by Sara Cate
His jaw is clenched. His eyes are shrouded in pain and laced with anger. I can’t help but reach up and touch his jaw, gliding along the smooth skin of his chin and back to his hair. Then I see what’s really going on. He’s insecure, and he’s lashing out to protect himself.
“I thought you’d be happy to see me. I don’t understand why you’re attacking me,” I say.
Without relaxing his chin or shoulders, he argues. “I am happy to see you, but it doesn’t change anything.”
My fingers run into his hair and along his scalp, and I feel him relax. His forehead falls forward until it meets mine, and I get lost in those crystal blues.
While I’m with Nash, I think only of Nash. It’s like I can’t see what’s out of my line of vision. And when I’m with Alistair…
“I’m real,” I say, trying to pull his lips closer to mine.
His eyes search my face, and I know he’s looking for honesty. Nash just wants something real, and if I’m only here because his dad is paying me to be, then how can he be sure I’m really here for him? I know Nash doesn’t answer well to orders or persuasion, but he wants me, nevertheless. The chemistry between us exists, no matter how much we want to avoid it.
The noisy VIP lounge isn’t quite the place for talking so before I can say anything else, Nash pulls me by the hand toward the exit. He waves at Hank in the corner who nods back as Nash and I escape to the elevator that takes us down to the floor-level entrance. I notice some commotion among the girls as we leave, and I’m sure I’ll have a couple death threats by morning.
Once we’re outside, Nash walks ahead of me toward the water. I realize that he could have told me to fuck off and went back to his little fan club. He didn’t have to leave with me, but even after one week, we’re both in too deep. We’ve opened a door, and we can’t just ignore what we’ve discovered on the other side.
I don’t know if he is going to go back to the way he was because I'm here, but I’m pretty fucking sure he’s going to change after all of this. I’m pretty sure I am too. But that’s what grief does to you. It takes the puzzle pieces of your life and tosses them in the air. Nothing lands back where it’s supposed to, and the damn thing will probably never be fully put together again, but that doesn’t mean we can just stop living. We’ve become someone new, navigating our lives without our siblings, the people we started our lives with.
I suspect Nash sort of hates me deep down. I think he loves something about the way we are together and the control I make him fight for. Maybe he sees a new version of himself when he’s with me, someone more like his dad and it scares the shit out of him, but the fact that he’s here with me on this sidewalk and not in that club means he’s willing to see it through.
And suddenly, so am I. And not just for the money. I want to see the version of Zara that comes out of all of this.
“I don’t want to care about you, Zara,” he says, and I smile. Well, that was brutally honest, but I kind of love it. Somehow, it’s fucking sexy.
“I don’t want to care about you either, Nash.”
When he looks at me, he’s wearing a stern, contemplative expression with his eyebrows pinched and his lips pursed. So I snatch him by the arm and pull him closer. Following my lead, he backs me into the brick wall of the old building.
“But you do, don’t you?” he asks, hovering his mouth over mine. I’m lost in the darkness of his eyes.
“Do you?”
“Why do you think I was so desperate to get away from you?” he asks, and I tilt my head in confusion. “You’re caught between us, Zara. You’ve landed right in the crossfire, and you should be very careful about who you fuck with because neither of us play nice.”
“I’m not afraid of either of you,” I answer, looking up at him.
As he leans his mouth closer to mine, he whispers, “I wish you were.”
When our lips touch, I stop thinking. My mind quiets as I get lost in his kiss. When his tongue licks a line across the sharp ridges of my teeth, my vision practically blurs. As he pulls away, I sway where I stand and when he puts out a hand to guide me to the dock where his boat is waiting, I blindly follow.
The boat is, no surprise, massive. It looks to be about three levels with a large screened balcony on the main deck and a set of stairs that leads to a lower level. It’s dark, so I let him lead the way as we descend. As we pass through the door, I spot the single large bed in the back. I freeze as we both stare at it. I’m sure Nash is wondering what I’m going to let happen tonight, but I already know the answer to that question.
I know what I want. The thought of him holding me down, gripping me tight, punishing me for all of the things that have been going through my head lately, especially about Alistair has my body warming. Arousal pools at my core, and I stand in front of the bed while Nash pulls a water bottle out of the fridge behind me. When I turn around he’s staring at me, looking like there as many thoughts racing through his head as there are in mine.
“I think you were right,” I say, watching the way his chest rises and falls with every single heavy breath. “I want you to fight for it, Nash.”
He sets the water bottle down on the table and walks toward me in slow deliberate steps. Stopping just a foot away, I wait for him to attack. I’m ready for it.
His face is unreadable, and my pulse pounds in my chest, waiting.
“I told you, Zara. I don’t want to be that guy.” There is pain on his face with his clenched jaw and furrowed brow. All I can think is that I need him to release whatever he is holding onto. The pain, the anger, the regret, the guilt. And I realize that I can recognize these things in him because I feel them in myself too.
I reach up, putting my hands on his chest, feeling the blood pump through his heart in a quick thump-thump rhythm against my fingers.
