Jay Crownover - Nash

My hands were on his chest and I used them to start pulling his shirt up across his flat stomach. He helped by lifting his arms up as much as he could. Considering the confined space and how broad across he was, it took a little finesse to get the fabric out of my way. Goose bumps danced across his golden skin and I bent my head to trace the ones across his collarbone with the tip of my tongue, which made him grunt.

“Now I want to kiss you.”

He was still holding my hair like a rope, so he had to loosen his hold when I ran the flat of my tongue over one of his nipples and then the other.

He swore and muttered, “Headed the wrong direction for that, pretty lady.”

I traced the ridges of his defined abs with my fingers and watched in delight as the muscles tensed and flexed along with the caress. It made it look like the wings along his abs were fluttering in the night air.

“No I’m not. I’m a little worried about working around all that metal down there, but I’m definitely headed in the right direction.”

He swore again and I started working on his belt buckle. It wasn’t something I had done more than once and Nash was working with some heavy-duty equipment, but I was fascinated by it all and wanted to make him feel as good as he always made me feel.

“Just act like it isn’t there.”

“Why? It might be my favorite part.”

He laughed again, but it turned into a groan when he fell out hot and hard into my waiting hands. He was throbbing, thick and anxious, as I hovered over him. I rubbed my thumb over the ring in the tip and his entire body jerked in response. I let out a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding and he muttered my name softly as the moist air caressed his ready flesh.

I dropped my head and pulled the pierced head into my mouth. It was a texture and sensation overload, must have been for him, too, because he bowed up and his hand jerked on my hair hard enough that it hurt a little bit.

“Jesus.” No, not quite, just Saint, but I would take it as a sign he liked it.

I rolled the hoop across my tongue, skated down over that hidden barbell and farther down the shaft until I felt like I couldn’t take any more. I slid back up and repeated the exact same motion again, only this time I added a hand around the base that I squeezed with my bobbing motion because he was just too much to take in. He said my name again, I felt the legs I was using to brace on tense and his stomach go rock-hard, but right as I was starting to taste the slippery, salty release that would let me know it was a job well done, he pulled at my hair so hard it actually hurt for real and yanked me up and off of him.

He was breathing hard and his eyes were indigo. “If you do that much longer, one of us is gonna end up cold and horny. Hint, it won’t be me.”

He started pulling on my stretchy yoga pants. I was super glad I had worn something that was easy to wiggle and twist out of with very little room and big impatient hands getting in my way. He abandoned the bottom half of my outfit and went to work manhandling my tank top off over my head. I had to admit it was gratifying that I could actually feel how ready, how needy, he was for me. That was a powerful mood enhancer, and as soon as I got my panties off over the toe of my sneaker and he had himself covered, he pulled me down over him and we both made a noise that could only be described as animalistic. It was guttural, deep, and we both felt it as we joined together.

I leaned forward a little and he took advantage of my new position by pulling my nipple into his mouth. I felt the tug and pull all the way at my core, just like I felt the way that metal he was wearing pressed insistently against my G-spot. I moved up and down, set a quick and hurried pace because it was cold and because I knew he was already close. It felt amazing; he always knew what do to build the pleasure up, to take me out of myself and just feel, but given the tight quarters, the limited mobility either of us had, I could tell he was holding back, could see the tendons in his neck straining while he waited for me to catch up.

“Nash …”

“Shit, Saint, you’re gonna have to help me out here. Give me a hand.” Both his hands were occupied helping me maintain the sexy ride up and down without hitting my head on the roof of the car. I glanced down at him and his meaning was clear. Sure, he could have finagled it, let go with one hand, but he was doing it again, pushing the boundaries I thought I knew were clear.

I didn’t even like to admit I touched myself to myself, and he wanted me to do it not only in front of him but while I was on top of him, joined to him. It was a clear challenge, one I should be pissed he was throwing down right in the middle of sex that was supposed to be nostalgic and fun, but I wanted to come, wanted him to let go because I could feel it pulsating in him. I loved how ridged and hard he was where he was buried inside me and he was holding on by a thread, forcing me to take one more step out of my comfort zone, trying to obliterate what I thought I knew.

