“Open your eyes,” Nash commands. “Don’t think about him.” I gasp. “I’m not.” He slams into me harder. “Yes, you were.” “Nash,” I answer in a whimper on another thrust. But I realize Nash doesn’t respond to pleas or logic. He responds to honesty. So I sit up on my elbows and put my face inches from his. “If you don’t want me to think about anyone else, then I guess you better be the one to make me come.” “Oh you little brat,”
