Chapter 3: The Morning After
Maddie woke to the sensation of warmth. Not the diffuse warmth of sunlight through a window, but the specific, weighted warmth of a body pressed against hers. Nick was still asleep, one arm draped across her waist, his face buried in the curve of her neck. His breath came slow and even, stirring the fine hairs at her temple, and she lay very still, afraid that any movement would break the spell.
The room was washed in pale gray light. Early morning. The kind of light that made everything look soft and unfinished. Her desk was a disaster of sketchbooks and empty coffee cups. Her clothes from last night were a trail of fabric leading from the door to the bed. She could see her graphic novel pages scattered across the floor, half-trampled in their haste, and she should have felt embarrassed about the mess, about the vulnerability of it. But she didn't. She felt something else entirely.
Nick stirred against her, a low sound escaping his throat, and his arm tightened around her waist. His lips brushed her shoulder. Then her neck. A slow, deliberate graze that sent a shiver down her spine.
"Morning," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." She could feel him hardening against her thigh, the evidence of his want pressing insistently through the thin fabric of her underwear. "Someone's awake."
"Someone's been awake for a while." His hand slid from her waist, trailing down her hip, over the curve of her ass. "I was watching you sleep. You do this thing with your nose. It's cute."
"My nose does not do things."
"It twitches. Like you're dreaming about something." His fingers found the hem of her underwear, sliding beneath. "Or someone."
She inhaled sharply when his fingers brushed her inner thigh, light and teasing. Then higher. The first touch of his fingertips against her cunt made her gasp, her hips tilting instinctively toward his hand.
"Nick—"
"I love the way you say my name in the morning." He kissed her neck, slow and lingering, while his fingers worked lazy circles against her clit. "Like you're not sure if you want to hit me or fuck me."
"Both," she managed. "Definitely both."
He laughed against her skin, but the laugh died into a groan when she reached back and wrapped her hand around him. He was already hard, already slick at the tip, and she stroked him slowly, savoring the way his hips bucked into her grip.
"Fuck, Maddie."
"Too slow?" She tightened her hand, her thumb sweeping across the head, and his breath hitched. "Or just right?"
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he rolled her onto her back, his body covering hers, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was all heat and hunger. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her hands fisting in his hair, and she felt the length of him pressing between her thighs. He pulled back, just enough to meet her eyes.
"Last night was... I didn't want it to be a one-time thing."
"It's not." She grabbed his ass, nails digging into the muscle, pulling him tighter against her. "Now stop talking and fuck me."
His laugh was breathless, but he obeyed. He fumbled with her underwear, yanking them down her legs, and she helped him kick them off the bed entirely. The brief separation—the moment he rose over her, naked and wanting—was enough to make her heart stutter. She reached for him, guiding him to her entrance, and he shuddered at the contact.
"Condom?" she managed.
"Nightstand. Same drawer." He was already reaching, fumbling with the packet, and she watched him roll it on with shaking hands. The sight of him like this—desperate, unguarded, stripped bare—made her ache in ways she hadn't known she could ache.
"Come here," she said. "I want to feel you."
He positioned himself between her thighs, the head of him pressing against her slick heat, and held her gaze. "You're sure?"
"Nick." She grabbed his ass and pulled him inside her in one smooth motion. "I'm sure."
The sensation was overwhelming. He filled her completely, a deep, stretching pressure that had her arching off the mattress, a moan escaping her throat. He stayed still for a moment, letting her adjust, his forehead pressed to hers, breath shaky.
"God, you feel—"
"Move," she demanded. "Please."
He moved. Slow at first, deep and grinding, each stroke deliberate. He was learning her body, reading her reactions, finding the angle that made her gasp. When he shifted slightly, pressing against that spot inside her, she saw stars burst behind her eyes.
"Right there," she breathed. "Don't stop."
He didn't stop. He rolled his hips in a rhythm that was almost lazy, but every thrust was precise, every movement designed to drive her toward the edge. She clawed at his back, her nails carving red lines into his skin, and he growled against her throat.
"You like that?" He picked up the pace, his strokes faster, harder. "You like taking all of me?"
