure?" I've seen sunburn before, and that isn't going away without taking a layer or two of skin with it.

She narrows her eyes. "Just wait and see."

I sit up and start to gather the toys so I can put them back in the bag. Maddy ignores me and keeps taking them out. She'll get mad if the bag is empty, but otherwise she can do this forever.

Mina sinks into the chair closest to us, and says, "When are you going to make your move?"

"What move?" I ask as I stretch to reach a wooden cylinder that rolled into the leg of her chair.

"On Amber. Or were you planning on just staring at her indefinitely?"

And now my cheeks match Mina's. Great. "I…don't…uh…know what you're talking about."

She snorts. "I'm not blind. I see the way you look at her and I see the way she looks at you."

"We're friends," I say unconvincingly.

Mina nudges my shoulder with her foot. "Friends who want to bone."

"Mina." I groan and then remember—"I thought you said Amber wouldn't sleep with me?"

"Ah. Turns out I was wrong."

She wasn't. "We're just…uh…pretending…for Teddy's sake."

"Nope. You're crushing hard." She uses her toes to push a toy closer to the bag. "I've been thinking about it, and I couldn't quite decide why you're holding back. But then I realized that you're both waiting for the other to make a move." She kicks my shoulder gently. "Stop waiting."

This would be a good time to protest again, but instead I cover my face with my hands. I'm more embarrassed than I can say. "Do you think anyone else noticed?"

"Yes." She cackles and says, "Perfect timing. Food will be here in two."

I pull my hands away and watch as Amber sinks onto the floor across from me.

Her hair is still wet, and her cheeks are rosy from the sun. As always, she looks lovely. "Everything okay?" she asks me.

"Yep," I squeak and Mina laughs.

I remember wishing Mina had stayed at the hotel that night in San Francisco. Now I wish she had somewhere she needed to be because I can feel her scrutiny and it makes me self-conscious. Between that, the memory of Amber in that white bikini, and my uncertainty about what I should do, dinner is torture. I waver between promising myself that the next time I'm alone with Amber I'll kiss her and reminding myself that she told me no kissing. I want to respect her wishes, even if Mina thinks she's waiting for me to make a move.

When Amber goes to put Maddy to bed, I escape into my room.

My plan to avoid her for the rest of the night is foiled when she knocks on my door. "Mina had cookies delivered. You have to come and try the cookies and cream one. It tastes like magic."

Like a moth to a flame, I open the door and follow her into the colorful kitchen. In the center of the butcher block countertop is a rectangular box. She flips it open to reveal three cookies that are all bigger than my fist. The middle one has a small chunk missing. "Don't they look delicious?" She reaches out and breaks off a large piece.

It feels like slow motion as her hand raises to my mouth. She slips the piece through my parted lips. I barely taste the cookie as I start to chew because all my senses are trained on her.

"Nolan," she whispers, her fingers hovering and then brushing against my mouth.

The way she is touching me combined with the way her gaze is fixed on me feels like an invitation, so I hesitantly lean forward and press my lips to hers. As far as moves go, it's pretty lame. She responds with the same level of hesitation. Her lips barely graze mine and it's nothing like our first kiss.

We're both still holding back.

We break apart, still sharing breath as the seconds tick away. I reach for her left hand which is tapping rapidly against her thigh. The flush in her cheeks could be nerves or arousal.

"I'm sorry. We don't have to?—"

"I want to," she whispers, and then she kisses me.

The hesitancy is gone and the burning heat of our first kiss returns. She moves closer until our bodies are pressed together, and every inch of me comes alive.

When I was younger, I cursed my less than impressive stature, but now I want to rejoice that I stopped growing well before I hit six feet because our pelvises are aligned perfectly. My hardness presses into her softness and my eyes almost roll into my head.

My hands settle on her hips, my thumbs sneaking below her shirt and stroking her bare skin. She trembles slightly underneath my fingertips, and I feel it throughout my body.

She breaks apart on a gasp. "I want you in my bed."

That.

Yes.

I try to seal our lips together again, but before I can, she says, "I don't want to pressure you."

"Pressure me?" I echo, my fingers tightening so we stay glued together.

"Sleeping together would change things. I don't—" She cuts herself off. "I don't do casual sex. If we sleep together, it'll mean something to me."

"It'll mean something to me, too." I've had plenty of casual sex, but I've never had sex that mattered, so I don't fully comprehend what'll change, but I'm ready to find out.

Her eyes search my face, and then she takes my hand and pulls me along behind her. When she reaches her bedroom, she turns, leans forward, and gently presses her lips to mine once again. This time it feels like more than just a kiss.

She hitches one of her legs on my hip and boosts herself into my arms. I stagger as I try to balance her weight, and she shifts so that somehow she's mostly supporting herself. Why is that so hot? My hands grip her ass as she rises so she's slightly taller than me. It's an excellent angle to get lost in the feeling of her body pressing into mine. Surely we can't stay in this position forever, but I'm going to enjoy it as long as possible because her warmth and softness are bliss.

She rocks her hips, and I almost see stars. My dick is desperate for more friction, but I don't want to embarrass myself, so I tighten my grip on her ass and anchor her against me. She keeps kissing me as I stumble toward the bed.

I intend to set her down gently, but she doesn't release her legs from my waist, so I sprawl on top of her. She giggles against my neck as I crush her into the mattress.

