Founded on Goodbye by Kat Singleton
I find myself in an empty dance studio hours later, still trying to rid myself of the memory of the conversation with Monica this morning. There’s a pit in my stomach the size of Texas when I think of how giddy she seemed about me and Nash getting close in the way that we have.
I felt physically ill all morning, the donuts Ziggy pilfered from food service not helping the anxiety coursing through my veins. Thankfully, we have access to a gym with a studio a block away from the stadium we’re performing at tonight. I was able to call the gym ahead of time and book the room for myself.
Getting back to my roots, I film a few freestyles for my Instagram account while I’m here. I realize most the people who follow me now may not be here for my dancing videos, but I want to stay true to my OG followers. Plus, it feels good to let my body take the lead for the first time in a while. I’m so used to the same routines for tour that letting loose is just what I need to take my mind away from the stress of my personal life.
I lose complete track of time. My body stays moving freely to the songs on shuffle through the speakers. It’s well into the afternoon, the evening creeping in when I finally stop for the day. My legs feel like jelly, and while I begin to stretch out my muscles, all I can think about is how I wish I had access to a warm bathtub.
My leg is propped up on the ballet barre when a squeak on the floor has me looking toward the door. Much to my surprise, I find a smirking Nash walking toward me.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he says with a smartass tone. He doesn’t bother to hide it when he clearly checks out my ass.
I roll my eyes, going deeper into the stretch so I can feel the tension all the way up my calf. “How’d you find me here?”
We make eye contact through the large mirror in front of me. He stops a few paces behind me, his eyes unabashedly running down my body.
Pulling out his phone, he pulls up the Instagram app and shows it still open to my profile. The video I posted an hour or so ago starts, the studio in view behind me. “I saw this,” he says. “It wasn’t hard to find out where you were after that, I just had to ask a few different people.”
Trying to hide the growing smile on my face, I switch legs. “I wasn’t aware that you followed me. Or that you were invested in my whereabouts.”
Stepping closer, his large hands find the small of my waist. He slides his fingers through the open part of my shirt, grazing the bare skin there until it feels like it’s burning. The feel of his fingers digging into my skin has my stomach muscles tight, anticipation building with his touch.
We spent nearly all of yesterday stealing small moments together, but somehow, I’d still forgotten what it felt like to have his hands on me. I continue to stretch my legs, my eyes carefully watching him in the mirror.
Nuzzling against my neck, I can feel every one of his words against my skin when he says, “I followed you the night of the festival. If I gave a shit about social media, I might be offended you didn’t notice.”
He applies pressure through his fingertips, sending tingles all the way to my core.
Once he realizes I’m not going to humor him about the follow, he presses on—literally, as his pinky drifts into the waistband of my leggings.
I watch him touch me in the mirror, trying my best to ignore it. “I need to make sure I finish stretching,” I tell him.
He hums, his other hand slowly drifting down the leg that is placed on the barre. His long fingers glide against the fabric. At the touch, a shiver goes down my body, making my toes curl. “I didn’t say you had to stop,” he counters.
My head falls back, hitting his hard warm chest. I can feel the denim of his jacket scratch against the bare skin of my neck. “You’re distracting me,” I point out, no longer feeling the deep stretch in the back of my calf, but not wanting to put my leg down in fear of losing his touch.
“Am I?” he teases, his teeth nipping at my ear.
I’m just about to answer him when another finger slips into the fabric of my leggings. Part of me is screaming to stop him, knowing exactly where this could lead. However, the larger part of me is melting against him, anxious to see what his next move will be.
“I missed you today,” he states, his whole hand now in my pants. So achingly slow, his hand is nearing the point where he’ll find out I have nothing on underneath these leggings.
“That’s good,” I answer breathlessly, barely registering his admission. I’m too caught up in the way his hand is getting closer and closer to—
A long breath leaves his lips when he’s met with bare skin. “No, it isn’t good,” he breathes, his voice scratching. A narrow digit hits my folds and the movement has us both breathing hard. “I don’t like missing people, Rose.” His finger goes all the way in, causing my body to start to go limp. Luckily, he supports the extra weight, the finger inside me overtaking my senses.
“You don’t?” I ask, finding his eyes through the mirror in front of us. I find his blue gazed pinned on me. His tongue comes out to lick his lips and it’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.
“No,” he says. “To miss someone means to care. And to care means to let someone in. I’m done letting people in, Rose.”
His finger hooks inside me, making me arch my back against him. The new position pushes the hardness of him against my ass. Letting out a moan, I balance myself by grabbing onto him.
“Why?” I question.
A low rumble leaves his chest moments before his lips start traveling down the hollow of my neck. Teeth scratch against my skin, the leg on the floor slowly turning into jelly. “That’s a story for never.”
I bask in the feeling of his lips against my neck and his finger inside me. I’m getting closer and closer to release, but it isn’t good enough for me. The quick movement of letting my leg fall to the ground pushes Nash out of me. I take advantage of him being stunned, spinning my body so our fronts are now pressed against the other’s. There’s no mistaking the hard bulge that now rests against my stomach.
