Images of us wrapped around each other in the hotel room bed flood my mind.

Say no. No. No. No.

“I guess I could...if you want to.”

What the hell? Where did that come from?

He smiles like the wolf he is, luring me closer with his perfect white teeth and sparkling hazel eyes. I know I should keep my distance, but my brain seems to short circuit around him. My head has a different plan for me than my body does.

“How do you feel about being on top?” he continues as if this is an ordinary line of questioning.

“I don’t love it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like being so naked in front of someone.” How can I say that being on top makes me self-conscious without it being weird?

“Having sex does mean a certain lack of clothing is necessary. Unless you want to cut a hole in a sheet and keep it between us,” he chuckles, resting his hand over mine on the bar. He leans close, invading my space. “And by the way, if that is your hang up, it wouldn’t stop me from wanting to fuck you.”

I sigh and shake my head. “That isn’t my ‘hang up,’” I say, making air quotes. Now I feel as though I need to explain or he’s going to think I’m sexually repressed. “I just don’t like being on top because it makes me self-conscious about my body.” Oh shit. Why am I telling him all these things? What is it about Nick that makes me reveal these truths that I don’t even like thinking about?

His eyes slowly look me over, lowering and hovering over my chest. The heat in his gaze has me flushing. The outside of his thigh presses into mine. I squeeze my legs together looking for relief, but it’s no use. There’s only one way to get any relief and it can’t happen.

“When we have sex, you’re going to ride my cock like you’re the last cowgirl on earth.”

I giggle at his ridiculous statement. “Cowgirl?” I tip my head and raise an eyebrow. “When we have sex? Aren’t you a cocky bastard?”

“Yep I am, get used to it.” His dimple teases the left corner of his mouth with a slanted smile. “How do you feel about role playing? Yee haw or no go?” he continues, ignoring my reply.

“Did you pack a cowboy hat in that duffel bag of yours?” It wouldn’t surprise me to find out he had. Nothing should surprise me when it comes to Nick. I can’t seem to get a handle on what makes him tick. Every time I think he’ll do or say one thing, he does the opposite. He told me I keep him on his toes, but he makes my stomach roll like I’m balancing on the edge of a giant cliff.

“Not this time, but I do have a genuine cowboy hat that my godfather purchased for me on a trip to Texas. We can play with that some other time. So, do you like role playing then?”

“I’ve never done any. I’d give it a try, I guess.” I surprise myself with my honest answer.

“How do you feel about oral sex?”

“Giving or receiving?”

“Receiving,” he answers, his eyes burning into mine.

I swallow slowly. Thinking of him going down on me excites me more than I want to admit to myself. “I’ve only had someone do that a few times.”

“Your ex?”

“Yeah. He didn’t really like to, and I didn’t want to ask for something that he didn’t want to do.”

“Did you give him blow jobs?”

My eyes travel around the bar, looking at anything, but Nick. “Yes.”

“How often?”

“That’s a personal question, Nick.” His name feels erotic leaving my lips.

“I know it is, but humor me and answer, please.”

The please has me responding. “I gave him a blow job whenever he asked or whenever I wanted to.”

“And he didn’t feel inclined to return the favor?”

“Nope.”

“He’s a selfish piece of shit then. Did he at least make you come?”

“No.”

“Not usually?” he questions.

I shake my head. “Not ever,” I whisper, humiliated.

“Whoa, wait a minute. Are you saying you’ve never had an orgasm?”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’ve had one?”

“Mhm.”

“But, not with him?”

“Not with him.”

“How many guys have you slept with?”

“That’s another personal question. Are you going to tell me how many girls you’ve slept with?”

“Twelve and you can consider yourself the future lucky thirteen.”

“Oh. Well, I’m at ten less than you. Can we talk about something less invasive?”

“Candy, I know all these questions are personal. Isn’t that the point when you care enough to get to know someone?”

