A Fallen Heart

by Cate Ashwood

  Nash watched, his heart stuttering as Ford raked his fingers through his hair.

  “I hated that he made me feel so fucking broken.”

  Nash’s fury and frustration was barely contained as he stood and stalked across the living room to where Ford sat on the couch. He wasn’t thinking. In fact, all rational thought was replaced with anger and want, and a nuclear blast wouldn’t have deterred him.

  Chapter Twelve

  “WHAT ARE you doing?” Ford asked, his eyes going wide. He could hear the tremble in his own voice.

  Ford didn’t have time to react before Nash’s hands were on him, yanking him forcefully to his feet before sliding his fingers into Ford’s hair and holding him still, his head pressed tightly against Nash’s chest.

  Ford’s heart felt like it was going to pound right out of his rib cage, but the hold Nash had on him felt so good he just wanted to sink into him. They stayed there like that for a long time, Nash keeping him gathered in close, and the longer they stood there, the harder it became for Ford to deny how much he wanted Nash.

  It was stupid and impulsive, and he would probably regret it very much later, but Ford stepped back, putting just enough space between them so he could look up at Nash and slip his hands around the back of Nash’s neck.

  Nash’s eyes were wide, the anger etched in his brow softening as Ford tugged him down until their lips met, igniting both of them in a torrent of heat. Nash kissed him, his mouth warm and demanding, and in an instant, Ford was a puddle of lust, pliant and needy in his arms.

  Nash kissed him thoroughly, more completely than he’d ever been kissed, the whole world spinning sideways around him… or maybe it was his head that was spinning. In any case, he’d do anything to keep it from stopping.

  Ford whimpered, or he thought he did, the sound covered by a growl from Nash, his fingers tightening in Ford’s hair as he broke the kiss to drag his mouth along Ford’s throat. His breath was hot, and there was nothing tentative or distracted in the way he sucked at the pulse point, his hands letting go only long enough to move downward, tugging Ford’s shirt up enough to get at the skin underneath.

  Nash’s strong hands groped at Ford’s back, and Ford could feel how hard Nash was—they both were—their cocks grinding together. Desperation took over, and any reservations Ford had ever held about getting involved with Nash fled in an instant, the space they’d taken up in his brain replaced with pure and absolute desire.

  “He’s a fucking idiot,” Nash said, his words low and gravelly, spoken against Ford’s skin in a way that he felt them more than he heard them. “If you’d let me, I woulda had my hands on you from that first night we met.”

  Ford was drowning in him… in his words, in the way the scrape of his fingers lit up every nerve in his body, in the way he couldn’t seem to get close enough.

  “If you don’t want this, you’d better speak up now,” Nash growled, “because six seconds from now all bets are off, and thirty-two seconds from now, I’m going to have your cock buried in the back of my throat.”

  Ford couldn’t have spoken if he’d had a gun to his head. Hell, he was barely still vertical. The strength of Nash’s hands on him was the only thing that kept him from falling when his knees went wobbly, the thought of Nash sucking him off almost more than he could handle.

  Nash stared at him, his eyes on fire, imploring him to speak, but he couldn’t. Instead he slid his hands over the tops of Nash’s shoulders and applied gentle pressure. The wicked grin that lit Nash’s face told Ford words weren’t necessary after all.

  The world fell away, and everything slowed. Ford held his breath, and his heart stopped as Nash dropped to one knee in front of him. Ford felt Nash’s hands sliding along the outside of his thighs, his skin hypersensitive, even through the thick fabric of his jeans.

  Without warning, Nash leaned forward, tucking his shoulder into Ford’s belly and lifting, throwing Ford over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry. He moved down the hall into his bedroom and lowered Ford onto the bed before standing up to look down at him.

  Even in the dim light of his bedroom, Ford could make out the line of Nash’s cock, hard and straining against the inside of his jeans. His chest rose and fell as though he’d carried Ford a mile instead of a few feet.

  The way Nash looked at him, like he was going to devour him, made Ford shiver. It felt so good to know how badly he was wanted, and all he could think about was how desperate he was for Nash to touch him again.

