Wild Abandon (27 page)

He reaches for me and places soft kisses along my neck. Goose bumps run up my back.

“I want to say the words,” his pained voice whispers into my hair. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“
Olive juice,
” I breathe.

And his lips become harder, firmer on my skin.

With wild abandon, I run. Not from him. I run to him.

I throw my hands around his neck and kiss him with every ounce of fight and trepidation I have.

My legs wrap around his waist, and Nate walks me over to the desk, kicks the chair behind him, and sets me down. His denim-clad groin pushes against me, and I gasp when he brushes up against the sensitive core. He feels my response, and with his hand on my lower back, his other on my hip, and his mouth hard against mine, he grinds against me again and again, making me squirm.

When his hand rubs a palm against my breast, my nipples harden, and I nearly come out of my skin.

“Even better than my dreams,” he groans.

He uses two hands to pull and tug on my breasts, and he rubs against me. I cry out when his mouth bows down, his tongue nipping and sucking along the pebbled ridge.

He glides my panties down my legs and slides his hand between the folds. My hips twitch when his fingers hit my clit.

“Holy shit, that feels so good,” I cry when he inserts two fingers deep inside, filling me in a way I didn’t know I craved.

Nate growls, seriously growls, as he falls to his knees and takes my clit into his mouth. My knees tighten around his head.

With a free hand, he pushes them apart and sits back to look at me. “Oh my God, you’re perfect.” He dips down and runs his tongue up where his hand just was. “You taste like a miracle.” He takes another swipe, and I start to pant. “And you look like a fucking goddess. How did I get so lucky?” He dives back in and licks and nips and savors every teeny-tiny fiber of my swollen core.

My hips buck, and he holds me down. My climax building higher and higher, I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. I just inhale and inhale, and when the feeling is so intense, so exquisite, I come so hard on his mouth, and I scream so loud that I’m sure they can hear me in the Atlantic.

And he’s not stopping. Like a man caged for centuries, he is unleashed and continuing his assault on me. My body has never been abused in this way, and I hardly recognize the internal build again, the sensation and intoxication that comes with multiple orgasms. My control is pouring out of me, and my need for the man is so intense that I have to have him.

With my left foot, I push him into the chair behind him, causing the casters to wheel him back a few feet. I fall to my knees and unbutton his jeans. He lifts his hips as I guide his jeans and boxers down to his knees. His erection springs free, beautifully corded and swollen, ready to be taken.

So, I take him. In my mouth. Slick, wet, and deep.

“Crystal!”

My name from his mouth only pushes me to suck on him hard. I want to do nothing but bring pleasure to this man. I run my tongue along the vein and use my free hand to gently pump him where my mouth can’t reach.

“Fuck,” he cries.

But I’m soon realizing that it’s not out of pleasure. It’s in frustration.

I rise onto my knees when he takes my hands in his and kisses me.

“I didn’t bring condoms. Crystal, I…I didn’t think this was possible. I want to be with you, but—”

“I have them.” I swallow, realizing he probably thinks I was planning this. “Naomi thought they might come in handy.”

He kisses me again. “Naomi’s a fucking genius.”

I smile and watch as he walks to my bag. With his back to me, he slides the condom on. I want every single piece of him. Every inch, every heartbeat.

What I don’t want is him on the bed.

When he turns around, I stand up, take him by the hand, and walk him over to the couch. I want to feel him in me as deep as humanly possible. Pushing him down onto the cushions, I place my knees on each side of his hips and straddle him. Sweeping my hand around his neck, I run my free hand through his hair. His dark waves make his green eyes piercing. He is absolutely gorgeous.

“I heard you liked to grab a guy’s hair,” he says.

It’s not a joke. He’s serious.

“You did this for me?”

“Everything is for you.”

His mouth finds mine again, and when his tongue sweeps against my lips, I know there is no one else I ever want to kiss for as long as I live.

I rise up and hold him in my hands, just outside my entrance, and then I lower myself on him, causing us both to gasp into each other’s mouths.