“I guess, but we’re doing this backwards. Shouldn’t we be starting with the easy ones like what’s your favorite color or what’s your middle name?”

“The blue of your eyes and Malcolm.”

“Malcolm is your middle name?”

“Yep. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. It’s better than Aaron.” I snort.

“Ha-ha aren’t you a funny little thing.” His fingers briefly dig into my side tickling me and I squirm on the bar stool.

“Where do you go to school?” I question, breathless from batting his hands away from my sides.

“I’m a senior at Boston University.”

“Nice. Do you like school?”

“I like some parts of it and others not so much. Living in Boston can’t be beat and the area that B.U. is in has so much to offer. I love playing on the football team and I enjoy learning. I don’t like some of the classes that I’m required to take, but that’s life.” He places his warm hand on my arm. “Now back to you. What are you going to do now that you’re in Boston?”

“I’m starting dental school at B.U. second semester.”

“Doctor Collins. I like it.” he pumps his brows up and down suggestively. “What’s your middle name?”

“Olivia.”

“Carter Olivia Collins.” He smiles. “Nice. Your initials spell out cock.”

“Um, no they don’t.”

“I think they do and that’s what I’m going with.” He tips his head in my direction with a grin on his masculine lips.

Rolling my eyes at him, I flag down the bartender. There might not be enough alcohol in this place to help me handle Nick. Give me a staid, mature, predictable guy and I’m set. Nick, embodies the opposite of those traits and I’m out of my element.

* * *

The walk back to the hotel is a lot rougher than the walk to the bar. Nick’s arm around my shoulders helps to keep me upright and travelling in the right direction. My legs are unsteady beneath me and my stomach is filled with liquor sloshing around. “You need to feed me,” I tell him as we continue along.

“Is that your way of saying you’re hungry?”

“Yep. Feed me dammit,” I say in a serious tone but end up laughing by the time the words are out.

Pulling his phone out of his front pocket, he scrolls with his thumb, before holding his phone up to his ear. “Hi, this is room nine sixty-nine. I’d like to order room service. We’ll take an order of chicken tenders, extra honey mustard, quesadillas, potato skins, two sodas and two slices of cherry pie.”

When his call ends, he slips his phone back into his pocket and looks down at me. “How’s that for a snack?”

“You ordered everything I like. Have you been stalking me?” I must be buzzed. I’m not usually this direct with men.

“No, I haven’t, but I bet stalking you would be fun.” He taps the tip of my nose with his index finger. “I’m sure I’d learn all kinds of interesting things, but I’d rather put in the work and get to know you.”

My stomach flutters and this time it’s from his sweet words and not the alcohol.

The hotel lobby is quiet as we enter and make our way to the elevator. The ride up to our floor is punctuated by the sounds of my stomach growling and churning. Nick chuckles next to me and my eyes squeeze shut in humiliation. “You weren’t kidding about needing to be fed.”

My eyes open and find him grinning at me. Embarrassed at the ungodly sounds my stomach continues to make, I shrug and don’t answer.

“Aw, Candy, don’t be embarrassed. I like a girl with a healthy appetite.” There he goes with his sexual innuendos again.

When the steel doors part I jet out and head down the hallway like the Flash. Racing along in front of him seemed like a good idea until I got to the door and he wasn’t even halfway down the hallway. Now I’m standing here rocking back and forth on my feet feeling more awkward than ever.

He steps up next to me and slides the key card into the slot. His large masculine hand capably grips the handle. Watching him makes me wonder what else his hands can do.

Gesturing for me to go in front of him, I move inside our room and over to the drawers that contain my clothes. Pulling out a pair of boxers and a tank top, my pajamas of choice, I focus on making my way to the bathroom. Once inside, I strip off my clothes and step into the shower. Washing off the stale smell of the bar that permeated my clothes and hair, already has me feeling better.

Nick’s voice travels through the door as he talks to someone. Our food must be here. My stomach grumbles once more to let me know it’s on board with the plan to eat.