  “It’s been at least thirty-two seconds,” Ford said, surprised at how overwrought he sounded.

  Nash laughed as he stepped forward, and then his hands were back, pushing Ford’s shirt up to expose the skin of his belly. Ford sat up, pulling his shirt the rest of the way off and tossing it onto the floor somewhere. He no longer cared if it took thirty-two seconds or thirty-two years, as long as Nash didn’t stop touching him.

  Ford lay back down, arching into the warmth of Nash’s palms running along his sides before Nash slid the button through the hole on Ford’s jeans. Every movement was in slow motion, building up the anticipation for what was about to come. Ford was mindless with need, his fingers gripping the duvet to stop himself rushing things along.

  It was torturous, how slow everything moved, but Ford wanted to savor it. He had given himself permission to have this one night, and he was going to enjoy every second.

  Nash hooked his fingers over the waistband of Ford’s pants, tugging and sliding them off along with his briefs. He stripped as Ford watched, pulling his clothing off piece by piece, and with each article that hit the floor, Ford’s heart rate bumped up a notch.

  Nash knelt in front of him, Ford’s legs hanging off the bed, feet planted on the floor, and he settled between them, his thumbs tracing circles over Ford’s hips. Ford closed his eyes, feeling the heat of Nash’s breath on him. He felt Nash’s fingertips tracing the length of him, barely there, before he lifted him and heat surrounded him.

  It was unexpected and mind shattering. Given the span of time Nash had taken teasing Ford, drawing out the anticipation, making him wait, he’d expected a tentative exploration, but what he got was all-encompassing pleasure as he felt the head of his cock slide along the back of Nash’s throat.

  Sounds erupted from Ford, unbidden and uncensored, as the sensations pierced through him. Heat and wetness and suction around his cock, Nash’s palms cupping his balls and his fingers massaging the sensitive flesh behind them.

  Ford’s head fell to the side. He was overwhelmed, not knowing which of the sensations to focus on. It was altogether too much, and Ford needed more. All too soon Nash pulled off and moved lower. Ford caught the whimper in his throat when Nash slid his hands beneath Ford’s knees, pushing his legs back and opening him up.

  Warm breath washed over Ford seconds before Nash’s tongue was there, slick and hot and sliding over him, lighting up every sensory receptor he had. Ford writhed beneath him, trying to get closer, desperate for Nash to give him more. He was going out of his mind.

  “Nash… please…. Fuck me,” Ford begged.

  Nash rose, leaving him feeling bereft as he knelt on the bed next to Ford, reaching for the nightstand. His thick cock was inches away from Ford, and he leaned forward, swallowing Nash down as far as he could take him. Nash moaned, and his hips jerked. When Ford looked up at him, he could see Nash’s head had dropped forward, his eyes closed, and a feeling of intense pride rumbled through him.

  Nash panted, and Ford sucked harder, swirling his tongue around the flared head. He heard the snick of the bottle top and then felt Nash’s fingers, slightly chilled from the lube, massaging gently at Ford’s entrance.

  Ford moaned loudly around Nash’s shaft and rocked his hips. With a grunt, Nash fell forward over him, sliding right into the back of Ford’s throat at the same time he slid his finger all the way inside.

  In and out Nash pushed, with one finger, then two, curling them up to hit Ford’s prostate as he fucked him. Nash panted above
him, his eyes squeezed shut.

  “Fuck. Gonna come if you don’t stop,” Nash grunted, pulling out of Ford’s mouth, replacing his cock with his tongue as he kissed Ford with abandon. Ford poured all his desperation into that kiss, showing Nash how much he wanted him and how good he was making him feel.

  Gone was the languid, thorough exploration from moments ago. Nash moved, coming to rest between Ford’s legs, then leaning forward, covering Ford’s body completely with his own. He was warm and strong, and Ford felt safe, at the same time feeling dizzy with lust. Nash kissed him, both his hands and his mouth rough and demanding.