"Yes—fuck—Nick—"
"Say it again." He slammed into her, deep and punishing, and her voice broke. "Say my name while I fuck you."
"Nick!" She was close. So close. The pressure was building, coiling in her core, and she grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. "Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."
He didn't. He drove into her with a rhythm that bordered on desperate, his movements losing their precision, becoming raw and frantic. She came with a cry that she couldn't contain, her body convulsing around him, and he followed moments later, his own release tearing through him with a guttural groan.
They lay tangled together, breathing hard, the morning light growing stronger around them. Nick pulled out, disposed of the condom, and collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms.
"I could get used to this," he murmured against her hair.
"Used to what? The sex?"
"The waking up next to you. The way you look at me when you think I'm not noticing." He traced a finger down her spine. "The way your nose twitches when you're dreaming."
She laughed, burying her face in his chest. "You're impossible."
"You like it."
"I tolerate it."
But she was smiling. And when he kissed her forehead, she didn't pull away.
They stumbled into the campus diner an hour later, a little rumpled, a lot smug. Maddie's hair was barely contained in a hasty bun, and Nick was wearing one of her oversized sweatshirts because he'd left his own jacket in her room. The fluorescent lights of the diner were unforgiving, but neither of them cared.
"Two of everything," Nick told the waitress, sliding into the booth across from Maddie. "Extra bacon. Extra pancakes. Extra—"
"We get it," Maddie interrupted, but she was grinning. "You're hungry."
"Starving." He reached across the table, stealing a sip of her orange juice. "All that exercise works up an appetite."
"Nick." She kicked him under the table. "People can hear you."
"Let them." He grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together over the sticky Formica tabletop. "I want everyone to know I'm with the most beautiful girl in this diner."
"You are such a dork."
"You love it."
She opened her mouth to deflect, to make some sarcastic comment about his inflated ego, but the words died in her throat. She looked at his hand holding hers, the way his thumb was tracing circles on her knuckles, and the truth of it settled over her like a warm blanket.
"I do," she said quietly. "I really do."
Nick's grin softened into something more tender. He squeezed her hand, and for a moment, the noise of the diner faded into background static.
"What do you want to do today?" he asked. "Besides this."
"I don't know. I have a few pages to ink for my portfolio. But I could be convinced to procrastinate."
"I have a better idea." He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Come back to my apartment. I'll make you lunch. We can listen to terrible music. And I have a very comfortable bed that we haven't properly broken in yet."
"Just lunch?"
"Just lunch." His eyes were dark, and his grin was anything but innocent. "Maybe lunch and other things."
The waitress arrived with their food, plates piled high with pancakes and bacon and eggs. Maddie attacked her breakfast with enthusiasm, but she couldn't stop glancing across the table at Nick. He was talking about his marine biology classes, about the professor who kept a tank of horseshoe crabs in his office, and the way his face lit up when he talked about the ocean made her chest ache.
"You're staring," he said, catching her gaze.
"I'm appreciating." She speared a piece of pancake. "There's a difference."
"Enlighten me."
"You're talking about something you love. Your whole face changes." She shrugged, hoping the gesture looked casual. "It's nice to watch."
Nick's smile faltered, just for a moment, and something vulnerable flickered in his eyes. "My dad used to say the same thing. About my mom. He'd watch her talk about her garden and say she looked like a different person."
"How's your dad doing?"
The question hung between them, heavy and fragile. Nick set down his fork, his gaze dropping to his plate.
"He's okay. Better days and worse days, you know? The treatment is hard on him." He paused, tracing the rim of his coffee cup. "But he's still fighting. Still cracking terrible jokes. Still telling me to stop worrying and go live my life."
"That's why you transferred here? To be closer to him."
"Yeah." He met her eyes again, and the vulnerability there was raw. "I didn't want to be a thousand miles away if things got worse. I wanted to be able to drive over on a Sunday and watch football with him. Even if he falls asleep by halftime."
"That's really sweet, Nick."
"It's just what you do for family." He shrugged. "Not that I'm an expert. I'm still figuring it out."
They finished their breakfast, paid the check, and walked out into a morning that had turned golden. The campus was busy with students rushing to class, but Nick took her hand and pulled her down a side path, through a grove of trees, past the art building, until they reached a row of old off-campus houses. His apartment was on the second floor of a converted Victorian, the stairs creaking beneath their feet.
