Extraits

Nate extends a cup of coffee from the chair (nope, that’s the couch) he’s lounging in as he smirks. He’s also shirtless, with a towel wrapped around his waist, one of his intricately tatted thighs peeking out. They’re beckoning me to be crushed by them.

Good god, I don’t have the energy for this.

Nate being sexy while I actively die is fucking rude.

“It’s got a little kick,” he offers. I instantly smell the Baileys. “Hair of the dog. Don’t complain. Just drink it.”

I don’t complain. I happily take it and sip as I make my way to the couch-chair in the too-bright living room and perch on the arm.

“Blinds. Please,” I mutter, but TJ is already carrying his plate of pig over to the window to close them.

Nate chuckles. “I’d ask how you’re feeling, but it’s pretty obvious.”

Another appreciative sip and I look up at him.