He seemed so offended that I laughed. “You had a major operation. Of course you’re fuckin’ tired.”
Nash rolled his eyes. “I’ve sat on my arse ever since. How can I be this knackered when I’msobored?”
“Still salty Cam put you on sick leave?”
“As a motherfucker.” Nash grinned and shifted to lie back on the couch, taking the space that Orla had vacated, dumping his head in my lap, though it took him longer to get there.
I wedged a cushion beneath his leg and another under his head, handling both parts of him as if they were made of the thinnest glass. “All right?”
Nash stared up at me. Then his gaze rose to my hand, where it lay on top of his head. “Your brother put his hand on me like that when I was under the lorry. It felt nice and made me think of you, but when you do it, I feel like I’m going to catch fire.”
I tangled my fingers in his hair, wishing I could wrestle him into a different position and kiss the hell out of him. Then changing my mind as gratitude flooded me that he was here for me to put my hands on at all.
Warmth brewing, I leaned down and touched my lips to his, palm sliding to the back of his neck, fingers still twisted in his messy hair. It was a soft kiss. A sweet one. But that warmth ran wild in the blink of an eye and my pulse jumped, loud in my ears, overriding the buzzing I still carried from Priest’s pipe.
Fuck, he felt so good. I kissed him again, fighting the untamed and blistering heat that had so often consumed us.
He’s healing. Be fuckin’ careful.
I tried.
Nash didn’t. He gripped my jaw and welded his lips to mine, his tongue a sneaky, silky devil that snuck through every restraint I possessed, sizzling my blood.
Hardening my dick.
I broke away with a groan I couldn’t catch.
Nash snatched a breath, eyes wider than they usually were when I kissed him.
I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Try again.”
Nash took another shaky inhale. “Can you do something for me?”
“Anything.”
“Can you check my dick still works?”
“Eh?”
“Check itworks.” Nash chewed on his lip. “I’ve got some numb patches still, from the surgery. The doctor said it would go away, but I have this weird memory from the crash that I broke my dick, and I don’t want to find out if that’s true when I’m trying to fuck someone I love.”
Ah. Now this, I understood. Somehow, by the grace of whatever deity I didn’t believe in, I managed to suppress my grin. “Nash, there’s nothing wrong with your dick.”
“How do you know?”
“You’re wearing joggers.” To accommodate the cast. “I can fuckin’seeit.”
“What if I can’t feel it, though? What if I can’t feelyou?”
“Is that a thing?”
“I don’t know. But that morphine drip gave me fucked-up dreams, and I’ve been too scared to really think about it until I was alone with you.”
“Why me?” Orla was his best friend as much as I was.More. They talked about everything—no subject off the table unless club business forced their hand.