I didn’t think, just let the hand that wasn’t holding on to the back of the front seat for balance dip between our undulating bodies, between my slick and spread folds, until I was touching that little heart of pleasure that was already sensitized and tight.

“Oh my.” It was barely a whisper that was drowned out by his roar of completion, just by watching me do what he asked.

It didn’t take much, just a feathery pet, a light stroke of a fingertip and I was shoved right over the edge right behind him. I was a lot quicker about it, but he pulled me across his heaving chest and sealed our mouths together in a kiss that tasted like satisfaction and always.

“That was probably the hottest, most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” He sounded gruff and a little winded.

I didn’t know what to say to that, never did, so I put my cheek on the hard curve of his pec and told him, “We’re getting really good at having sex while you’re still wearing your pants.”

He laughed drily and ran his hands softly up and down my spine. He didn’t call me on it, but I knew it bothered him that I never responded to his compliments. I wasn’t sure I was ever going to know how, that we were ever going to see the same person he saw when he looked at me.

“Wow, dude, this place … it’s epic.”

Rule let out a low whistle as we walked through the empty space that was going to be the home of the new shop. Time just kept rolling on, and before I knew, months had come and gone and I still hadn’t been to the place. Now I felt like a loser because it was epic and it was sandwiched between two of the busiest restaurants in LoDo, across the street from a popular sports bar, right around the corner from all the coffee shops and boutiques that drew people to LoDo in the first place. It was right in the heart of the thriving city and way more stylish and trendy than the Marked was. I felt seriously out of my depth here.

I rubbed the back of my neck and looked at Rule out of the corner of my eye. We didn’t exactly fit in here, and I had no idea how he and I, two beer and chicken-wings dudes, were supposed to make a place that looked like mimosas and caviar a moneymaking business. I felt like we were scaring the locals just by being here, and there was so much work to be done. All of it was overwhelming.

Before Phil had tied us into the place, it had been some kind of exotic tea and coffee shop. It wasn’t in any way set up to be a tattoo parlor, which is why Rule and I had taken the afternoon off to get the lay of the land and meet Rowdy’s friend so he could look the place over and tell us what he thought about it all. I thought it seemed like a long shot, but Rule was intrigued by it and he was totally on board with Rowdy’s idea about expanding what we did and turning the upstairs into a retail store. Besides, I owed Phil nothing less than making his dream a reality.

“We are going to turn this into such a badass shop.” Rule sounded so sure of that.

I wish I had his enthusiasm, and admittedly some of my hesitation came from the fact that Phil’s health was steadily declining. I was watching the disease wither him away, and there was nothing I could do about it. So investing in this shop, getting excited about it the way Rule was, seemed to me like I wasn’t even waiting until Phil was gone to act on his wishes. Plus he was still pushing me to ask my mom for answers to all the questions I had, and I didn’t want to waste any of the time we had left arguing about it with him.

“I feel like we’re going to need to offer our clients infused water and hot towels, as swanky as this location is.”

Rule laughed and walked to the glass door at the front to let in the guy who knocked. They shook hands, and now that I could put a name to the face, I knew I had seen him in Rowdy’s chair more than once. Zeb Fuller was a big dude with dark hair and a serious, unsmiling face. This wasn’t a guy that looked like he had ever lived life easy and carefree. He had Rowdy’s signature old-school style of tattooing scrolled all along both sides of his neck and peeking out of the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt.

He walked over and shook my hand as well and let his gaze search the mostly empty space. He totally looked like the kind of guy that could tear the place apart with his bare hands and then build it back up. I could see why Rowdy recommended him.

“Swanky digs.”

I chuckled at hearing my thoughts spoken aloud.

“Yeah.”

“So you want it gutted and made to look like the other shop? What exactly is the idea?”