Page 37 of Tessa and Nash

Possessive.

He yanks me closer until I can feel the firm lines of his body pressed against every inch of mine, his hardness grazing me. His fingers find the dress zipper at my back, not pulling it, just toying with it, teasing me with the possibility.

“Tell me you feel this too,” he murmurs against my jaw, his hands sliding down again, gripping my thighs, dragging me closer to the edge of the dresser. “Tell me I’m not imagining this.”

I can’t speak.

I’m too busy trying not to combust.

He takes my silence as the truth it is.

“Yeah,” he breathes, lips brushing my neck. “That’s what I thought.”

His mouth trails down my neck, lips tracing the line of my pulse. I arch involuntarily. His hands slide to my lower back, pulling me into him, making a quiet, needy sound escape my throat.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he growls softly. “Do you know that?”

He kisses my collarbone, then along my shoulder, one hand sliding beneath the loose neckline of my dress, his palm warm against my bare skin.

“Nash,” I whisper, shaky, undone.

“Mmm,” he answers, mouth at my throat. “More.”

He presses me down on the dresser, bracing himself with one hand while the other brushes over my skin. Up my thigh, gripping, squeezing, guiding; up my hip, over my waist, slipping beneath the hem of my dress again.

He touches me everywhere but where I’m pulsing for him, and it’s maddening.

“Do you want me?” he rasps, kissing me like the words are painful to say.

I nod and tug him closer.

His eyes darken.

“Good,” he whispers.

His hands slide up the backs of my thighs, lifting me slightly, positioning me exactly where he wants me on the dresser. His body presses between my legs, his breath hot and ragged, his hands gripping my hips with intent that leaves no room for misunderstanding.

He kisses me again, deep, wild, claiming, and just as his fingers slip under the hem of my dress, just as my hands slide under his shirt to pull him closer, just as everything tips from heated to inevitable, the rest dissolves into shadows, breath, tangled limbs, and the soft, desperate sound of my name on his lips.

I splay my palms wide, gripping onto the edge of the dresser as my dress slips off my shoulders and I shimmy out of it. Before I can even catch my breath, his fingers dive into my underwear and fuck me deep. A guttural scream rises within me and explodes as he massages and explores all of me.

“Nash, oh fuck,” I cry as his thumb grazes over my clit, setting my whole body on fire. “That feels… it’s too much…”

He doesn’t stop though. He knows I need this.

He traces the most wonderful feeling patterns all over my hypersensitive nub, and at some point, I wonder if he’s writing words, communicating a message, but I’m spinning too rapidly, too deep in the pleasure to make sense of anything now.

“What are you doing to me?” I cry out as his hand whips away.

I was climbing, and he stole it from me.

“Nash, you drive me crazy.”

“That’s the idea,” he chuckles, bending to kiss me hard enough to steal the air from my lungs again.

To be fair to him, his lips do also drag away any will to fight. I was about to attack him with frustration, but not anymore.

“I kinda love it when you’re all wound up and needy for me,” he murmurs. “You’re hot as hell when you’re frustrated.”