by Sara Cate
I can still hear Ellis's voice in my head, but I can no longer feel the warmth of his presence. And then I see Nash, the pain, the frustration, the anger in his expression and I want to heal him from all of it.
Thinking too long, I don't answer until I feel his fingers at my core, running along the moisture gathering there. I let out a cry as he touches me, and I can't think straight anymore. I'm aroused, but also not. I'm too scared, too nervous, too in my head to be fully aroused, but the way his fingers are moving along my sensitive skin is enough to warm up the blood running through my body.
"Nash," I whisper, grabbing onto his shoulders. Then, he's on his knees, and I don't get a moment to collect my thoughts before his mouth is there. I scream. Not because it hurts but because it feels so wrong and so right at the same time. This is Nash. Nash Wilde. Zara's Nash.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She can't know about this. She'll never talk to me again. She'll hate me.
I keep repeating an apology to her in my head as he sucks, nibbles and licks at my pussy. God it's been so long, and I can finally feel that familiar heat building up, the feeling I haven't felt in so long. I should stop him, but I can't.
Then, his kisses are rough. Too rough. His stubble against my legs burns as he devours me, grinding his mouth against me so hard, I have to press myself against the wall while pushing him back with my knee against his shoulder.
"Nash, that hurts!" I cry out.
Then, I’m off the floor again. This time my legs are on his shoulders, wrapped around his head as he sucks every ounce of arousal out of me. Finally, his pressure lets up a little, and the sensitivity it left behind only makes my body react quicker. I have nothing to grasp onto except the wall and his head.
My climax hits hard without any buildup, and it leaves as fast as it came. Still, I let out a moan as my body freezes in his hands. I know I can do better. I know my body is capable of more. That wasn't enough.
But as soon as he feels it fade, he pulls back, letting my body melt to the floor. When I reach for his face, he moves away.
"Don't fuck with Ellis," he whispers, and it shocks me so much I glare at him in confusion.
"What?"
"Stay away from him, okay? I know he's good looking and charming, but he's just..."
"Just what?" I ask, still a little breathless and very confused.
"I don't trust him with you, Hanna."
My eyes squint as I stare skeptically at him. "You mean, you don't want him to have me."
"Will you just fucking listen to me?" His voice is growing heated, and I can feel my own blood starting to boil. The idea of Nash Wilde trying to tell me what to do, to corner me, keep me for himself, control my actions makes me want to spit fire.
"I don't have to listen to you," I snap, pushing him away. "You're so fucking jealous. Yesterday you didn't want me, but now that another man shows interest..."
My voice trails.
And he stares at me silently like he’s trying to guess what I'm thinking.
"This is what you get off on, isn't it? You can't handle a woman alone, but you want there to be competition."
"Oh, fuck off, Hanna. I’m protecting you, okay? And this…” he says gesturing to the space between us, signifying what we just did—or rather what he did to me. “You looked like you could use the stress relief, and I did you a favor."
"No, you came in here because you think I'm weak. You think you could beat him to me, and I would fall down on my knees for you, Nash, but I won't."
"Fuck you, Hanna."
"No, fuck you, Nash!" Then I give him a good shove, and before I know it, I'm pressed up against the wall again, and when he rears back his hand, I flinch waiting for the impact. Instead, he slams his fist against the wall next to my head, and I hear the crack of his knuckles, letting out a scream.
"Get the fuck off me," I howl, fighting and kicking against him.
He hoists me up, carrying me, and at first I think we're going to the bedroom, and my blood goes cold. Not that. Not Nash. I can't handle that.
But then we're outside. My bare ass is in the air as I'm slung over his shoulder, and I know exactly where we're going. Still, I fight, clawing at his back and yelling.
"Will you shut the fuck up, you crazy bitch?"
"I hate you, Nash," I mutter, but the words taste sour in my mouth. I instantly regret them. But before I can say anything, I'm airborne, flying toward the ground but instead of hitting the cold pool deck, I'm submerged in water. It's not cold but it shocks me all the same. I sink toward the bottom before I pop back out, letting out a scream.
"You need to cool the fuck down," he growls at me before turning and walking away.
As I climb out of the water, I sit on the edge of the pool, shivering and replaying every second of that in my head. What the fuck was he talking about?
"You okay?" A new deep, cool voice travels across the silent patio and shocks me before I can start crying.
"I'm fine." I'm not in the mood to be charmed by Ellis right now, so I stand up and head back toward the guest house.
"Hanna, wait a moment."
"I said I'm fine."
"I heard you two fighting." He grabs a towel off the back of the chair and brings it over, draping it across my shoulders. I'm sure my makeup is melting down my face, but I stare up at him, looking for any sign Nash was right, and Ellis can't be trusted.
All I see is a confident man with a hint of something behind his eyes. Maybe it's loneliness too.
"Maybe someday you'll tell me what really happened between you two," I mumble. "For now, I'm going to bed."
With that, I turn away from him and walk silently back to my room. When I get there, I make sure to lock the door.
9
Nash is tense as hell. Pouring over this business plan for the hundredth time, I don't have the heart to tell him he doesn't need me. He has crossed every T and dotted every I there is, but I'm still here. What he needs is to relax. Let go. Try to focus on something else for a moment, but he certainly won't hear anything like that from me.