  They were both on the edge, Ford feeling like he was unbalanced and off-kilter. He needed something to hold on to, something to ground him. Ford felt him reach between them, lining the tip of Nash’s sheathed cock against his entrance, and then Nash was pushing in, steadily and evenly, until he was seated deep inside Ford’s body.

  The storm inside Ford calmed, everything snapping into focus, his whole world centered on the feeling of fullness, of Nash inside him, stretching him and igniting the wave of heat that moved through him as Nash rocked his hips.

  Ford had never felt so consumed by someone else. Nash thrust into him, gentle at first, then harder and more urgently. Over and over, pushing him higher. His whole body was tight with anticipation as he felt his orgasm building. It was there, right there, so close he could almost taste it. Nash was panting, his eyes locked on Ford’s, his eyebrows knit close.

  When he kissed Ford again, that was it. He tipped right over the edge, pleasure crashing into him. Come shot between them, coating Ford’s belly, making Nash’s fist slip easier on his cock. Hips rolling, Nash thrust slower, letting Ford ride out his orgasm before he picked up the pace again.

  Ford’s whole body was supersensitized, and every touch was borderline painful with how good it felt. Nash’s rhythm faltered, and he pushed deep, coming hard. He was so beautiful when he fell apart, and Ford was absolutely wrecked. He had never experienced anything so intense, so powerful.

  Being with Nash would kill him.

  Carefully, Nash pulled out and got up to dispose of the condom. Ford cleaned himself off with tissues from the bedside table, and Nash returned a moment later.

  They lay there, the sweat cooling on their skin. Nash pulled Ford against him, nestling his head in the crook of his arm, his other hand drawing lazy circles around Ford’s belly.

  As the minutes ticked by, Ford became more and more tense. He couldn’t stay there in the afterglow, relaxing as though letting himself get caught up in Nash had ever been a good idea. The more he thought about it, the quicker the panic bled in and locked him up.

  “You should probably go,” Ford said, as gently as he could. He knew how shitty it felt to be kicked out of bed right after sex, but he couldn’t handle Nash staying the night with him. It was too much and too intimate. Yeah, he knew exactly how fucked up that was, but he couldn’t help the way he felt.

  He tried to sit up, but Nash tightened his arms, nuzzling in close and kissing the back of his neck. “That’s so not happening. Just let me hold you awhile. Get some sleep.”

  Ford pulled away and sat up, tugging the blankets up and around him. He felt awkward having this conversation while they were both still naked, but boundaries needed to be reinstated. He couldn’t believe he’d let things get that out of hand.

  “This was a mistake, Nash. I can’t… I can’t do this.”

  “There might be some gaps in my memory, but seems to me you were more than capable.”

  “I’m being serious. We need to forget this ever happened.”

  “That’s not going to be possible. The sounds you make when you come are pretty much seared into my brain.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Can you have an adult conversation with me for two seconds here? I am telling you that nothing else is going to happen between us. So this can be awkward, or we can pretend it never happened and go back to being friends.”

  Nash dropped his smile, his expression transforming from teasing to serious in an instant. “All right, Ford. You want to have an adult conversation about feelings and shit? Here we go. I like you. More than I should. I think you’ve got a lot of bullshit swirling around in that head of yours. There’s some stuff you clearly need to work through.”

  “Are you done?”

  Nash crossed his arms over his chest. “Not even remotely. Fuck that guy for the shit he put you through, and I get that you’re scared—”

  “I’m not scared,” Ford protested.

  He was terrified.

  “You’re scared absolutely shitless, baby. But I’m not him. I want to touch you and kiss you and fuck you and hold you when you sleep. I think you want that too. If you can tell me honestly that you don’t, then I’ll get out of this bed right now, get dressed, and we’ll play it like this never happened.”

  Ford stared at him, floored that after one night of half-drunk sex, he was willing to put it all out there like that. Ford opened his mouth, ready to deny he wanted Nash at all, but he couldn’t force the words to come out. He knew that even if he did manage, Nash would know he was lying. He wasn’t capable of the conviction required to convince Nash, and himself, that he wanted to be alone.

