Page 33 of Seein’ Red

Yet, I crave him. Crave the way he makes me feel and all the things I know we cannot have.

Throwing my head back, I let go. I let everything I’m feeling take over. All the emotions, all the insane pleasure rippling through me, meeting Nash thrust for thrust as we chase that high. The one we can only reach together.

A Nash Keller orgasm is stellar. But a shared orgasm with Nash Keller—there's nothing better.

“I’m close,” I whisper, part declaration, part prayer.

“Close isn’t good enough.”

Picking up the pace, Nash changes his angle, his groin now hitting my clit directly. He grinds into me, making sure that every movement hits me right where I need it. Where I need him. My limbs start to quiver, that telltale tingle in my belly gaining momentum.

“Come for me, Princess.”

Boom.

Taking me from all sides, pleasure washes over me, even more intense than before. My body clamps down on Nash, the feel of him inside me too much for words. He’s right behind me though, his lion’s roar surrounding us, enclosing us in our own world.

It’s all too much, and not enough at the same time, the dam of feelings that I’ve been trying to ignore since my realization this morning breaking, everything bursting free. I can’t hold it back any more as the tears flow in earnest now, one right after the other sliding down my cheeks, like brave little soldiers deploying into the unknown.

A long moment passes, the silence filled only with our heavy breathing, our chests heaving in time with one another, my tears still slipping away. Nash tightens his arms around me, kissing the tears as they appear.

“I got you, Willa,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

He does. I know he does. That was never in question. His little display earlier only solidified it.

It also doesn’t make it okay.

Doesn’t make what we just did okay. This was how we got into this mess in the first place.

“You should go.”

I wriggle out of his arms, pushing him away so I can disengage. Untangling our bodies is always my least favorite part, but today, it’s even worse. I need him to leave. Pronto.

“Willa…”

“No, Nash. You need to go.”

“But what about⁠—”

“But what about nothing, Nash. I said go.”

Huffing out his exasperation, he pushes up from the bed, grabbing his clothes from the floor and getting dressed. I don’t bother to watch, opting instead to wrap my duvet around me. If I can’t enjoy the comfort of his arms, this is going to have to do.

“I’ll call you tomorrow and we can figure this all out.”

“Nothing to figure out, Nash. I meant what I said; there is no we.”

“And I meant what I said. Yes, there is.”

10

WILLA

A loud, audible yawn escapes as I turn the last corner before the executive conference room at Hayes Industries headquarters. Unfortunately there’s no hiding what it was or passing it off as anything else. It was, without a doubt, a yawn.

Fortunately, it looks like I’m in the clear, since no one else is in the room, making me the first to arrive for Munch.

For the life of me, I can’t remember which one of my brothers coined the term “Munch”—a shortened version of Monday lunch—but once they did, it stuck. The meeting itself has been going on for generations, however now that the executive board is made up of my brothers and me, it can sometimes feel more like Sunday dinner extended, rather than business. Then again, at times, Sunday dinner can feel like a business meeting for the same reason.