Nolan’s my proverbial bungee jump.
My climb to Mount Kilimanjaro.
He’s parachuting over the desert.
I pull in another deep breath, my lungs flimsy and unsure. The problem is the itch to do something impulsive and crazy doesn’t exist at the moment. I’m safe and comfortable, with a weekend of sleeping in and studying ahead of me.
Shit.
Maybe Nolan’s right. Maybe I’m not the casual dating type.
I step out into the hall, my feelings a whirlwind. I stop at the sight of Nolan, waiting outside my bedroom door.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He turns too fast, revealing I startled him. He’s wearing jeans and a tee, his hair clean. I smell the citrusy scent of bergamot from here. “I didn’t know if you were hungry, so I was going to ask you if you wanted to get something to eat first.”
First.
Gah.
“I ate before my last class.”
He nods, his gaze staying high enough that I think he might be staring at my forehead.
“If you changed your mind…” I say.
“No.” He shakes his head, glancing down the hall in the direction of Katie and Hannah’s rooms.
“They’re gone,” I say.
He nods. “I saw.”
I nod.
We’ve never been awkward, not even in the beginning days of our friendship.
“Have you changed your mind?” he asks.
I don’t let myself think. “No.”
He smiles slowly and extends a hand for me to take. I step forward, sliding my palm against his rougher one, the familiar contact awakening that energy that thrums in my veins. It feels as though I’ve just jumped out of a plane, allowing only wind to catch me.
We head downstairs, pausing to lock the front door, then head down into the basement, locking that door, too.
The scent of him is stronger down here, his bed the centerpiece, paired with a dresser, and a TV. It’s beyond minimal. If he were anyone else, I’d probably be creeped out by the lack of personalized items.
Nolan pivots to face me, placing a warm hand on my waist. He’s gentle but firm as he directs my body exactly where he wants me, fitting me so I’m straddling his thigh, feeling the length of him, hard against my thigh.
A thrill runs down my spine. My imaginary fall becomes faster as his eyes lower over me, silently masterminding everywhere he plans to touch and taste me. “Tell me you don’t have plans tomorrow,” he says, grasping my other side with his free hand. “Because the things I want to do to you are going to take weeks, and we’re going to have to fit it into twenty-four hours.”
I ignore the sting, reminding myself to live in the moment. “Already trying to break the schedule?”
He grins devilishly, an expression that makes the invisible windstorm I’m stuck in increase. Then his hands are in my hair, weaving through the strands, tilting my head to the precise angle he wants me, reminding me of a construction manager, figuring out all the right calculations. He moves one hand to my waist, then my chest, roaming possessively over me, exploring me as though he knows exactly where I need his touch. The hand secured around the back of my head pulls me forward, and then—finally—he’s kissing me.
There’s nothing gentle or soft or patient as our mouths, teeth, and tongues clash as though we’re in a race—a race to hit the ground as I continue free falling, losing inhibitions and then his shirt as my fingers score his skin, working to memorize each plane of muscle and bone I can’t see as I moan with need and pleasure into his mouth.
Nolan growls, his teeth pinching my bottom lip as his hips grind against my thigh. The contact is mere inches from where I want to feel him, yet it feels like an entire continent separates us as I squirm to feel him against the apex of my thighs.