  When Ford didn’t speak, Nash reached over and took his hand, then lifted it to his mouth. He pressed gentle kisses against the pads of each of Ford’s fingertips before sliding Ford’s hand along his cheek and turning his head to kiss along the tender skin on the inside of his arm.

  The feeling of Nash’s soft mouth and the scrape of his stubble on the sensitive area sent shivers through him, and because it felt so good and Nash had, with those tiny kisses, obliterated his resolve, he gave in.

  Pushing his hand farther back, he tangled his fingers in Nash’s hair before tugging him forward. He covered Nash’s mouth with his own and sighed into the kiss, relief melding with need as he let Nash take over.

  They moved together, bodies rocking against each other. They were both only half-hard, but as they kissed for what felt like hours, the urgency built again. Nash held him so tight there wasn’t a molecule of air between them, their erections sliding together until with a gasp, Ford came against Nash’s stomach.

  Nash grunted, following right after him, kissing him hard.

  Their kisses softened as they came down from their second orgasms of the night. Nash reached over and grabbed his T-shirt to clean the sticky mess between them before pulling Ford back against him.

  Ford could barely form a coherent thought. His brain could be melting out his ears for all he knew, but he was warm and sated, and Nash felt so good, his strong arms wrapped tightly around him.

  “Go to sleep, baby. We’ll go see Joel in the morning.”

  Ford closed his eyes and wiggled in, feeling the gentle friction of Nash’s bare skin on his as he settled and gave in as sleep claimed him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  NASH WOKE up feeling better than he had in a long time. When he opened his eyes, he’d half expected Ford to have snuck out, or at least moved to the other side of the bed during the night, but he was right there, tangled up in Nash’s arms, mouth open and snoring.

  It felt like the whole world was quiet and peaceful outside, and they were safe and warm inside. Nash watched Ford’s eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. He was so goddamn beautiful, and he was so goddamn guarded. It was nice to see him like this—relaxed and content in sleep.

  After learning about Provost, there were facets of Ford that fit into place. As it was, there were scars that had started healing, but Nash believed Ford was stronger than he thought, and the damage that had been done was something Ford could overcome.

  Ford stirred next to him, and Nash couldn’t help the smile that slid into place, watching him wake up. His eyes fluttered open and focused on him for a moment before he wore a matching smile to Nash’s.

  “Morning,” Nash said.

  “Morning,” Ford echoed.

  Nash shuffle
d forward and kissed the tip of Ford’s nose. “I’m going to make us something to eat. Any preference?”

  “Waffles.”

  “Waffles it is,” Nash replied.

  Ford chuckled and pulled the blankets farther up as Nash got out of bed. “Unless you’ve learned how to do some Harry Potter shit, waffles ain’t happening. I doubt I have any of the ingredients, and I sure as shit do not own a waffle press… waffle iron… whatever it’s called.”

  “Oh.”

  “We don’t need to be at the hospital for another few hours. You wanna go out?” Ford asked.

  Everything seemed so… okay. Nash was a little surprised Ford wasn’t freaking out harder than he was. He’d half assumed Ford would try kick him out of his apartment again that morning, so inviting him for breakfast was unexpected.

  “Yeah, that sounds good, actually. Albert’s?”

  Ford sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Greystones.”

  “I’ve never been there.”

  “They have the best waffles in the city, and their mimosas aren’t bad either.”

  The conspiratorial smile made Nash think Ford likely went there more for the mimosas than he did the waffles, but who didn’t like a little champagne to start off the day. The fact that Ford wasn’t hightailing it for the hills after spending the night together was reason enough for Nash to want to celebrate.

  THE RESTAURANT was only a short drive from Ford’s place, which would have been even faster if they hadn’t had to walk back to Nash’s car, then take a detour to Nash’s for a change of clothes. Ford waited in the car when he dashed up to pull on the first outfit he could find. Feeling much less walk of shame and much fresher, Nash parked the car on the street in front and dumped a pocketful of change into the meter.