“More,” I said, desperately.
Somehow, with his other hand, he had slyly unbuttoned my blouse. He pulled my breasts above my bra, and within a second his mouth was on me, his tongue swirling around my nipple. I gripped his head to my chest and let my head fall back, letting him have all of me. His fingers dipped inside me and I felt myself tighten around him.
“I want to make love to you,” he said near my ear. “I need you, but it’s getting cold out here.” His fingers were still moving rhythmically in and out of me. “I’m going to make you come, and then I’m going to race you back to the house and fuck you.”
His thumb brushed the perfect spot, and I moaned, “Ahh,” breathy and wild before coming completely undone against him.
As I caught my breath, I quickly yanked his hand out of my jeans while he kissed his way up my chest to my neck. “How does that plan sound?” he asked.
“I thought you said ‘make love’?”
“That’s what I just did. Now I want to fuck you. Come on, get up.”
It was true, that’s what Nate could do to me with his hands—make love. There are definite benefits to dating a surgeon. But I was more than curious about what he had in mind for later. He rolled up the blanket and pulled me toward the horses. We hopped into our saddles and took off toward his house. Once inside, he pushed me against the wall and kissed me hard. This time he was urgent.
“We smell like horses.”
“I don’t care,” he growled.
He moved me toward the back of the couch, turned me around, bent me over, and peeled my jeans down my body. He ran his hand up my spine, my shirt still on, before he slipped inside of me. His body was as physically close to mine as possible. With one arm anchoring me around the waist, he fisted a hand through my hair, his breath heavy against my shoulder. He was different that time, uninhibited, moaning against my neck, which made him seem more vulnerable. The motions became fierce and intense, so much so that I wanted to cry rapturous sobs until it was over. He caught his breath, turned me around, and kissed me so gently I did finally cry then. I knew he could feel the tears on his face.
He took a step back and scanned me, his eyelids still heavy. “Why are you crying?”
I knew he knew why. It was because the intensity was so strong I couldn’t help it. I just smiled weakly and shook my head.
“I know,” he said before leaning down and kissing me again.
In the shower we were quiet and gentle with each other, cherishing every moment and every touch. Every time I glanced up to look into Nate’s eyes, he simply kissed me. I wondered if these moments would be what we remembered as happy times. If you take away the births, the deaths, the weddings, the achievements, the regrets, and everything else that makes up the circus that is our lives, what’s left, and maybe most often overlooked, are the moments when two bodies, made for each other, come together and make sense out of this whole mysterious shitstorm we call life.
We ask ourselves why we’re here, what’s the meaning of all of this? What keeps the planet spinning, only slightly skewed on its axis, in some cosmic ocean of nothingness? Who’s up there, jerking us around on strings like marionettes? Why did I have to go through tragedy first? Was it so that my performance would be authentic when the time came for happiness? When nothing made sense, and for me there were many years in which nothing made sense, I learned to simplify my analysis of life. At that particular moment, I learned to say, I’m in the shower with a hot, naked doctor who is rubbing my ass; get over it!
Later in bed, my leg draped over his and my head resting on his chest, I looked up to see his eyes closed, though he was still smiling. “How do you feel, Dr. Meyers?”
“Like I never want to move from this spot. Let’s stay here forever.”
“Forever is only now. Let’s enjoy it and not think about tomorrow.” The moment the words came out of my mouth, I finally understood what Jake had meant all those times he’d said it. I closed my eyes and drifted off, peaceful and sated.
In the morning, when Nate got out of bed, he stood over me and smiled, his eyes still half closed and his grin boyish and charming. His hair stood on end in every possible direction. I got up on my knees, still naked, and rested my elbows on his shoulders, our bare chests pressed together. I messed his hair up even more.
“Morning.”
“Mmm, you feel good,” I said.
“When your heart’s against my chest, I feel like I’m alive.”
My throat ached with emotion. For some reason, the way he said it made it seem like such a raw admission, almost heavier than I love you.
“Me too.”
“Never leave,” he whispered.
Why would I?
CHAPTER 20
Change of Heart
Nathanial