Page 199 of At First Catch

Like we’re both trying to reconnect emotionally through touch after days of tension and exhaustion and fear.

His hands tighten at my waist, pulling me closer against him while the morning sunlight spills across the kitchen around us.

He kisses me in the way that curls my toes, and I wonder if I’ll ever get enough of this…enough of feeling his lips against mine whenever I want.

When Nolan finally pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against mine while both of us breathe unevenly in the quiet kitchen.

The corner of his mouth lifts, and his eyes sparkle as both hands reach around my waist. Suddenly, I’m lifted in the air and settled on the hard butcher block countertops.

“Don’t you need to go to work?” I ask as he yanks my night shirt over my head, hands caressing my breasts.

“Yep. Don’t you?” he responds as he slips his hand beneath the waistband of my shorts.

“Um…yes?” I say, just as his fingers brush across my clit. “Oh God.” My entire body jerks at the contact.

“So wet already?” he murmurs against my mouth as he sinks one finger into my tight channel.

“Always. For. You,” I tell him in short bursts of air. “I’m so close already.” With Nolan, he makes me fall apart in record time, every time, whereas with other men I was lucky to feel satisfied at all.

“Can you come from this?” He leans forward, sealing his lips over one pert nipple. I do little to hold back my answering groan.

With a swift tug, he pulls my hips to the very edge of the counter as he slips his fingers from my sex.

At my grunt, Nolan answers with a chuckle as he switches breasts and presses his covered erection against my center.

“Oh!” I cry out at the contact.

Nolan continues to rub his cock against my pussy, the friction of our clothing making every sensation sharper.

My orgasm bursts forth, and I stiffen against Nolan’s hold. Stars flash before my eyes with each quiver of my walls.

“Fuck,” Nolan growls as he rubs himself against my center a few more times.

“Wow, that was a surprise,” I tell him as I wrap my arms around his shoulders, surprised to find that Nolan isn’t bashful at all about the fact that he just came in his sweatpants. It was honestly one of the hottest things I’ve ever experienced.

With a quick peck on my forehead, Nolan helps me get down from the counter before he goes to clean up really quickly.

Outside, the marina wakes fully below us. Boat engines hum to life. Workers shout across the loading dock. Tourists laugh somewhere near the bait shop. Life keeps moving.

When Nolan steps back in the space, the desire and intensity have been replaced with the pensive gaze from earlier.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

His eyes lift to mine, and his gaze tightens.

“How close I came to screwing this up.”

“Nolan—”

“No, I mean it.”

The roughness in his voice silences me. Underneath everything else lately—the exhaustion, the overworking, the investor pressure—there’s still this terrifying, vulnerable thread running through him constantly. The fear that he’ll accidentally ruin the things he loves most.

I brush my thumb lightly along his cheek.

Nolan glances toward the marina windows overlooking Back Bay. The restored docks stretch across glittering water beneath bright morning sun while charter crews prep boats for the weekend. Everything looks stable from up here.

That’s the dangerous thing about pressure. Sometimes it builds beneath the surface long before anything visibly cracks.