Drying off as fast as I can, I put my pj’s on and run a comb through my wet hair. Glancing in the mirror, my eyes run over the black tank top I have on. It’s not too revealing, but I’d feel a lot better if I had a long t-shirt that covered more of me. The plaid boxers I’m wearing are an old pair of Joseph’s. He’s leanly muscular and of average height so the fit isn’t too bad. Tugging them down lower on my hips helps me to feel less exposed. The length is respectable, and my inner thighs don’t show.

A cloud of steam follows me from the bathroom as I enter the cooler temperature of the air-conditioned space. Nick’s removing plates and food from the room service tray and placing them on the small table in front of the windows. He’s pulled the curtains open so we can see the lights of the city around us. I walk over, pausing in front of the large half wall of glass. The view is as impressive and captivating as I’ve always imagined it would be.

“Is this your first time in New York City?”

I nod as I step back and sit down in the chair he’s pulled out for me. “Is it that obvious?” I question, glancing over my shoulder at him as he rounds to the other side of the table.

“No, it hasn’t been. At least not until now. You look pretty awestruck though.” He takes the seat across from me and our eyes meet briefly, before my gaze returns to the city.

“I am. I’ve been looking at Boston my whole life, but this is different. It’s bigger and more...I don’t know.” I shake my head. “Overwhelming. It’s like everything is closer here and crammed together, each building fighting for space.” Pressing my hand against the cool glass, the buildings seem close enough to reach out and touch.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s great, but I definitely prefer the historical charm of Boston.”

“Where did you grow up?” I question, spreading the white napkin evenly across my lap.

“Cohasset.”

“So, you’re a south shore boy,” I reply, cutting up a chicken tender.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He quirks an eyebrow.

“It means the world for you exists south of Braintree.”

“The south shore of Massachusetts does have a lot to offer.” He winks.

“Are you including yourself in that statement?”

“I wasn’t, but I am from there as you just pointed out.”

“You’re obviously Irish, although with the last name Carter I wasn’t sure.”

“Uh,” he coughs. “Here’s the thing. Carter isn’t really my last name.”

“It’s not?” I dunk a piece of chicken in the honey mustard, and raise the fork to my lips.

“No. I made the reservation under Nick Carter as a joke. When you heard me say it, I just played along for fun.”

“What’s your real last name then?”

“O’Shea.”

“I like that a lot better than Carter.”

“You don’t like your name?” He deftly cuts up a potato skin and shovels half into his mouth in one bite.

“I like it, just not for me. It’s better as a boy’s name.”

“I don’t know. I think Carter fits you, but I still think of you as Candy.” He smirks, reminding me of the first time he called me that. A heated flush washes over me at the memory of his tongue tasting the skin along the top of my breasts.

“Does anyone call you Nicholas?” I ask, hoping to get my mind off his tongue.

“My father does. Nicholas, when are you going to give up your silly hobby?” he questions in a stiff voice.

“What hobby would that be?” I ask, picking up my napkin and wiping the corner of my lip.

“Fighting,” he mumbles, before taking a large bite of chicken.

“He doesn’t approve?”

He pauses with his fork midair. “No. He’d like all my focus to be on football. He wants me to make the NFL and then go into business with him someday.”

“What do you want?” I question, reaching for the bottle of soda.

“I love football, but I don’t want to play professionally. Fighting is something that I’m passionate about, but I’m just getting started. I’ve only had a few smaller fights, but I loved it. I really want to keep training and see what happens.”

I swallow an ice-cold mouthful of liquid. “So, why don’t you?”

“You make it sound so much easier than it is in my mind.” He stares down at his plate as he spears another piece of chicken onto his fork and pops it in his mouth.

“It’s not like you have to make the decision right now, right?”

