I think the pregnancy is the part that pisses me off the most.
Ellie couldn’t just take the man I loved from me when I needed him the most. No, she had to go and get knocked up, rubbing that other thing I can never have in my face too.
Looking up at the blue sky, I try to blink away the tears stinging my eyes, thinking I maybe shouldn’t have decided to wear contacts this weekend. I really wish Nash was here with me, but he opted out of the boring rehearsal. Not that I blame him, but he did promise to join me for dinner.
Hanging out with him today, it was just as easy and fun as before. In fact, while I expected Nash to still be furious with me, he actually seemed to be going out of his way to be nice.
Even though there were plenty of chances, he still didn’t tell me about the search warrants or that he’s a suspect for several murders, so I pretended like I didn’t know that the clock was ticking on our time together.
I was also very aware of the fact that Nash didn’t try to kiss me again. Or touch me. Not even once. Which was incredibly disappointing.
Things have changed between us because of my lie by omission. I should probably give up on the delusion that Nash wants me. Maybe he did for a few brief hours or days. Not anymore.
At least I didn’t think he did until I came up to the room to grab him for dinner.
“Are you ready to go eat?” I ask him when I step into the room. By the time the door shuts behind me, I find Nash slouching in his black tee and faded jeans with his legs spread wide in the same armchair he sat in for hours last night, silent, staring off into nothing. Tonight, he’s not just looking at me, he’s staring me down.
“How was the rehearsal?” he asks while his amber eyes trail up and down the front of my body.
“Fine.”
“Liar.”
“I hated every second of it,” I admit truthfully on a sigh. “Happy?”
“No.” Great. We’re back to one-word answers, which I hate. In fact, his voice has never been as stern with me as it is right now. He looks and sounds angry, more so than he was yesterday.
“Everything okay?” I ask in concern.
“No.”
“Well? What’s wrong?”
For a moment, I think he’s going to finally tell me about the dead men. Maybe he talked to Malcolm while I was gone, except I haven’t seen his cell phone since he got in my car. But then he answers me.
“What’s wrong is that…fucking…dress,” is his long, drawn out response.
My dress is what’s making him grumpy? Huh.
“Ah, yeah, this is the one I bought when we went shopping,” I say, glancing down self-consciously at the tight, red material squeezing my boobs out the top. I don’t have to look at the back to know that it’s also hugging the cheeks of my ass precariously, just an inch lower than indecent. The color of my cheeks probably matches my dress by now since there is that teeny tiny secret of spying on Nash’s computer, knowing he watched the woman in a red dress masturbating that I haven’t admitted to yet. It seemed small potatoes, compared to not telling him I’m related to his ex-wife.
“Sit down on the bed, Lucy,” Nash orders me.
Now he wants to talk? I don’t even care if we’re late for dinner. This is much more important. He’s going to finally open up and trust me.
I walk carefully across the room and start to carefully squirm up on the foot of the bed, but Nash stops me. “Not there. Sit on the side facing me.”
“Okay,” I reply, going around and hopping up on the mattress that’s so high my feet dangle a few inches off the floor. “Is here good?”
“Not yet,” is his response. “Lie back and spread your legs”
“W-what?” I ask, since I must have misheard him.
Nash just gives me a nod of his head. “Go on. If you’re wearing panties, take them off first. You know what I want to see.”
“I do?” I say in confusion.
“The mouse cursor moved and gave you away,” Nash says. “Since both of my hands were busy at the time, I knew someone else was accessing my laptop.”
“Oh, that,” I remark to myself and accidently say it aloud, freezing in my spot on the bed.
“Yeah, that,” he grits out, his jaw tight. “Were you watching me too?”
“No,” I quickly answer. “At least, not that time.”
“But other times…” he trails off.
“I couldn’t see anything, just your face and arm.”
“So you knew what I was doing?”
“Yes,” I answer feebly.
“Now it’s only fair I get to watch you to make us even.”
“Why didn’t you say something before?” I ask.
When Nash’s hand reaches down to pop the button and unzip his jeans, I think I’m going to overheat and combust right here on the bed.
“Maybe I liked being watched,” he says as his hand disappears down the front of his open jeans. While I can’t see for sure, I assume he fists himself when his eyelids go heavy and his jaw tightens. “Or maybe I wasn’t as horny as I am right now. Either way, I’m ready for you to even this score.”
“Even the score by watching me…touch myself.”
“Get yourself off,” Nash corrects. “We’re not leaving until you come, so you better get busy if you want to make it to dinner.”
I don’t have to ask to know that he’s serious. And without a doubt, I’m certain that if I can climax thinking about Nash jerking off, then I can most likely do it while he’s watching me. Based on the back and forth movements of his forearm, he’s definitely chasing his own release, which is hot as hell.
Without further persuading needed, I reach under my dress and start tugging my red satin panties down my legs. When I toss them to the floor, Nash snatches them up with his left hand before they hit the carpet. He rubs the material between his thumb and finger with a grunt. Apparently, he likes the texture; because the next second, he’s whipping his cock out of his jeans and wrapping the satin around his shaft. That’s all it takes to get me dripping wet while my clit throbs relentlessly.
Even though I want this to happen more than anything, that doesn’t mean I can look Nash in the eye while doing something so…personal. Instead, I lay back on the bed with my heels propped up on the bed frame and then drag my palm leisurely up the inside of my thigh until I’m touching my smooth flesh. My fingertips start with a little rub of my clit, but apparently that’s not good enough for Nash.
“Let me see how wet you are,” he directs, wanting me to penetrate myself. So, I close my eyes and do it. After only a few, slow pumps of my fingers, I can hear how wet I am, so I know Nash can too. “That’s it, baby. Keep fucking yourself just like that,” he groans, tacking on the term of endearment that makes my core pulse even harder. The heel of my hand rubs my clit with each movement, so it doesn’t take long before my hips are bucking to get more pressure, growing closer and closer until I finally topple over the edge of ecstasy, riding the waves of pleasure that have never felt as good as they do with Nash watching.
Except he’s no longer just an observer. I feel his wet tongue swipe across my fingers and pussy before I even know he’s moved, causing my body to jackknife on the bed in surprise. My upper body pops up to see with my own eyes, unable to believe what’s happening. But sure enough, Nash is kneeling beside the bed with his face between my legs, his tongue invading me, eating me up like a starving man.