“That’s my problem, though. Always has been. I jump into relationships and then spend years of my life with the wrong person because I think I have a feeling. Feelings are bullshit.”
“Nahhh. Feelings are everything.” Presley smiles at me. “You knew me before I met Keaton. I couldn’t make a decision about anything. If a guy even mentioned commitment, I was bolting in the other direction so fast, he couldn’t even finish his sentence before I was gone. But, then I met the sexy vet … and it was all over. I just … knew.”
“That’s what everyone says. All married people throw out that bullshit line like us single gals are supposed to understand what that means.”
“It’s true, though.” Lily nods sagely.
“And I can attest that, sometimes, it takes a lot longer than you thought it would. But in the end, you just know.” Penelope makes three.
Presley continues. “I know you. You feel differently about Fletcher. I could tell it the moment you guys met at my wedding.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Have you been talking to him? Because he said the exact same thing.”
“Oh, just go for it, Ryan. Nash men are great in bed. We should know.” Penelope hails down the bartender to order another round.
With the size of Fletcher’s dick, I’m not surprised. I almost say that out loud, but the alcohol hasn’t completely swamped my brain.
“We’ll see.”
“Seriously, don’t wait ten years. You might live with regrets, but at least you acted on your feelings. That’s better than not acting at all.” Lily tips back the last of her glass of wine.
Maybe she was right. At the end of the day, what was another failed relationship to add to the pile?
23
Ryan
Off-key singing meets me in the hall of Fletcher’s apartment, and I pause to listen to it.
From behind the door of apartment number 3, the guy I’m quickly developing feelings for is singing “My Girl” at the top of his lungs. His rendition is not great, but he’s giving it his all, and I find it adorable.
My heart also begins to flutter at the thought that he is singing that about me.
It’s our third date in two weeks, and I’m not shying away from calling them that anymore. When you’re spending time alone with a man, whether it’s going out to eat or giving him oral sex in his workshop … it’s a little bit more than hanging out.
Yes, I blew him on the floor of a barn. And it was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever done.
It was impulsive, and at the time, I was acting on instinct rather than logic. This is one of the sexiest men I’ve ever met, in an understated way, and no one had touched his cock in five years. That just seemed wrong to me. So, I righted the problem.
Watching Fletcher Nash come undone because of my touch, my mouth … fuck, I have to rub my thighs together just thinking about it. The prickling friction I desire in between my legs is at the forefront of my brain when he swings the door open.
“Hey,” His smile is easy, and he pulls me into a hug.
Gosh, he smells good. Like cinnamon and mint in one big, beautiful manly package.
“Hi.” I press a light kiss to his cheek in a spur-of-the-moment decision.
Fletcher kissed me after our last date. Not that the kiss had been our first, or the date, technically. But it had felt like it. He’d done it in Presley and Keaton’s backyard, just outside my door to the guest cottage. All slow and gentle, placing his hands on my cheeks and coaxing me in for a gentle caress, that turned into a simmering, smoldering kiss. I’d felt like we were high schoolers, sneaking in our first bit of making out before mom and dad turned the porch light on. It was the perfect end to a pretty awesome night, and I went to bed with butterflies bigger than any I’d felt before.
“Wow, this place looks so good …” I break away from him, entering his apartment without his invite.
Behind me, Fletcher chuckles and says, “Come right in.”
“You’ve really done a lot, Fletch.” I use the nickname without thinking, but it feels right rolling off my tongue.
In the two weeks since we moved him in, he’s hung some cool wall art, gotten a rug for the living room, and set the kitchen table with a decorative wooden centerpiece I’m sure he made. Peeking into the bedroom, I can tell that the mattress and box spring are no longer on the floor but encased in a cognac tufted leather frame with a matching headboard.
“I like to think it looks more sophisticated than your average bachelor pad.” He pats himself on the back.
“And that smell …” My stomach grumbles and we both laugh.
I hand him the bag with a loaf of crispy, crunchy Italian bread, just like he asked me to pick up.
“Oh, this is perfect, thanks. Have a seat and I’ll serve us.”
When Fletcher asked if I wanted to come over for dinner, I got a bit nervous. Having a guy cook you dinner, alone in his apartment, it felt like fifth or sixth date territory. But then he clarified that he wanted to do something special for me and have me as his first guest at his new place … and I’d melted. It was a really sweet gesture.
Fine, my rose-tinted glasses were completely on, but Lily Nash had told me to jump in and she was the most conservative person I know, so I was following her advice.
The bread is in his one hand, and he laces his other through mine to lead me the short couple of steps to his table. It’s romantic, and I notice when he’s pulling out my chair, that he’s set two candlesticks in the center. There is a new white tablecloth draped over the surface, and he’s already set down plates and utensils.
“This is fancy.” I give him a sarcastic smile.
“Only the best for Ryan Shea.” His big hand squeezes my shoulder before he retreats to the kitchen.
My heart races with anticipation, because this is our third date. You know what they say about the third date.
“So, you cooked all this?” I ask, trying to distract myself.
“I mean … I may have gotten Carlo, the chef downstairs, to give me a couple of tips. And his special marinara sauce, but you knew I wouldn’t make that from scratch.”