“No.” He shakes his head, reaching for his drink. “Football practices will be starting once we’re back home and this will be my final season with the Terriers. By the time it’s over, I’m hoping to have made a solid decision about my future.” He cracks the cap, twisting it off. The expelling air leaves the bottle with a loud hiss before he takes a large gulp.

“What kind of business does your father have?”

“Real Estate development.”

“Is that something you could see yourself doing?”

“I’m not sure. Business Administration is my major and I’m taking some cross functional courses on Real Estate. I like the idea of carrying on the family business since it was started by my great grandfather almost one hundred years ago, but I’m not sure that I’ll enjoy doing it day in and day out.”

The conversation recedes as we both continue to devour the delicious food. Between the shower I took and my full stomach, I’m feeling less buzzed and almost completely sober by the time I move on to the slice of cherry pie he ordered for me.

“I’m going to enjoy dessert while I relax,” I say, sliding my chair back. Picking up the plate, a fork and my drink, I make my way to the bed I chose earlier today. Placing the soda down on the table, I flip the covers back and slip between the sheets. My back rests against the padded headboard as I balance the small plate in my lap while taking bites of pie.

“This is so good.”

Nick rises from his chair and before I realize what he’s doing, his jeans are sliding down his muscular legs. He kicks them off, catching the denim material in the air and then places them over the back of the chair he was sitting in. He grabs his plate and soda, walking between the two beds.

“Push over, please.”

What?

“Slide over for me,” he gestures with his head.

I’m not sure why, but I find myself doing as he asked until I’m propped up against the headboard on the other side of the bed.

Nick picks up the remote from the nightstand and turns the large television on, flipping through the channels so quickly, my eyes can’t keep up. Every time I see a show I like, he switches to another one before I can react. It doesn’t help that I drank so many shots. I might not be feeling as buzzed as earlier, but my reflexes are still somewhat delayed.

Focusing on my pie, I eat every bite on my plate and chug the rest of my soda down.

He finally settles on an episode of Impractical Jokers, which happens to be one of my favorite shows.

“Here, let me take your plate for you,” he says, holding out his hand.

Passing everything to him, I lower my pillows to the mattress and lie down on my back. My stomach is full, and I’m relaxed from my shower and all the drinks we had at the bar.

His head turns in my direction. “Are you going to sleep on me, Candy?”

Smiling sleepily with my eyes closed, I nod. “Mhm.”

Hearing dishes clanging together and the click of the lamp being shut off, I imagine what he’s doing.

Is he going to get in his own bed now?

An arm around my waist, tugging me in his direction answers my unspoken question. “Get over here, Candy. You have some cherry popping to do.”

Oh no.

I can’t cuddle with Nick. He’s too...hot, sexy, too...everything for me.

“Don’t even think about it.” His voice is a deep rumble beside my ear.

“Think about what?” I squeak out.

“Sneaking out of this bed, tonight. I want to wake up with you in my arms. If you’re going to pop my cherry you need to do it right.”

“I think you’d be more comfortable in your own bed. I’m a restless sleeper.”

“Then it’s a good thing I plan on holding you tight all-night long.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” My voice sounds funny to my own ears as I turn over to my left side.

“This is the best idea I’ve had in a long time,” he says, flipping over so his front is pressed to my back, his arm slung around me. His large palm blazes my skin, burning through the thin material as if he’s touching my bare stomach.

Squeezing my eyes shut even tighter, I breath as shallow as I can, trying to avoid any unnecessary contact with his muscular body.

His face lowers to my hair and he inhales deeply. “Your hair smells good, Candy.” He places a kiss on the top of my head. “Get some sleep. You’re safe with me.”

“I know.” My lips curl into a gentle smile as I allow myself to relax in his arms. Nick might make me nervous, but it’s not because I don’t trust him. I know he’d never do anything to put my safety at risk or to push me to do more than I’m comfortable with. In fact, being in his arms is better than I imagined. The smile remains on my lips as I fall into the deepest sleep I’ve had in months.