My eyes find his while my hand snakes underneath his shirt. I’m met with the warmth of his skin. Splaying my fingers across his chest, I let my hand drift lower and lower, getting desperately closer to the waistband of his briefs. “I missed you too,” I admit, without thinking about the weight of my words. Slipping my fingers underneath the band, I watch in fascination as his eyes become hooded.
“You did?” The vulnerability in his tone sends an arrow straight to my heart.
I nod sincerely, my fingertips exploring his warm skin.
“I don’t want to miss you,” he admits to the space between us.
“Then don’t,” I say, raising to my toes. My lips find his neck. His head tilts instantly, allowing me even more room to explore. I’m memorizing the curve of his Adam’s apple when in one swift motion, he’s lifting me by my hips, my back hitting the cold mirror. My weight rests on the barre attached to the wall. Not trusting the barre to hold me for long, I wrap my legs around his middle, pulling him in close to me and dispersing the weight.
Picking up where I left off earlier, I slide my fingers back underneath his waistband. Nash helps me balance while I quickly undo the button of his jeans. The fabric falls down his hips. Not wasting any time, my fingers move swiftly underneath his briefs, pulling at them until there is nothing in the way. I’m cascading down the exposed skin on the way to his hardness when he traps my lips in his.
The kiss is heated, burning a trail from the point our lips meet all the way down to my toes. His moan is lost in my mouth the moment my hand wraps around his length. I didn’t know a kiss could be felt in so many different places.
One of his hands slaps down on the mirror next to my head, his mouth tearing away from mine.
My core tightens as he lifts my shirt off, pulling my hand off him in the process. The soft pink shirt lands softly on the floor. His eyes roam slowly over the swells of my breasts.
Frustrated by the clothes still separating us, I slide my hand underneath the denim of his jacket, coaxing it off. I’m seconds away from tugging his shirt off when he drops to his knees.
He places each one of my legs so they rest over his strong shoulders. Nash’s hands grab at my leggings, pulling them down in one, swift tug. He traces a wet trail from the inside of my knee all the way up my thigh.
“That’s the problem,” Nash breathes, his breath hot against me as he continues the previous conversation.
I look down, trying not to clench my thighs when I see the sight of him looking up at me from between my legs.
“It’s too late, I already miss you. And I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do with that information, Rose.” He doesn’t give me time to respond. He spreads my legs open with expertise, his mouth landing on my very center.
His tongue works against me instantly. My body reacting to every lap of his tongue as a small part of my heart becomes his with his admission. A moan echoes off the walls when a finger joins in. My hands twist in his hair, needing something of him to grab. Holding him against me, I feel my muscles begin to clench.
“Fuck, Nora.” His breath tickles the inside of my thighs.
“So close,” I pant, my back arching off the mirror as he hooks his finger.
It doesn’t take long for me to reach a release. My body writhes against his mouth as I ride the waves of my orgasm.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, my hand reaching toward him as he stands up.
His fingers wrap tightly around my wrist before I can get my hand down his pants. He groans, his lips pressing softly against my temple. “I have to go.”
Our chests rise and fall in perfect sync. Nash sighs, bending down to hand me my discarded leggings. Holding them above the ground slightly, he gestures for me to step into them.
I’ve got one foot into the hole when he speaks again. “Monica is waiting in the car with Bash and Matt. I have an interview for a magazine I agreed to a year ago. I think Monica would wring my neck if we were late. It took me being a pain in the ass for a solid hour for her to let us stop here on the way to the interview.”
Once both my feet are in, I steady myself by grabbing his shoulders as he pulls the black fabric up my legs. Shivers run down my spine as I feel his knuckles on the side of my leg, my body already craving his touch all over again.
“I’m shocked you’re listening to Monica,” I mutter.
Nash helps me back into my shirt. Giving me a sideways smirk before answering, “Yeah, it’s part of this whole new Nash. You’re helping me fall in love with my job again. I figured that would be a lot easier if I wasn’t constantly battling with my manager.”
Before I have a chance to say anything, Nash’s hands find my cheeks. I can smell myself on his fingers, something I thought would gross me out, but the warming in my belly proves exactly the opposite. “Thanks for the pick me up, Rose. Having my face between your thighs was exactly what I needed to get me through another god forsaken interview.”
His thumb brushing over my cheek, he lays one last, long kiss against my lips. Then, I watch in silence as he swaggers right back out of the room.
Stopping at the door with one hand on the handle, he turns around to face me. Grabbing at the tent of his jeans, he leaves me with a sentence that has me wanting a replay of what we just did. “We’ll finish this later, Rose. I’m not done with you.” He gives me a wink and then he’s out of sight.
I’m not sure how long I stay with my feet planted, eyes glued back on the door as if he would reappear. All I know is that singing is not the only wonderful thing he can do with his mouth.
I want to feel it again.