Page 68 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

Nathan’s mouth tightens, and his gaze drags briefly toward Ivy’s door before returning to me, like the presence of a child keeps him honest. “What happened?” he asks. “What made you do this?”

I laugh again, and it’s ugly. “You mean why did I run after I got threatened, got pushed out of my job, got told my baby might not live?” Each word is clipped. “You mean after I blocked you since I had no idea whether your world would crush me again if I stayed within reach.”

Nathan’s eyes go darker, and his voice drops. “You were threatened?” he says, voice thick with surprise. “Who did this?” He takes a step forward and I take two steps back immediately.

I shake my head. “No,” I reply. “You don’t get to interrogate me like I’m a case file.”

His gaze holds mine. “Athena.”

I lift a hand, palm out. “Stop saying my name like it’s a key,” I whisper. “You don’t get to unlock me with tone.”

Nathan’s face changes. For a second I see real anger, the kind that looks like control snapping tight around something violent. “You think I don’t get it,” he answers, and his voice has gone deeper. “You think I don’t understand what it did to you?”

“I think you showed me what you do under pressure,” I reply. “You go cold, you get cruel, and you call it honesty.”

Nathan takes another half-step and stops close enough that I can feel his presence, the heat of him, the weight of his attention. My body reacts on instinct, and I hate that too. I hate that my skin still remembers him.

“I’m here,” he says, voice rougher now. “I came to your door, and I asked permission to speak to her. I didn’t touch her. I didn’t step into your home. I stood where you told me to stand.”

“You want applause?” I snap.

“I want a chance,” he replies, and his words come out hard. “I want five minutes where you stop treating me like a stranger and tell me what you need.”

My laugh turns thin. “What I needed was six years ago.”

Nathan’s gaze drops to my mouth for half a second, then returns to my eyes, and the look in him turns dangerous. “Say it.”

I stare at him. “Say what.”

“Say you don’t want me,” he replies. “Say you’re done. Say you feel nothing, and I’ll walk away.”

My skin feels too hot. “This isn’t a courtroom.”

“No,” he answers, eyes swirling the heart of a cyclone. “It’s my life, and you’re standing in it again.”

The words shake something loose in me, and I feel the guilt creep in, the part that whispers I should’ve told him, I should’ve trusted him, I should’ve given him the truth even when he failed me. I crush that part down fast.

“I don’t trust you,” I say.

Nathan’s eyes flash, and his control slips just enough to show hunger and rage in the same place. “I don’t blame you,” he replies. “I still want you. I’ll never stop wanting you.”

My body feels pinned by attention alone, and the worst part is that my mind wants him even while it tells me to slam the door.

Nathan’s voice drops further. “I’m not going to take anything from you,” he says, each word deliberate. “I’m not going to force a moment, I’m not going to threaten you into giving me access, and I’m not going to pretend that wanting you gives me rights.”

I swallow.

He steps closer, and his hand comes up slowly, not grabbing, not yanking, just stopping near my wrist like he’s asking permission with his body.

“I want to touch you,” he says. “Tell me no, and I won’t.”

My breath catches.

I should say no, but all I can do is stand there and feel my pulse in my fingertips. My silence answers before my pride can. Nathan’s fingers close around my wrist, firm and careful at the same time, and the contact sends a sharp jolt through me. His grip isn’t painful, but it’s possessive, and it makes my entire body go alert.

He reels me in with one decisive tug, abolishing the distance between us, so swift it steals the breath from my lungs. My wrist remains caught in his hand, his other arm circling my back, drawing me flush to his chest.

His mouth hovers a whisper from mine, voice dark and frayed. “I could ruin you,” he murmurs against my cheek, his breath hot and heavy. His grip tightens with the restraint of a man fighting both darkness and longing.