Every step made her more aware of it.
Of how the fabric brushed against her bare skin.
Of how exposed she felt — even if fully dressed.
She walked down the stairs carefully, heart in her throat. Nash was already waiting in the living room, leaning against the edge of the couch, arms crossed, wearing black slacks and a fitted shirt that hugged his chest and sleeves perfectly.
His eyes swept over her the second she appeared.
Slow. Possessive.
"You listened," he said, voice laced with heat.
Liana swallowed. "You said it like I didn't have a choice."
"You didn't."
Before she could respond, he was already opening the front door.
⸻
The ride was quiet at first.
They were in Nash's matte black Aston Martin. The windows were tinted, the leather interior cool beneath their touch. The city passed by outside in a blur — glass buildings, shifting sunlight, and the faint hum of early traffic.
Nash drove with one hand on the wheel. The other?
On her thigh.
At first, it was innocent. A light touch. His palm resting gently, his thumb drawing lazy circles on her skin just above her knee.
But it didn't stay innocent.
His hand drifted higher.
Liana's breath hitched. Her thighs instinctively pressed together.
She shifted slightly in her seat, glancing at him. "Nash…"
He didn't look at her. His voice was calm. "You followed my instructions, didn't you?"
"Yes…"
"Then I get to touch you."
His fingers slid further, now brushing the fabric of her pants — the thin linen doing nothing to hide the heat between her legs. And the moment he pressed down… he felt it.
Soaked.
She was soaked.
Nash's jaw clenched. His fingers moved again, pressing over her core, and her breath caught.
"You're wet."
She squirmed slightly, grabbing the edge of her seat. "I can't help it…"
"No panties," he muttered, as if reminding himself. "No barrier."
His fingers pressed harder, the wet patch on her pants unmistakable now. He dragged his hand across it, slowly, savoring the feel of her arousal soaking through.
Then, without warning, he pulled his hand back, lifted it to his lips, and sucked his fingers.
Right there.
While driving.
Liana watched, stunned, heat flooding her entire body.
"You taste so good," Nash said, his voice like gravel. "I could survive on this."
She covered her face with her hands, her thighs clenched tightly, skin burning.
But Nash wasn't done.
He took a sharp turn, pulling the car into a quiet, shaded street, half-hidden behind a row of trees and an old brick wall. It was quiet, still, a pocket of privacy in the chaos of the city.
He parked.
And turned to her.
Liana didn't have time to breathe before he was on her.
The seatbelt was unfastened, her body pulled across the middle console, lips crushed beneath his. It wasn't a kiss — it was a claim. His hand wrapped in her hair, tugging her head back as his tongue plunged into her mouth, tasting her moans and breath.
"I can't wait," he growled into her lips.
"Nash—here?" she whispered, panting. "It's—"
"We're alone." His hand slid into her pants in one motion. "You're mine."
She gasped as his fingers plunged between her folds, bare and slick, stroking in slow, deliberate circles that made her hips rise off the seat.
He leaned close, voice dark. "You're so wet you've soaked through your pants. You like being teased in public?"
"No," she whispered. "I like being touched by you."
That did it.
Nash pulled her pants down roughly, baring her to the air. He shoved his seat back and lifted her onto his lap, her knees braced on either side of his thighs.
She straddled him, face flushed, breathing heavy.
His hands gripped her hips.
"No panties," he whispered again. "No shame."
And then — he pushed into her.
Raw.
Deep.
The car rocked faintly with each motion. Liana cried out, muffled against his neck, biting down as he thrust up into her again and again, faster, harder. Every inch of him filled her completely, her nails digging into his shoulders.
"You feel like heaven," he gasped. "So tight—"
She moaned louder, her body arching, chasing the release building in her belly.
"Nash—!"
"Come for me."
And she did.
Right there.
In his lap.
Shaking.
His name on her lips.
⸻
They sat there afterward, breathless, tangled in each other's arms, the world quiet around them.
Liana's cheek rested against Nash's chest, his heartbeat thundering in her ear. Her thighs still trembled slightly. His fingers traced patterns along her spine.
"I think," she whispered, "this was the wildest date I've ever had."
Nash chuckled darkly. "We haven't even gotten to the date yet."
She pulled back slightly, blinking. "Wait, what?"
He smirked, eyes full of mischief. "That was just a warm-up."