Chapter 11

The One Where He’s All Hers

“The kind of love letters I write are the ones you read in bed, stretched out under the sheets with one hand between your legs.” — Michael Faudet

A/N: this chapter is sooooooooo not PG. hold onto your hats and i’d suggest reading by yourself 💀

A R I E L L E

A single text message late in the evening is enough to send me into a daze. That was the effect that Nate had on me and my body.

Even so much as a simple nickname has my hormones raging wildly.

But then Nate sent a message that read “I need you and that beautiful body of yours. Now.” And that was enough for me to race home, change into something a little more appropriate only to rush over to Nate ‘s address (which he texted to me).

He even went as far as sending me a photo of his shirtless torso as he lay in bed, tempting me with low hanging boxers that expose that happy trail of his. The same happy trail that is like a fucking rainbow that leads to the pot of gold.

Jesus, did I really just make that comparison?

I stand nervously (and freezing) at Nate ‘s door after having rung the bell. After waiting maybe ninety seconds, I’m starting to think he hasn’t heard me and so I go to knock against the wood, but the lock suddenly clicks, revealing a nearly naked Nate.

He’s standing in only his boxer-briefs, face swollen with sleep as he rubs at his eyes. I’m surprised actually that he was asleep, considering I always pegged him for a night person. A person who stays up until three in the morning and sleeps until late in the afternoon.

That, and after he texted me, I’d assumed he would’ve stayed awake in anticipation for me. Then again, after he sent that shirtless selfie, I was in a horny daze and ignored him in order to somewhat surprise his tease of an ass.

Always a damn tease.

He looks confused to see me at first, rubbing at his eyes. But then he smirks and cocks his head, reciting my name, along with, “What brings you by at this hour?” It was well after two in the morning by now, and I was nothing less than hungry for him and his sinful body that taunts me now as I stare at it.

I think he says it in that way because he either wasn’t expecting me to come tonight, or he wanted to get together another night. Nonetheless, I’m here and I’m horny.

His skin looks so beautiful in the dim moonlight, and I find myself gawking. I’m almost unable to form words, instead admiring the tattoos that I love so much which cover his body.

It’s fairly obvious why I’m here, what with my face done up with makeup, my hair in curls, and the heels on my feet. But I’m also wearing a trench coat, which sort of gives away the fact that I’m wearing nothing but lingerie underneath for him.

I grip the belt on my coat tightly, arching an eyebrow. “If you invite me in, you’ll find out.” I bite down on my red-stained lip, and he shuffles before taking a step back to allow me entrance.

He doesn’t even hesitate and I think it’s because he realizes what I’m here for—duh, I’ve come at an early hour in the morning and it’s fairly obvious that it’s a booty call—and I can feel his eyes focus on what I’m wearing. He’s probably trying to imagine what’s underneath.

He locks the door before approaching me from behind. He inhales my scent—hot breath fanning against my nape—as his hands set on my hips.

I debate where to do this. We could do it in his bedroom, but that was too obvious. Together, we liked it rougher and more public, to say the least. We liked spice, and sex anywhere besides the bed added that.

I arch into him, gripping his hair at the back of his neck. His inked arms wrap around my waist and he distracts me by pressing his plump lips against my skin, sucking behind my ear as his fingers attempt to undo the knot on my belt. But I cease his hands, holding them away from my body.

“Sit,” I instruct him, but he doesn’t move. His hands roam down to the bottom of my trench coat where he snakes a hand underneath the bottom of it, rough pads of his fingers skimming across my thigh-high stockings.

“Shit—” he murmurs when he feels the fasteners that hold up my stockings. “What’ve you got on under here, Babygirl?”

I grab his hand, removing it from my body. I pull him into the living room, backing him up until he hits the couch. He sits there, cocky as ever as he waits for me to strip and ride him wildly.

“You’re not allowed to move,” I tell him, reaching for the tie on my coat. But then I stop, realizing we need some music.

I quickly turn on something good to fuck to—The Weeknd—and turn back to him. He rests, legs far apart with one hand atop his clothed cock, reminding me that even though he isn’t the dominant one right now, he always is.

He seems excited, and patient with me to begin stripping layers. But he also seems impatient, that lustful look darkening his eyes a shade as he licks his lips hungrily.

Ever so slowly, I undo the knot on my belt, stepping out of the coat. He sucks in a harsh breath when I toss the material onto the back of the couch, sitting upwards as his eyes scan every inch of my body.

I was wearing a black and red lingerie set for him. A matching lacy set, with a push-up bra and tiny thong with a garter belt. Stockings on my legs and the heels on my feet finished it off.

“Jesus, fuck—” he wets his lips again, eyes moving from my breasts, to my sex, and all the way down to my heels only to travel up to my eyes. He moves to get up and touch me, but I stop him, pressing a heeled foot against his crotch.