Seein’ Red by Claire Hastings

I may hate him with the fire of Shakespeare’s thousand suns, but man, can Nash Keller kiss.All my fury and annoyance, the flood of negative emotions that were flowing a second ago, are now taking a backseat. They’re still there, but suddenly pushed aside by something else.

Desire.

My insides light up like the sky on New Year’s Eve, each beat of my pulse a new firework exploding. And all he’s done is kiss me.

My knees wobble as Nash’s hand slides to my ass, his massive palm the perfect size to cup a cheek. As he gives it a squeeze, I moan into our kiss, unable to control myself. I give in, letting him control the pace, still desperate for more. He squeezes again, this time a little harder, and I come alive.

As if he can read my mind, he deepens the kiss, his other hand finding my backside, hoisting me up. Instinctively I wrap my legs around his waist, my core making contact with the bulge already forming in his pants, and that’s all it takes.

I’m ready to go.

I grind my hips against him, seeking the high that only he can give me. Nash Keller is a drug. One that I’ve been addicted to since I was a teenager, unable to give up, even though I know how bad it is for me. I’ve tried to convince myself there are worse vices out there than him—real drugs, for instance—because deep down I know this man will be my undoing.

In fact, we might already be there.

His touch feels too good for that to be a worry right now. In this moment, the only thing I care about is getting him naked.

I claw at his shirt, our mouths still fused together in forceful, messy kisses, the thin, soft fabric malleable in my hands. Each time I try to pull back from his claim on my lips so I can focus on taking his shirt off, Nash stops me. His tongue dances with mine, sending lightning straight to my core, my clit already throbbing with anticipation.

I need him naked. Now.

Digging my nails into the cotton, I yank at it, the threads giving way easily, like a hot knife through butter. The ripping sound cuts through the air, finally getting Nash’s attention.

Looking down in between us then up again, I watch as his eyes darken, brow furrowing. “This shirt was a gift, Princess.”

“From me,” I remind him pointedly. I glide my finger down his chest, in between his pecs, licking my lips.

A wicked smile takes over from his scowl, sending another shot of lightning through me. It’s the exact same smile he gave me when he opened the gift that Christmas a few years back—Kenzie, Sylvie, the twins, and I all gathered in the small living room of his and Noel’s house—before Dustin’s return and the rest of our friends coupling off. The dark gray shirt, complete with a cartoon cow and the words “Man-ure hot” had gotten a good laugh out of everyone. But only Nash had understood the secret message behind it.

One he properly thanked me for later.

“Still, you’re gonna pay for that.”

I shiver, my body continuing to betray me. Because I want every bit of whatever he’s about to dole out. My head tells me it’s a bad idea, but it’s getting vetoed. The physical connection between us is too strong.

Without another word, Nash twists, depositing me on the bed. My eyes are glued to him as he rips the shirt the rest of the way off, showing off his impressively chiseled chest. His gaze holds me in place, my breath slowing as he undoes his belt, then flicks the button of his jeans open, the whole thing a choreographed dance designed to turn me on.

Letting his jeans drop to the floor, Nash steps out of them, leaving him in nothing. Absolutely nothing. My eyes dance up and down his long, lean body, mouth watering at the sight of him like this.

Fuck me, is he a thing of beauty.