Chapter 19
Luna had been with men. The first in college, the second not long after. Then a few discreet liaisons that’d she’d hoped would turn into more but hadn’t. But nothing had made her feel like Nash was.
“You taste good,” he said, reaching the waistband of her panties.
Every inch of her ached for him. She was flooded with heat, her body alive and pulsing with need.
When she felt his breath on her inner thigh, Luna shuddered. He moved to the satin of her panties, then kissed her through the material. She felt her tension climb. He pushed them aside, and then his mouth was there, tongue tormenting her with long, hot, wicked strokes. His teeth grazed the nub between her thighs, and she came in a long shuddering rush.
“And I’ve only just begun,” he said with a deep chuckle, then stripped off her underwear.
She looked down into his wicked dark eyes as he slid his fingers inside her. Her moan was long and loud. and then it was building again. Her moans growing louder.
“I need to be inside you,” he rasped and then suddenly he was there. Filling her completely with his thick hard length.
“So tight,” he rasped against her lips. “So good.”
He drove into her again and again, and Luna couldn’t think, only feel. The tension was climbing inside her again.
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he rasped.
She did and the angle made her moan. Luna could do nothing to stop the cry as her release hit her with the intensity of a locomotive. He grunted, and she felt him pouring himself deep inside her.
He lay beside her on his front, she on her back, both breathless.
“That was…” She couldn’t find the words to describe what that was.
“Pretty damn good.” His words were muffled in the mattress.
“That,” she whispered.
They lay like that for a while, neither speaking, and when the haze of passion-induced lethargy passed, Luna wondered what happened next. She should probably get up and leave. They’d both said it was a one-time thing, so that meant she should go. And after last night, when she’d wept all over him, then blurted out how she needed to change things in her life, he was probably ready to see her leave. She couldn’t remember the whole conversation but knew it couldn’t have been good.
Luna steadied herself. She wasn’t the type to fall apart. She wasn’t normally neurotic. She ran a successful company, for pity’s sake.
After that little talk, she remembered the humiliation of him holding her hair while she threw up in his toilet. The more these thoughts populated her head, the more uncomfortable she got. She needed to leave.
“I’ll go now.” She climbed out of bed, grabbing her underwear, and hurried to the bathroom before he could move or speak. Showering, she then pulled on her dress, which had a patch of dried vomit on it. Finding her sandals there too, she did up the straps and tried not to look in the mirror. How the hell did people do this? What were the rules for the morning after? There had been plenty of reports linking her with men, but none had been true. Her experiences in bed were quick, mutual, and over the same day.
The memory of last night, and what she’d said and done, was going to humiliate her for years to come.
Raking her fingers through her hair, she ignored the slow, steady thud at the base of her skull from too much champagne and left the bathroom with a forced smile on her face. He wasn’t in the bed. Luna exhaled, then made her way down the stairs. The smell of coffee nearly made her weep, she wanted a cup so badly.
She liked Nash’s place. Liked the simple lines and rustic feel. It screamed, home, like Joe and Bailey’s place had.
He wasn’t in the kitchen, so she drank several glasses of water to soothe the desert that was her mouth, and then went outside. She found him with Monica and her duck.
“So, I’ll see you then.” She walked up to the gate. He was in the pen, cleaning it out.
He lowered the rake he was using and came to where she stood. Luna dug her toes into her sandals to stop from running. His hair was mussed from her hands, and he’d pulled on jeans that sat low on his hips. The T-shirt was torn on one shoulder. He should be on the cover of some magazine.
“Who are you running from, me or you?”
“What? I’m not. I just need to get back, and I don’t want to get in your way. Plus, I have work to do.”
“Me, then.” His face was softer here. He looked relaxed. “I was just going to have a coffee. You want one?”
“I—no, thanks.” Was he used to one-night stands? Was that why he seemed so calm? And wasn’t that a depressing thought. “I need to go, Nash.”