This One Moment (Pushing Limits, #1)(38)

I ran my fingers along the length of him, but it wasn’t enough. I slipped them under the waistband of his underwear and wrapped them around him. I came close to purring at the velvety softness of his tip, and traced my thumb under the head.

“Oh, God, Hailey,” Nolan breathed, and I couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Unless you want this to end before we’re started, I recommend you slow down.”

My thumb found the sensitive spot below the head and I gently massaged it. “Maybe I don’t want to slow down.”

He let out a hiss of air, then his fingers tugged on the waistband of my shorts. He peeled them off ever so slowly. His touch, as it caressed my skin, tormented my supersensitive body. The way he looked at me sent a warm flush over me, and I was positive if he didn’t stop doing that soon, I’d combust.

Which, right now, sounded like a heavenly way to go.

His finger brushed the outside of my right ankle, against the six forget-me-not flowers tattooed there. Each one tiny, delicate, realistic. An old belief claimed if you had a forget-me-not tattoo, your lover wouldn’t forget you. When I’d gotten it, Nolan had just moved to L.A., and I’d foolishly wanted to ensure he never forgot me—even though he wasn’t my lover. But when he never called back or texted me, I’d known the old wives’ tale was nothing more than a foolish belief.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“They’re forget-me-nots.” I skipped on my reason for getting the tattoo. Let him believe I got it because I loved the flower (which was true) and not because of some misguided story.

He lifted my ankle, removed the shorts, and tossed them aside. He gently kissed the flowers. The sweet and simple action almost did me in.

Nolan lowered my foot back down.

With my shorts off, I was lying on the bed in nothing but my red cotton underwear. Okay, not the sexiest piece of underwear I owned. That honor went to the satin panties Kayla had given me for my birthday. Her motto: if I was going to get lucky, I’d better look sexy while it went down. To her, plain cotton underwear was a big no-no. It wasn’t sexy enough. But the way Nolan looked at said underwear, he clearly didn’t agree with her. Not even close.

I licked my lip, a slight nervousness at what we were about to do creeping in. I’d had sex plenty of times, enough to know what I was doing, yet for the first time since I’d lost my virginity, I was genuinely nervous. Things were different when you weren’t about to screw some random guy you didn’t care to see again after that night. It was different when you were about to have sex with someone you’d been secretly in love with for so long—and that scared me.

Nolan didn’t give me a chance to dwell on it further. His mouth was on mine again. I pushed aside my fears at what was about to happen, and at what would happen once he returned to L.A. For one night I wanted to forget all that. I wanted to live in the moment. This moment.

His fingers, warm and callused, traced along the outside of my thigh. At my knee, he nudged my legs apart. His fingers resumed their journey up, up, up to torment me. Once he was midway, he paused and drew lazy circles on my skin.

My skin tingled in response, and the throbbing between my legs begged for those lazy circles to migrate closer. I might’ve even wiggled a little, encouraging Nolan’s fingers to keep moving north.

And eventually they did.

While his mouth created music against mine—and holy mother of all things wonderful, did that man ever know how to kiss—his thumb brushed against my supercharged center. A jolt of electricity shot through my body, enough to power Northbridge if it ever experienced an outage. My lower body jerked in response.

Nolan wasn’t the only one who knew how to please. I had my own tricks I was dying to try out on him. I tugged his boxer briefs past his hips, wrapped my fingers around his balls, and gave them a light squeeze. He groaned his satisfaction, and he might have muttered, “Holy shit.”

I grinned. “Liked that, huh?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled away from me and practically ripped his underwear off. It landed somewhere on the floor, presumably near mine.

His fingers returned to what they’d been doing earlier—making the ache between my legs a little happier, a little more demanding. And just when I thought it couldn’t get better, he slipped a finger inside me and then another. He didn’t move them. He just pressed against the lining. The promised combustion from earlier was nothing compared to now.

“Oh, God, Nolan,” I somehow managed to say.

He chuckled. “Liked that, huh?” he replied, echoing my earlier words.

“Yes. I like.”

He moved up the length of me, his fingers still inside me, and settled his mouth on one of my nipples. He sucked on it as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out. I guessed I shouldn’t have been too shocked. He was both the singer and guitarist from Pushing Limits. That made him multitalented in my book.

I ran my fingernails roughly down his back and he groaned, further exciting the nipple in his mouth. I was so close to the edge, it wouldn’t take much more to push me all the way.

“I need you. Inside me. Now,” I said, voice husky.

Grinning, he pulled away from my nipple and reached for a foil package on my nightstand. He carefully ripped it open and rolled it onto his thick length. Oddly enough, seeing him like this and remembering how we used to be as kids was enough to set my face on fire. He wasn’t just another guy I had met and gone home with. This was the guy who had played 007 with me when we were ten and were chasing around the neighborhood on our bikes. The guy who had been there for me when I suffered through my first heartbreak at fourteen years old. The guy who had been there for me at every soccer game while we were growing up.