Nate sits up and wraps his arms around me, and I do the same to him. Our bodies move together, our hearts beat as one, and our fears erase each other’s. I ride him until I feel the burn again. My hips grind, and his rise to meet me. Together, we move—one being, one soul.

I cry when he rubs me so hard from the inside that I come undone. And when he loses control inside me, it’s with a growl so intense that the beast is finally released and free with my name on his lips.

chapter EIGHTEEN

“Do you believe in fate?” Nate asks.

Nate and I are tangled in bedsheets—my leg wrapped around his torso, his hand running soft fingers along my back.

“Nathaniel Teller, I hardly pictured you as someone who believed in things happening for a reason.”

“I forgot to lock the door. I never forget to lock the door.”

I lift my head from the nook of his arm and curve my brows at him.

He kisses my nose and clarifies, “The first day you walked into the bar. You should never have been there.”

“It’s a good thing you were forgetful.” I run my hand through his hair. I can’t get enough of it. “I suppose I do believe in fate. Fate that Naomi met a guy from California, moved here, and convinced me to get on a plane.”

Nate looks up at the ceiling, his focus lost somewhere else. “Do you believe bad things happen for a reason, too?”

His words are reminiscent of one of the first things he ever said to me.
“I believe in love just as much as I believe in death.”

Placing my hand on his cheek, I guide him back to me. “I think things happen in life that are out of our control. It’s what we do with our lives afterward that matters.”

Nate clenches his eyes closed and takes a deep breath. “You have no idea how amazing you are, do you?”

“I have a pretty good idea,” I tease. “But if you care to tell me how amazing I am, I’m more than happy to listen.”

Nate rolls me onto my back, the full weight of him above me for the third time tonight. The darkened San Francisco sky is cascading us in our cocoon. A condom is torn open with his teeth.

“How about I show you?”

Before I know it, he is showing me very, very deeply.

Buzz. Chime.

“Ignore it.” His nose is buried in my hair.

I can’t even breathe from what he’s doing, let alone speak to answer him.

Buzz. Chime.

“Next time I take you away, we’re leaving our phones at home,” he says into my mouth.

Buzz. Chime.

“I really think you should get it. Just don’t stop doing that.” I reach a hand onto the nightstand and hand him the offending phone.

“Leave it.”

Buzz. Chime.

I drop my hand onto the bed, and his eye catches the incoming number.

“Fuck!”

With a rapid pace, Nate is off me and sitting up on the bed, his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

I sit up and pull the sheet over my bare breasts, and I peer over Nate’s shoulder. His brows are knit tightly together, and his mouth is pinched.

“What do you mean she…” He puts his hand to his mouth. His eyes are wide with worry. “Where is she?”

He’s standing up, looking furiously around the room for his clothes. After pulling his jeans on, he throws his sneakers on without socks.

Knowing something urgent is happening, I get up and throw on my yoga pants, which were sitting at the top of my bag, and I slide on my shoes.

He hangs up the phone and starts pacing. He can’t find his shirt.

“What happened?”

His hands are a jittery mess. His eyes are rabid with panic. “She…she had a seizure. She hasn’t had one in over a year. They put her in a coma—”

“Who, Nate? Who is in a coma?”

“My wife!” he shouts, flipping over cushions on the sofa.

My bra and T-shirt from last night are on the floor. I grab them and see his shirt peeking out from under the bed. I pick it up and hand it to Nate, and then he is running out the door.

Purse in hand, I chase after him.

His wife?

Nate hits the button for the elevator, but it isn’t coming fast enough. He punches the wall out of frustration and runs his hands through his hair.

I can’t believe he’s married. I should want to scream at him, call him obscenities, tear his shirt off, spit in his face, and kick him in the balls.

But I don’t do any of the above.

There is something in the way he’s biting on his fingernail. In the way he’s mumbling to himself. In the way his feet can’t stop moving in place, anxious to get out of here.

We step onto the elevator, and his eyes well up when he sees my lone Giants jacket strung in the corner, the same spot he threw it just hours ago when he couldn’t get my clothes off fast enough.

When he told me he was falling in love with me.

We rush out the elevator and are quickly in front of the hotel. I run into the middle of the street and stop a cab. Nate flies in, and I get in next to him.