Carrying two plates loaded with spaghetti and chicken parmesan, Fletcher sets one down in front of me before taking his seat. It smells like heaven, and I can’t think of a more comforting meal.
“You cooked the chicken and spaghetti, though? I’m hugely impressed. I burn microwave macaroni and cheese, so anything you do with a burner is already more advanced than my level of cooking.”
It’s true. You don’t want to eat my food for fear of poisoning … which I actually gave to Presley and me one time when I cooked chicken wings.
“Note to self, never accept an invitation to have you cook for me.” He sticks out his tongue, and we both cut into our food.
The first bite is incredible. “I think Carlo’s sauce really makes it.”
“Hey! I did the heavy lifting, put my heart into it. But … fine, the sauce is really freaking good.”
We lapse into silence for a moment, eating, before Fletcher picks the conversation back up.
“How is the summer course going?”
I take a sip of water to clear my throat. “It’s great. The kids are learning a lot. I have them doing these modules I created, of how to stop a minor data breach. Or how to detect what the hacker took using the clues in the code.”
“That sounds totally badass. Like some secret spy type of stuff. It always amazes me, what you do. You have to be really smart to understand all of that … code is like another language.”
A small smile stretches my lips. “That’s what I always say; I’m fluent in computer. It really is another dialect, and it just happens to come naturally to me. Speaking of that, I got your Etsy page up and running. And I created a brand logo for you, I think you’ll like it.” I cut into my chicken, fork a piece, and sigh when it hits my tongue.
Fletcher’s eyebrows knit together. “You made a logo for me and didn’t even run it by me?”
I shrug, not fazed that the move was a tad bossy. “It’s not like you bothered having one before. Or a website, or an online storefront. Did you really care what your branding looked like?”
He tips his head to the side, the longer brown locks on the top of his head shifting to fall over one side of his forehead. “I guess not. I mean, I’d have no idea how to even create branding, much less what I’d want for it. I trust you. Plus, you’re hot when you’re in charge.”
A blush creeps up my neck. He trusts me, that’s what he just said. Out of all the men I’ve been with, not one has uttered that sequence of words to me.
“How is the clock project?”
Fletcher has already finished half his plate, and yet again I’m amazed at how fast men eat. “Going good. The sketches are finalized and have been approved by the town council. So now I just have to start carving, building, working with metal … which I’ve never done before. And then there is the whole process of building the mechanism inside. I have no idea how to make a clock actually work … so it’ll take some time.”
Just hearing him talk about it, you can see the excitement on his face. “I think it’s great, though. You’ll get it done. Especially since you’re so passionate about it. That’s what matters.”
“And how about you? Have you found your next passion project?” There is a slight edge to his voice, and I think I know why.
We haven’t talked about me staying or going, when it comes to Fawn Hill. This is his home, not mine, and no one in the Nash clan really has any idea how long I’ll be in town.
“Not yet. I kind of like teaching the kids, though.” I avoid answering in any other real sense, and we finish our meal with small talk about TV shows, sports teams, and the like.
When Fletcher gets up to clear the table, silencing me as I protest that he cooked, I take the time to look around his apartment. It’s clean and homey, if not a bit sparse with some outdated pieces. But, he’s finally out of his mom’s place, and I can thank the privacy gods for that.
“Do you want to go out for ice cream or something? Take a walk in the park?” Fletcher asks as I push out from the table.
Something comes over me, and I realize … I do not want to do either of those things.
“No. I want you to show me your bedroom.”
I don’t put on that husky, fake sensual tone that you see in pornos. I also don’t wink or raise an eyebrow. I say it to him straight, so that he knows I’m not teasing. I really want him to take me into his room so that we can fall into bed together.
Fletcher must understand that, or maybe he’s just taking his reward for putting on an excellent dinner date, because he doesn’t hesitate. One second, we’re standing a respectable distance apart, and the next, his mouth is covering mine and those sturdy hands are guiding my hips backward toward the bedroom.
We kiss as we stumble toward the mattress, our lips fusing as frustrated breaths slip out. There isn’t enough, we seek more as fast as it will come. Another lick, another nip, another tingling sensation that zips down the spine. My need to get out of my clothes and feel him skin to skin is so primal, I find myself growling into his mouth.
Finally, we reach the bed, Fletcher cradling me as we fall, and then adjusting his weight so he doesn’t crush me. I writhe under him as we make out, each kiss exploring deeper regions of the other’s mouth.
I feel him through his jeans and am again stunned at how huge his penis actually is. Biggest I’ve ever seen in my life … and I’ve been places. Fletcher Nash has a giant cock, no bones about it.
God, it’s been months. Too many long months with nothing but my romance novels and vibrator. Even before we broke up, Yanis and I hadn’t been having regular sex. I should have known something was off, a Greek god like that brushing me off when I tried to fuck him.
How long had it been, exactly? Six months maybe? Eight? Shit, I was in even more of a dry spell than I’d thought.
It wasn’t in my plans to come on to Fletcher tonight. But he cooked this delicious meal, and the music, and he bought me flowers … and it was the third date.