Watching him across the table, hammering on about the budget, I can’t help but notice he hasn’t changed a bit in the past three years. He’s matured physically, grown out his hair, started dressing like a business owner and not a punk kid. But he’s still wound just as tightly.
It makes me wonder how Nash and I connected so quickly in Amsterdam. When he stood before me that first night at the party, a fully grown man with fire and fear in his eyes, I wanted to know him more. I wanted to draw out the man inside, the one who could be whoever he wanted to be without fear.
I moved too quickly. The first night we shared the girl in my apartment was too soon for Nash. Not too soon for sex, too soon to have sex in front of me—with me. In the room, I mean. But there was a spark, and I knew it could be a blazing fire if handled correctly.
Well, I saw that fire eventually. I pushed too hard, and I got burned for it. I could handle the fight, the anger, the backlash. What I couldn't handle was the silence and then the absence, but that's what I got.
I’m still curious about last night with Hanna, and I want to ask him, but I keep my mouth shut. I heard them in her guest house. I'm pretty sure he wanted me to hear her screaming his name. I haven't gotten a good feel on their relationship yet, but I'm willing to bet they weren't much of a thing before I started flirting with her. Nash still has a jealous side.
"It's past seven, Nash. The budget isn't going to be solved tonight. Take a break."
He looks at his watch. "Fuck, I didn't even realize. I'm sorry. Have a good evening, and we'll resume this tomorrow."
When I stand to leave, he doesn't move, still running numbers on his desk. "Nash," I say in a stern, deep tone reserved exclusively for commands and not requests. I watch him pause, a subtle tic in his hand. Slowly, he looks up at me.
"It's late, Nash."
"You still think that shit is going to work on me?"
; Holding back my shoulders, I stare down at him. "Yes, I do."
Which is true. Nash may love to wield his stubborn temper, but he can't ignore the part of him that likes to listen. I see it, even if he doesn’t.
"Fuck you, Ellis," he snaps. It's the first time he's really used my name and it sends a chill down my spine. The sound of it coming out of his mouth, past those lips and through the air that drives me forward to place my hands on his desk and look him square in the eye.
"I'm here as your business consultant, and as your business consultant, I'm telling you you're strung too tight. You don't need to go over this budget again, and I don't know what kind of misdirected anxiety or grief this is, but if you don't learn to chill the fuck out, you're going to have a nervous breakdown and ruin your company."
He's clenching his jaw, staring up at me with acrimony, and I don't know why I'm tempting fate or poking the bear, but I lean in until our faces are only inches apart. So close I can feel his breath, smell his cologne—which he hasn't changed I notice. "But on a personal level, Nash, I'm telling you to cut your bullshit with me. I'm not going back down that road again with you, do you understand? You said it was water under the bridge, so believe me when I say..." I lean a little closer. "I have no desire to control you or own you, not anymore. So, get the fuck over yourself, you fucking brat."
He explodes out of his chair and throws his hands against my chest, the heat and anger in his eyes radiating from him like rays of sun. I don't throw my hands back at him, and I have no interest in brawling right here in his office like college kids, but I want to wrap my hands around his throat. Getting Nash angry is like blowing on the embers of a fire. So easily fired up, but I can tell he wants it. Nash loves to be angry.
It only took me three months with him in Amsterdam to figure that out.
"If you think I want to go back to the way things were, you're fucking crazy. Everything that happened between us was just another form of your manipulation."
"Okay, Nash," I respond, humor lacing my tone. This is what he does. He deflects responsibility, blame, guilt. He still blames me for what happened, for wanting what we did. For liking it.
"You had me right where you wanted me, didn't you? I told you I wasn’t into that, but you found a way to manipulate me into it."
"So, that's how you remember it? Because that's not exactly how it happened, Nash. You know that, right?"
"I remember it very clearly."
"And what do you remember? Do you remember me forcing you to your knees? Making you believe you wanted to suck my dick? Does any of that ring a bell or was that all my fault?"
"Shut the fuck up, Ellis." He looks like he's about to burst. There are veins popping along his forearms as he squeezes his hands into fists.
"You have your own warped memory of how things went down because you don't want to admit something about yourself—"
"I told you, I'm not fucking gay, Ellis. You think I'd have a problem admitting it if I was?"
I can't help the sardonic laugh that slips through my lips. “You think that’s all this is about. All it was ever about. You really have no idea, Nash.”
He’s staring at me, his brows pinched together as I turn and walk away, leaving him with those words. And I hope they keep him up all fucking night.
It's late but not late enough to sleep, so I decide to go for a walk instead. I can't be around Nash right now. I came here to work but also to hopefully settle this thing between us, to see what it was we left behind, and I meant what I said—I’m not going back down that road again.
I don’t like to admit Nash had an effect on me in Amsterdam, and the way things ended left me stunned for...well, years. Did I push him? Sure. At first it was fun, and I was intrigued by him and his fiery presence, but it wasn't long before it became something more serious. Something I couldn't walk away from. I found myself testing the waters, hoping for more, wanting things I had never wanted. And once I got a taste, it only got worse.
