That was when Nick finally kissed me.

* * * * *

1:02 – Sunday Morning

“Fuck,” Nick grunted.

I’d had my bare ass to the top step to his bedroom, my legs had been around his hips as I took his cock, but I’d pulled off, squirmed up, turned to crawl out from under him to force him to follow me to the bed.

He didn’t follow me to the bed.

He wrapped an arm around my belly and yanked me back, pulling me between his legs. My thighs pressed together but bent at the hips, he rammed back in.

I moaned and pulled forward against the strong hold he had on me but only to drive myself back.

I heard his noises, thick and deep and greedy, mingling with my own, which were soft and desperate, and a wave of wet hit between my legs as a shaft of electricity shot from clit to nipples.

I drove back harder.

Nick thrust in faster.

I was close and I wanted it to happen together.

I tossed my hair to look over my shoulder at him.

“Come,” I ordered.

His liquid blue eyes came to me as he kept fucking me. “Do not come.”

“Come,” I hissed.

He pulled out.

“No!” I snapped.

He straightened, taking his feet and taking me with him, my ass in his hips, my back to his front.

I tried twisting in his arms.

Instead, I fell forward to the bed as Nick fell with me.

I tried to regain my knees and add my hands under me.

Nick used his weight to subdue me, his strong thighs to push between mine, and then he was filling me again, thrusting deep with me on my belly.

I stilled just so I could fully experience that beauty.

He didn’t still but shoved a hand under me, straight down, finger to my clit.

“Now you come,” he demanded in my ear.

I lifted my hips to get more of his cock at the same time I undulated them against his finger.

“Sebring,” I gasped.

“Come,” he ordered.

My entire body started trembling.

“Fuckin’ come,” he growled.

Shuddering under him, I came.

Spectacularly.

* * * * *

2:24 – Sunday Morning

Nick had me pressed against my car, one arm around me, his other hand in my hair at the side of my head.

“You’re a fuckin’ nut,” he muttered, looking amused.

“I am?” I asked, sounding confused.

“Olivia, you’re drivin’ home instead of sleepin’ in my bed and wakin’ up in a few hours on a Sunday, a day I think it’s a law is supposed to be lazy, which means I’ll fuck you slow then make you breakfast. And, just sayin’, I make fucking great cinnamon French toast.”

I’d had more than spaghetti from Nick, it had all been good, so I knew without a doubt he made great cinnamon French toast.

I also knew I wanted to taste it.

But what I knew most of all was that this was all I had left to hold on to in order to keep sane, smart and stay safe.

Leaving.

We could text. We could phone. We could make plans. I could eat with him. I could fuck him. We could chat.

But I was not spending the night.

“Maybe some other time,” I told him.

He looked at me, mouth twitching, head slightly shaking, knowing there would be no other time.

“A fuckin’ nut,” he muttered again, not sounding broken up about it and still looking amused.

I liked seeing him amused even if I wished he sounded broken up about me not spending the (whole) night.

Before I could come to terms with those contradictory emotions, he bent in, brushed his mouth to mine, moved back an inch and said, still with mouth twitching, “Seven tonight, babe. Pork chops.”

It was then I realized why he wasn’t broken up and why he was amused.

Because he knew in just fifteen and a half hours, I’d be back.

Okay, maybe I was a nut.

I imagined Nick made superb pork chops.

But I was stuck on cinnamon French toast.

“Perhaps we can have breakfast for dinner,” I suggested.

His body started shaking as his mouth stopped twitching and began smiling. “Got a rule about my French toast. That bein’ you gotta earn it by makin’ me come in the morning.”

I wondered how many women had earned that.

Just as quickly as I wondered that, for peace of mind I stopped wondering.

“Hmm…” I murmured.

His smile got bigger as his laughter became audible.

And his eyes were dancing in the parking lot lights when he whispered, “A fuckin’ nut.”

I liked that. It was a sweet tease, saying he found me amusing which meant a lot to me.

Too much.

So much it hurt when he again moved in, touched his mouth to mine, but this time, when he moved back, he let me go.

“Drive safe home,” he ordered.

I nodded and made myself move immediately to get in my car.

And it hurt again when I watched through my rearview mirror as he did as he always did, jogged right up to his place instead of standing in the parking lot watching me drive away.

Maybe, I told myself, when I came back the night after he watched me drive away, I’d stay.

Maybe.

Then again, I figured he jogged right up to his place because he didn’t want me to see him watching me drive away.

Or, like it would have been if I was in his position, he didn’t allow himself that intimacy but instead, forced himself to turn his back on what we had and jog away.

* * * * *

8:27 Sunday Night