“Nash,” I whisper, avoiding that intense gaze of his. “The pain you feel is the same pain I feel.”
“You have no idea, Zara.”
Looking up at him, the air between us grows thick. For the first time, he acknowledges the thing he’s feeling, and I’m hungry for it. Ravenous. I need it all. I need to heal every ounce of his pain.
“Yes, I do. I know it’s not just grief. I know it’s the guilt eating you up. Guilt for surviving. For outliving them. For feeling like they took the wrong one.”
He doesn’t respond, but there’s a flinch in the muscle under his eye, and I know I struck a nerve.
“I know it’s anger too. Helplessness. And rage because life robbed you and there is nothing you can do to change it. You can’t make anyone pay for what’s been taken.”
My heart pours out of my chest for him. I’ve never said these things out loud, but God how I’ve felt them. These hidden, almost foreign feelings that have had the nerve to make me so fucking miserable for the last two years without letting me understand them at the same time.
“It’s been bottled up and boiling over, and the thought of going on with your old life seems fucking unbearable because of how unfair it is. So you numb everything. Your pain, your happiness, your entire life. Get drunk, get high, turn up the music, and escape it all.”
He doesn’t move, but his face softens. So I step forward until I’m standing toe to toe with him. My fingers travel upward toward his neck, running against the smooth skin, pulling his face toward me. Just before his lips are close enough to touch, he snatches my wrists in his hands and stops me.
Something pierces my chest as I stare up at him, and it’s like absolutely everything around us fades, evaporating into nothing and the world stops existing until it’s only Nash and me.
My pain recognizes his pain.
Pulling his head down toward me, I latch onto his lips in a crushing kiss. His arms envelope me at the waist as he kisses me back, his tongue caressing mine. Everything between us grows hungry, and we begin clawing at each other’s clothes, him tearing my shirt over my head as I pull apart the buttons of his. When his chest is bare, I run my hands along every ridge of
muscles, letting my nails scrape his skin.
I want him so bad it hurts, but I’m hungry for something else too.
Pulling our mouths away, I look him in the eye.
“Take it out on me, Nash.”
A deep, rumbling growl echoes through the room as his eyelids lower, his gaze full of lust. Still, he’s hesitating. I know he wants this, but he still thinks he’s protecting me.
“I want you to.” Pulling his hand up slowly, I place it against the base of my throat, and I hold back all of the emotion bubbling in my chest. “I need you to.”
His restraint snaps.
With a clench of his jaw, he tosses me against the mattress. He stares at me with a feral look in his eyes as he sheds his clothes. Squirming in anticipation, I watch as he unbuckles his jeans, pulling them down until his cock springs free.
In the next heartbeat, his body is covering mine. Everything happens so fast, his eyes on my face as he grabs my wrists, clenching them together in one hand as his other hand bunches the bottom of my dress up to my waist. Then, he rips my underwear away in a quick jerk, the fabric burning my skin as it tears.
I let out a strangled gasp once I’m naked, exposed and laid out before him like a trapped prey. He pauses to take a look at me, my bare sex on the mattress beneath and his eyes turn wild.
“Look at that pretty little cunt,” he growls. His fingers glide through the arousal pooling there, coating me as if he’s preparing me, and I can't hold my body still. The need is overwhelming.
When I feel the silky head of him line up against my entrance, I nearly cry. He’s teasing me. His eyes are on my face, stone cold and emotionless as he drags each second on, torturing both of us.
With one fierce thrust, he pierces me roughly. It’s pain mixed with pleasure, and I let out a guttural cry. His free hand clamps over my mouth as he thrusts again, this time even harder.
“We’re not on a private island anymore.”
But I can’t keep quiet. I feel restless with a thirst that is unquenchable. I want it harder, faster, deeper. I need all of it, all of him.
His movements are slow and forceful, slamming into me one thrust at a time, stopping after each one to measure my reaction. The more he does this the more I squirm and writhe. Then I let out another cry as he hits that spot inside me that feels tethered to my heart.
I can’t take my eyes off of him, desperate to memorize this version of him, unhinged and free. He’s fucking me like he has a score to settle, like he needs it to survive, and maybe he does.
I know I do. I need this more than I realized. I need him to fuck out every thought in my head, every misplaced desire, every ounce of false hope. If being with Nash means embracing the darkness, then I want it.
“Just fuck me,” I gasp. But before I can come, he pulls out, letting go of my wrists to flip me over to my stomach. Yanking my hips back to meet his, he enters me with force again, and I am so dangerously close to shattering.
When his hand lands roughly against my ass, the sting sends waves of pleasure up my spine. I’m not going to last long, but I know he’s not letting me come yet.
With a hand at my throat, he pounds into me. My body is torn by pain and pleasure, a fire burning under every spot his skin touches mine. I know his grip on my neck and hips will leave marks, and I’m desperate for it. I want his marks. I want all of his scars.
