“Come on.”
I glance down at the screen. “I knew you’d be reading something like ‘Top 10 dangerous injuries not immediately apparent to paramedics.’ Shitty title.”
Pointing a menacing finger at me, she says, “If you don’t return my phone, I’ll tickle you, Nate Becker.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
I lean over her. “Because I’d wrestle you away from me, which might lead to very inappropriate things.”
She licks her lips, looking away.
“You’ll get your phone back tomorrow. I don’t want you to worry yourself sick overnight. You need a good night’s sleep, and I’m going to make sure you get it even if I have to stand next to your bed and watch you all night.”
“Please morph back into your cavemanish and arrogant self.”
“What?”
“I can go toe-to-toe with that version of you. It’s hard to say no to this caring version.”
“Then say yes.”
***
Alice
His voice is low, husky. This is Nate’s bedroom voice and I love it. He fixes me with his gaze, and I stubbornly hold it right until I feel the rush of heat in my cheeks, then look away. A prickle of pain stabs me at the spot right where my neck meets my back. I run my palm over it, attempting to assuage the ache.
“Damn, I hate it when this happens.”
“What’s wrong?” Nate asks.
“Whenever I’m stressed, it seems all the tension accumulates at the back of my neck.”
“Turn around,” Nate says unexpectedly.
“Hmm?”
“I’ll take care of you.” Wiggling his eyebrows, he adds in a lower tone. “I’m good with my hands.”
His words travel straight between my thighs, and I have to press my tongue against the roof of my mouth to keep a sigh from escaping me. Not trusting myself to speak, I simply turn around. Nate places the teacup on the coffee table in front of me, then sits next to me on the couch. I’m half turned to him and Nate pushes my hair to one side, baring my neck to him.
“Show me the painful points.”
I gesture to my neck, running my fingers over the specific spots. No sooner do I place my hand on my lap than Nate presses his thumb exactly on those points.
It relieves the pressure somewhat, and also turns me on. I can feel every rough patch on the pad of his fingers, and I remember how it felt when he had me up on the counter, one hand supporting my ass, the other bringing me over the edge. I remember it all so clearly, the pleasure and the ache. I ache now too.
Belatedly I realize why—Nate hasn’t stuck to the points I showed him. Instead, his wandering fingers reached the spot at the edge of my hairline. Those damn fingers are not to be trusted at all.
“Sweet spot?” he asks.
Instinct probably tipped him off, and the explosion of goose bumps was a dead giveaway.
“Yes.”
He places his other hand on my waist, splaying his fingers wide. My breath catches, as if someone sucked the air out of here. Then he pulls away.