"You were supposed to let go," I grumble into her hair.

She laughs harder and still doesn't release me. I can't help laughing along with her even though I couldn't have been less smooth if I'd tried.

"I like the way you feel against me," she says.

"Me too." I gasp as she squirms. The press of our bodies through our clothes is not nearly enough, so I lever myself up enough to peel my shirt over my head.

With her superior strength, she rolls us so that I'm sprawled beneath her. She isn't particularly gentle as if she's operating purely based on need. She straddles my hips and straightens, her gaze trained on my bare chest.

Her hands coast down my outer arms, tangle with my fingers, and then cruise along the sensitive skin of my inner wrist, up to the crease of my elbow, and then the length of my bicep.

Her touch is firm without being demanding.

I'm being seduced. Or worshiped.

There's a voice inside of me telling me to participate, to reach up and run my hands underneath her shirt, but there is a competing voice telling me to freeze, to stay still and let her explore. It isn't much of a competition because I can't convince my limbs to move.

Maybe it's instinct. Or maybe we're communicating without words. Whatever it is, I lie beneath her, heart racing, breath shallow but still fast, and let her map every inch of my upper body. She charts the muscles in my shoulders and pauses when she encounters the sparse hair on my chest. She strokes it, swirling over and around my nipples, leaving tingling warmth everywhere before weaving her way toward my pants, not allowing a single inch of space to go untouched.

When she reaches the waistband, she confidently pops the clasp. In a fluid motion, she lifts her hips, and at the same time, somehow manages to strip my pants and briefs.

She blankets me with her body as she brings our mouths together in a messy kiss. The feel of denim pressing against my erection sends a jolt through my system, knocking me back into my body. I don't mind being seduced, or letting her explore, but she is still wearing all her clothes. It's unclear exactly how I allowed that to happen, but I'm desperate for her to be as bare as I am.

Multi-tasking is not easy when she's kissing me, but I finally have the wherewithal to slide my hands underneath her shirt, push it up, break our kiss for the briefest inhale, and then pull her shirt over her head.

The silky-smooth skin of her back is warm underneath my palms. The fine lace of her bra tickles my chin as I drop soft kisses down her chest.

Her breath hitches when I reach her waistband. As if aware of my desperation or feeling it herself, she straightens her legs and shimmies the jeans down her hips. When she has them off, she raises onto her knees, kneeling between my legs.

My motions stall when I register the lacy white and black underwear set that somehow manages to appear both innocent and enticing. It conceals almost nothing, but I like the tease of it. I want to see what's underneath, but at the same time, I want to savor the sight of her barely covered golden skin and revel in the anticipation.

I feel myself sinking back into the stupor of sensation, but thankfully, I manage to keep my wits enough to allow my fingers to keep tracing the edges of the lace on her bra, dipping inside, almost brushing her nipples, and then receding, each time getting closer, until she finally groans. I'm so caught up in what I'm doing that an animalist sound explodes out of me when her hand wraps around my shaft. The callouses on her fingers scrape over the sensitive skin as my hips involuntarily thrust into her fist. Lust clouds my vision. "Amazing."

She's turned me inside out and I fumble blindly around the bed, no idea where my pants are, desperate to find them so I can dig into my pocket and find a condom. I'm aching for release, but I want to wait until I'm buried inside her.

She pulls away, and almost before I register the loss, she rolls a condom down my length. I have no idea where or how she procured a condom without my notice, but it hardly matters when I realize she's shed her underwear. She steadies my cock with one hand and lowers herself directly onto my straining erection.

I gasp like I've never experienced anything so divine. Because I haven't.

She stills like she's savoring the moment, too, and holy shit, I cannot wait any longer for her to start moving.

My position offers no leverage for me to thrust so in a move more athletic than any I've ever made, I grasp her and surge closer to the headboard. Once we're in the center of the bed, I adjust my grip on her body and bend my knees so I can roll my hips into her heat.

The first thrust feels like heaven. She moves with me, and we find a rhythm that almost overwhelms me. Words start spilling out of my mouth, soft and low, sounding more like babble than identifiable phrases.

She leans forward, her abs tightening, her body twitching as she arches her back and finds her release. The rapture on her face is stunning.

With a gasping breath, she seals her lips to mine, and even more pleasure floods me. I can't hold back any longer as a staggeringly powerful orgasm rips through me. Before I've even finished pulsing inside her, she collapses on top of me.

Our breath mingles as our pulses slow, and our bodies cool. I shift so I can get rid of the condom. I tie it off, drop it next to the bed, and then reach out and tug the blanket until it's mostly covering us, cocooning us in warmth.

Words linger on my tongue. Of praise. Of wonder. Of joy.

They seem paltry and almost lacking.

How can I use words to describe what happened between us?

Clarity isn't always easy to find, but in the afterglow of the most intense sex of my life, with Amber still draped across my body, I feel an irrefutable sense of rightness, and I have an overwhelming urge to pledge myself to her for all time.

The words are there—on the tip of my tongue. I don't say them out loud. Not because I don't trust myself, but because what are the chances that she feels the same way? And how would we make it work if she did?

She lifts her head, her eyes search my face, and her lip's part. I seal my lips to hers so that whatever she is going to say is trapped in her mouth. We can't avoid talking forever, but I want one more kiss before reality crashes down on me.