“Golden Gate Rehabilitation,” he tells the driver.

He spends the rest of the drive looking frightened, staring wide-eyed out the front window, willing streetlights to change and traffic to move.

We pull up to our destination, and Nate scurries while I pay the fare. It doesn’t bother me. I could use the moment to collect myself. Figure out what the hell is happening.

Yes, let’s go there.

What the hell is happening?

Twenty minutes ago, I was making love to Nate, and now, I’m standing outside a beige building where
his wife
is inside.

Does she work here? Is she a patient?

Oh my God, he has a wife. He’s married.

And I followed him. Here.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Do you ever have one of those moments when you run on autopilot, not necessarily doing the right or wrong thing? You’re just moving along with the actions because you haven’t had a moment to process what is actually happening.

That is me.

And call me a glutton for punishment because my feet are moving through the threshold, despite my brain telling them to stay away.

My heart even knows it’s about to break.

But my feet have a mind of their own.

“What happened?”

I hear Nate’s voice nearby. There is no one at the reception desk, so I peer down a corridor and see him talking to someone, a nurse perhaps.

“She’s okay. The doctor was able to stop the seizing. We have her…”

She is speaking, but all I can hear is the way Nate cries at what she’s saying. He’s tugging at his hair with one hand, the other covering his mouth, his eyes crimson. The nurse puts her hand on his arm, and he seems to relax at what she’s saying to him.

“Where is she?” he asks.

The nurse takes him through a set of double doors, and I stand, cowering behind a wall, as the doors close behind them.

The welcome sign on the wall says,
Golden Gate Long-Term Care and Rehabilitation
. The lobby area is large yet empty, closed for the day for visitors. They must have opened the door for Nate. Leaving it open for me was an accident. With marble floor, maroon chairs, and a wooden desk, the lobby is eerily quiet.

I move down the hall, passing the recreation room. My footsteps echo in the soundless space. Tables and chairs, board games, a sofa, and TV. Vending machines along the far wall. All unoccupied.

I walk toward the double doors where Nate disappeared. It’s open. The hall is empty, but there is the distinct sound of moaning. Someone is in pain or discomfort. I look into the room where the sounds are coming from and see a man in a hospital bed, calling out into the air. I want to go in and help him, but I can’t.

Many of the doors are closed. A food cart in the hallway has empty trays. There is an open door at the end of the hallway, a dim light pouring in. I walk closer and see the sign above the room says,
Medical Center
.

Someone is approaching, so I dip into a doorway and hide in the shadows. I don’t know why I’m hiding, but I do. A doctor walks out and down the hallway. I wait until he is out the double doors I came through before I step out of the shadows.

I walk through the opening of the Medical Center. The light is brighter in here. A nurse has her back to me, filling out a chart. When she’s done, she walks away, and I move past the nurses’ station to where there are two rooms. One is empty. The other takes my breath away.

Beside the bed, Nate is on his knees, head bowed. He could be praying, but by the way his back is shaking, I know he’s crying.

He is clasping the hand of the woman sleeping on the bed. Her hair is overgrown yet still has the shine that comes with youth. She has black hair and very pale skin. Her features are pretty with bowed lips and a straight nose. Her face has a puffiness to it, and even in sleep, it looks to be asymmetrical.

His wife. How old could she be? My age? So young and living in a long-term care facility?

“Do you believe bad things happen for a reason?”

What kind of awful event could have taken away a young woman’s ability to live on her own?

“Only the good die young.”

But she’s not dead. She’s very much alive, as proven by the way he is stroking her hair and kissing her knuckles.

“I’m here. I’m here now. I’m here. And I’m sorry. So sorry. I should have been here. It was my day. I wasn’t here for you. Did you know I wasn’t here? Do you know me? It’s Nate. I’m here. I will always be here. I won’t ever leave you alone again.” His breath is ragged, like he’s trying to talk through the tears. “Open your eyes. Wake up for me. Tell me you know me. Tell me you’re there. I can’t believe I…” His head falls to the bed. The last words are muffled as he says, “I’m so sorry.”