The sun still hangs heavy over the horizon, painting the sky a beautiful watercolor pink and orange. After a few moments of walking, I spot a figure sitting on a large rock jettying out toward the water. She's silhouetted in the sunset, her knees pulled up to her chest and her face pressed against the last light of the dying sun.
I like Hanna. She puts on a beautiful facade, a fearless prima ballerina who holds the world in her hands, but there's something more beneath that mask. She says she's out here to get away, get away from what? Work? Pressure? A man?
In a quiet moment last night, I did my research on Ms. Thurber and found out she did eight years with a prominent ballet company, working her way to being the principal dancer during her last two years. Out of nowhere last summer she missed a performance due to, what was later claimed as a medical episode before the show. She hasn't performed since.
She's single, never been married, and has been seen around town with a chorus line of underwhelming boyfriends who all looked too self-absorbed to know what to do with a creature like her.
And that little dark voice in my head reminds me I know exactly what to do with her.
I know Hanna's type, and I’m willing to bet she’s very much like the cocky prick I left fuming in his office. She’s too caught up in her head, so sure she knows what she needs, but doesn’t settle easily. I'm dying to crack her open to see what's inside.
As I approach Hanna sitting peacefully on the rock, I stand a few feet away, putting my hands in my pockets and clearing my throat to make my presence known. She's so peaceful and such a contrast to the tension-filled discussion I just left with Nash.
"Oh hey," she says with a smile, instantly straightening her spine and painting a soft expression on her face. If I had any desire to preserve this moment of beauty, I'd take a picture of her right now. In this light, the warmth of her skin absorbing the sun’s glow, she looks stunning, but it's not exactly the outer beauty I'm interested in.
"I hope I'm not bothering you."
"Not at all," she replies, throwing her wind-swept black waves out of her face.
"Care to walk with me?" I ask. There is a spark of interest in her eyes as she hops off the rock.
"Absolutely."
I don't head back toward the house yet. There are approximately six miles of beach on this island and while I’m not interested in walking them all now, I want to prolong this quiet moment with this girl.
"So, I have a confession," I say, watching for the way she tenses and looks almost guilty already.
"Ich kanne eine bischen Deutsch."
Freezing on the sand, she lets out a clipped laugh and swats at my arm. She seems almost disarmed, a little looser than she was yesterday, and I wonder if it's my presence or the lack of Nash's.
"You can speak German? Wait," she says, looking up at me with a dimple in her cheek. "How did you know I was half-German? Did you look me up? Have your spies done their research?"
An easy smile spreads across my face. "I might have done a little stalking online last night."
She laughs for a moment until the humor drops off of her face like water running down the panes of a window. She's realizing at this exact moment that by looking her up I've discovered the moment she's ashamed of.
"You have nothing to be embarrassed about," I tell her flatly as we walk.
"The media loves to tell their own story sometimes."
"I'd like to hear yours. Someday." When I do look at her, there is so much sincerity in her eyes I worry, not for the first time, that this woman could work her way under my skin. She is easy to be around, so genuine, like a jewel that requires nothing from you except to admire how beautiful it is. And that's all I want from Hanna, to admire her.
And maybe to push her, just a little. Find her limits. I bet she’d surprise even herself.
“Want to go back to my room?” she blurts out, and my head practically snaps as I look at her.
“Why do you want to go back to your room?” I stroke the side of my chin as I notice h
er swallowing. I know exactly why she wants to go back to her room, but it was a little sudden. And to be clear, I’d like nothing more than to go back to her room and do exactly what she has in mind. But there’s something not quite right about the way she came out with it.
“I think you know, Ellis…” She’s staring down at her feet in the sand, and I reach out, lifting her chin to bring her eyes to mine.
“And what about Nash?”
She scoffs. “I belong to no one. I’m just looking for a good time. Aren’t you? Can’t we skip all the formalities. I know what you want. You know what I want. So, why wait?”
I step forward, put a hand on her waist, and she tilts her head up toward me, as if she’s waiting for me to kiss her. I underestimated this girl from the start. I knew there was something beneath her beautiful mask, but I have a feeling it’s far more complex than I originally thought. She’s not just broken. She’s shattered into a million little pieces.
“Let’s go back to your room,” I whisper. Her eyes brighten for a moment as she takes my hand and pulls me toward the guest house.
10
Thank God. I need this, and I have faith Ellis Prior has what it takes to get me out of this dry slump I’ve been stuck in for the past eleven months. Living so long without arousal does things to a person. Sure, Nash got me off last night, but it wasn’t quite the release I was looking for.
Something about his forcefulness turned me on, but more than anything, the fear was like ice cold water on my body. It was a desperate, fumbling orgasm full of resentment and regret. Not exactly how I wanted my first time with Nash to be.
So, I need Ellis to wash it all away. Like a palette cleanser. A thirty-eight-year old, hot as fuck, confident, rich palette cleanser.
When we get to the room, I pull him in and offer him some wine from the bottle I have sitting on the small kitchenette.
“No thank you,” he replies as he puts his hands in his pockets and walks toward me. The eye contact is disarming.