Then, as I’m chasing my orgasm, another face pops into my mind. I think about my hand on Alistair’s leg on the ride over, the sound of his voice in the headphones, the feel of his arms around me while I panicked. Then I think about him behind me, imagining it’s him filling me with every thrust. It’s his hand on my clit instead of my own. He’s grunting and taking my body, and with that vision, I come. My body seizes up, and I’m flying. It’s like I’m back in that helicopter, coursing through the sky, weightless and free.
As I fall back down to earth, Nash slows his thrusts, and his hand moves from my throat to my cheek. Gently he pulls my face back until our mouths are fused. The kiss is deep and passionate, but not punishing. In fact, it’s like everything in him changes from hard to sensual as his hands move to roam the landscape of my body, kneading each breast while the other arm wraps around me, squeezing me tight.
With his eyes clenched shut and his breath mixed with mine, I feel him jerk as he comes inside me. It doesn’t escape me the way he needed to feel my nearness, taste my kiss before he could let himself go.
And shame floods my vision as I think about what made me come.
After we each shower in the tiny bathroom not fit for two people, we crawl back into bed. Something about Nash has changed. Like admitting his feelings earlier brought them to the surface, and I see the weight of his emotions on his face.
Nestling my face against his chest, I run my hands in circular patterns over his body hoping it will relax him.
“How did you get here?” he asks, and I know he’s referring to the mainland.
“Your dad flew me over.”
He pulls his head back to look down at me. “Really?”
“Are you angry?”
His gaze softens and travels back to settle without focus on the dark room. “No. I’m glad you got over your fear.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m exactly over it,” I reply with a laugh.
After a heavy silence, he adds, “I think you should let him teach you how to fly.”
This time it’s my turn to look at him incredulously. “But you said—”
“I know what I said, Zara, but I tend to exaggerate a little when I’m drunk. Especially where things with him are concerned.”
“I wish you’d tell me what happened between you two.”
He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s complicated.”
“I don’t care.”
There’s a lot of contemplation on his part before he finally turns to face me with his elbow resting on the pillow. Then after more deliberation, he says, “My dad and I have always been alike, like so similar it felt like I was just another version of him. The next Alistair Wilde, everyone called me. And I was proud of that, but then...” he says, stopping to take a deep breath and swallow down his emotions. “Then, I saw a different side of him. Something...that made me realize I didn’t want to be like him anymore.”
“What was it?”
He lets out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t want to say, but the point is...my dad takes what he wants. I used to admire that. Until he crossed a line. I didn’t know what he was capable of.”
“So, don’t be like him” I reply, touching his lips. “But I wish you’d tell me—”
“There are things I have to leave out, Zara. But all that matters is I don’t want to be like him anymore. So when Preston died, I decided I couldn’t be Nash anymore.” He leans back against the headboard, and my heart aches for him.
He turns to me after a moment, sincerity in his eyes. “You know what’s weird, though? I think you’re helping him as much as you’re helping me, and he doesn’t even know it. Having someone to teach how to fly again, having someone at the house balance out all the anger between us.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead before he settles his head on the pillow, pulling me to his chest.
“And I honestly wonder which of us needs you more.”
Before I can say another word, he rolls over, ending our conversation. I’m left speechless.
This thing between me and Nash isn’t like any relationship I’ve been in before. It’s not even like a relationship really. It’s just another way we’re getting through, a band aid for our bullet wounds, and I know it’s not built to last. I see what he needs, and I crave the crazy he can unleash.
But I did not expect this. I can’t get over this thought that he knows how much Alistair needs me too, and I didn’t even realize it.
17
“Done,” I announce, slamming the book closed. I’m lying on Alistair’s office floor, staring up at him while
he types away on his laptop.
“And?” he says flatly without looking at me.
“And you’re right. I will always remember the last book I read now.” Sitting up, I stare at the cover, running my fingers along the title.
“You’re not going to read another one?”
“Maybe.” I sort of hate the idea of starting a new story, but I like these casual moments while I’m reading in his office while he works. I know I could take my book to literally a hundred different places on the island, but there’s something comfortable about this. It’s like a cure for my loneliness, and the only person I was ever able to be alone with without feeling the pressure to talk was Emma.
The morning Nash and I woke up on the boat felt like the start of something new. We started to understand each other more that day. We understood this thing between us was about more than a deal with his dad or the money I would be making. It wasn’t about a relationship or love. It was about an outlet for our pain. We found comfort in spilling our secrets to each other, the innermost dark things that we’ve been feeling since the crash.
But Nash also started a train of thought in my head that night too—about Alistair. Is my presence affecting him too? I glance over at him, no longer seeing the powerful god among men, but a man with flaws like the rest of us. Alistair is hiding his pain behind walls just like Nash and I are, and if what he said is true, that I’m strong enough to handle Nash...am I strong enough to handle him too?
“You need another flying lesson,” he blurts out, catching me off guard. It’s been a week since I flew with him that night, and I was sort of hoping he’d forget about the flying lesson idea. My shoulders tighten, and I turn to glance in his direction.
“Not going to happen.”
“Tomorrow morning,” he says, ignoring my protest. “Seven a.m.”
“Are you hard of hearing? I’m not learning to fly that thing.”