Shit, I was such a girl. Falling for the easiest tricks in the book. But goddammit, I was too horny to care. And … I really wanted to know how he’d feel inside me.
“Ryan, wait, let’s slow down …” Even though he says it, Fletcher is still grinding his massive dick against my palm.
I ignore him, trying to free my hands where he’s attempting to pin them back against the bed.
“We don’t have to—”
“I’m a grown woman, Fletch. It’s been months since a man has given me a proper orgasm. I want one. From you. You haven’t had sex in five years. Are you really going to stop this?”
His eyes melt into molten blue pools. “That’s the second time you’ve snapped at me while we’re pressed together, and I have to say … it’s a big fucking turn on.”
“Great. Now put that to good use and screw me sideways,” I demand, so amped up on pheromones that I can’t see straight.
24
Ryan
Fletcher all but shreds the clothes from my body.
In fact, he might actually pop a button or two off the sundress I’m wearing. I borrowed it from Presley, but I’d pay her three times what it cost right now in exchange for Fletcher inside me. I think she’d understand.
“I didn’t get to look long enough, last time. My God, you’re fucking …” He trails off, biting down on the fist he shoves into his mouth.
Propping myself up on my elbows and bending a knee, I give him a sexier pose than me just sprawled on the comforter. I know I have a great body, one I work hard for and treat well. I’ve never been particularly self-conscious, and the fact that Fletcher wants to admire my naked curves … it turns me on more than it makes me want to hide.
“Well, this isn’t fair. Now you’ve seen me naked twice, and I haven’t ever gotten to glimpse that body.” I run a finger in the air and then let it drop to my stomach, where I trail it down to the top of my pelvis. It’s meant to tease him, but it’s also making heat lick up the backs of my thighs in anticipation.
Slowly, he pulls the T-shirt he’s wearing over his head, and I’m treated to a full view of the toned stomach I saw during his run. Not quite weightlifter ripped, Fletcher is fit in a normal way. He’s toned, with larger muscles in his lean arms from all the woodworking. The summer months have tanned his skin to a cognac gleam, and that trail of hair I know leads to a sizable cock has me wishing for friction between my legs.
His blue eyes never leave mine as he kicks his shoes off at the same time he unbuckles his belt. All the while I have to keep from putting my hand between my thighs and rubbing. I want him to do that, I’ve waited so long for him to do that.
With one seamless motion, Fletcher bends down, obscuring himself from view as I try to lift my head higher to see over the edge of his king bed. And then he’s back, his long, agile body completely bared to me.
He’s gorgeous, all tan skin and dark hair, with the lengthy build of a swimmer. Broad shoulders lead to his trim torso and to narrowed hips. His cock displays itself prominently, not even bobbing in the air, that’s how rigid with arousal it is.
I’m about to scoot off the bed and onto my knees, because lord was it an ego boost sucking him off, but Fletcher is too quick for me. In seconds, he’s pinning me beneath him, all over our parts lining up in delicious synchronicity.
“I’ve wanted you like this for a very long time,” he whispers, his eyes vulnerable.
I nod. “I’ve fantasized about you.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “I’d like to hear all of those, in vivid detail. But for now, I want to live up to them.”
His lips take mine in a haunting, slow perusal. The kiss is gentle but searing, heartfelt but dirty. I have a feeling that everything I assumed about Fletcher Nash in the bedroom is going to be severely shattered in the coming hours.
A callused palm brushes my right nipple, and I gasp into his mout
h. He swallows it, never letting up on the kiss as his fingers trace the outline of my breast. Languid digits explore my breasts, hitting all the sensitive spots that make my nerve endings come alive. By the time Fletcher pulls away from my mouth, I’m practically suffocating on my need to come.
With just kisses, he’s done that.
His head dips to my left breast, and he plucks my nipple with his teeth. I can’t stop watching him as he explores my body; it’s like I’m participating, but I’m not. I’m a voyeur, getting turned on simply from the act of watching him turn me on.
After a few minutes, he picks his head up and looks me in the eyes.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll last. So, I’m going to make you come with my mouth first. Your taste on my tongue, that’s what I want to remember far after this is over.”
Those words alone have me dripping wet arousal onto the sheets.
With that, Fletcher’s face disappears between my legs, and in another instant, I’m throwing my head back into the mattress.
“Oh, fuck, yes …” I moan loudly, because it’s been too long since a man’s mouth was where I desperately need it to be.
I’ve always loved sex. Everything about it, from the dirty to the intimate. It’s natural for me to crave foreplay and intercourse all hours of the day. The fact that I wasn’t feeding that need, especially with Fletcher, is a damn shame. One we’ll have to make up for over and over again tonight.
Especially, since this man knows what he’s doing with this mouth. He licks up my center, his tongue flat and wide, until I’m oversensitive and writhing. My fists dig into the sheets, and I want to grip his hair and grind down onto his face, but I can’t seem to move my rubbery muscles. That’s when Fletcher blows lightly on my clit, and I nearly catapult to the ceiling. But he doesn’t let up, following that up with a nip of his teeth on the bundle of nerves, and immediately inserting one digit between my swollen lips.
Falter: The Nash Brothers, Book Four Page 12