"Home sweet home," he said, unlocking the door. "It's not much. But it's mine."
The apartment was small and cluttered in a way that felt lived-in. A guitar propped against the couch. Stacks of textbooks on the coffee table. A pile of laundry that had clearly been there for a few days. There were sea shanty lyrics scribbled on sticky notes plastered to the wall above his desk, and a half-finished watercolor of a whale pinned to the fridge.
"I love it," Maddie said, and she meant it.
"Really? It's kind of a mess."
"It's yours." She wandered over to the fridge, studying the whale painting. "Did you do this?"
"Guilty." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. "I'm not very good. But it helps me think."
"It's beautiful, Nick." She turned to face him. "You have a lot of hidden talents."
"Plenty of them." He crossed the room, sliding his hands around her waist. "Want me to show you a few?"
The kiss started slow, almost reverent. He cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones, and he kissed her like she was something precious. She melted into him, her hands finding his chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath her palm.
"Nick," she breathed against his lips. "I want you."
"You have me." He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the spot behind her ear that made her shiver. "You have all of me."
She led him to the kitchen, her hands already working at the buttons of his shirt. He helped her, ridding himself of the fabric, then hers, until they were skin against skin in the middle of his kitchen. The counter was cold against her bare thighs as he lifted her onto it, and she gasped when the chill met her skin.
"Cold?" He kissed her shoulder, her breast, his tongue grazing her nipple. "I'll warm you up."
He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands spreading her thighs. She watched him, breath caught in her throat, as he looked up at her with those dark, hungry eyes. Then he lowered his head, and his tongue found her clit.
"Fuck." Her head fell back, her hands fisting in his hair. "Nick—"
He worked her slowly, deliberately, his tongue circling her clit with a rhythm that drove her insane. He slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right, and she bucked against his face, a raw cry escaping her throat.
"You taste so good," he murmured against her skin, the vibrations sending shockwaves through her. "I could do this all day."
"Please," she begged, not entirely sure what she was asking for. "Please, I need—"
He stood up, his mouth slick with her, and captured her lips in a bruising kiss. She tasted herself on his tongue, and something wild unfurled in her chest. She reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, and he helped her, his own hands shaking.
"Condom," she demanded.
"Back pocket." He turned slightly, and she lunged for his jeans, pulling out the foil packet. She tore it open with her teeth, her hands working him free of his pants, and he was so hard, so thick, that she couldn't help but pause.
"Don't stop now," he said, his voice strained.
She rolled the condom on with deliberate slowness, her eyes locked on his. He watched her, his chest rising and falling with effort, and when she was done, he let out a shaky breath.
"Jesus, you're good at that."
"I have many talents." She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Now put them to use."
He positioned himself between her thighs, the head of him pressing against her slick heat. She held his gaze as he pushed inside her, the sensation so intense she forgot to breathe. He filled her completely, his hands gripping her hips, and she dug her nails into his shoulders.
"Fuck," she gasped. "You feel so good."
"So do you." He began to move, slow and deep, each stroke driving her toward the edge. "Tight. Hot. Perfect."
"Nick—" She was already close, the pressure building, the delicious friction sending sparks of pleasure through her. "Harder. Fuck me harder."
He lifted her off the counter, and she wrapped her legs around him, her back hitting the wall. He drove into her with a ferocity that stole her breath, his hips slapping against hers, the sound of their bodies colliding filling the kitchen. She cried out, her nails raking down his back, and he groaned, his teeth grazing her throat.
"That's it," he growled. "Take all of it. Take everything."
She came with a scream, her body convulsing around him, and he followed moments later, his own release tearing through him. They collapsed together, tangled and trembling, the kitchen walls the only witness to their raw, unguarded desire.
"I think I'm in trouble," Nick said, his voice wrecked, once they'd caught their breath.
"What kind of trouble?"
"The kind of trouble that has your name written all over it." He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. "The kind of trouble I don't want to get out of."
Maddie leaned into him, her heart so full it ached. "Good," she whispered. "Because I'm not going anywhere."