Nuestra Canción | Nick Leister

Chapter 15

Mary

I was just trying to mind my own business.

The couch was comfortable, the TV was playing some random movie I wasn't even paying attention to, and for once, everything felt calm. At least, until Nick sat down beside me.

I didn't look at him at first, pretending not to notice the way he sprawled out, his body stretching along the length of the couch like he owned the entire damn thing. It was something he did often—take up space, push boundaries, make himself impossible to ignore.

And yet, I tried.

But then his hand landed on my thigh.

I tensed immediately, my whole body going rigid at the casual way his fingers rested against my skin. I wasn't wearing much—just a pair of sleep shorts and a loose top, because I hadn't expected to be dealing with this kind of thing tonight.

I swallowed hard, keeping my eyes locked on the screen in front of me. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

But I felt it.

The warmth of his palm seeped into my skin, his fingers pressing lightly, almost like he was testing how far he could go.

I tried to move my leg away, shifting slightly, but his grip tightened just enough to stop me.

My breath hitched.

Nick leaned in, his voice smooth and low. "What's the matter, Mary?"

I gritted my teeth, refusing to turn my head, refusing to let him see how much he was affecting me. "Nothing," I muttered, my voice tight.

He hummed, his fingers tracing small, absentminded circles on my thigh. My skin burned beneath his touch.

I should've pushed him away.

I should've told him to stop.

But I didn't.

I clenched my jaw, my nails digging into my palms as I forced myself to stay still. This was a game to him, a way to get under my skin, and I wasn't going to let him win.

Nick shifted beside me, his knee bumping against mine, his body just a little too close. He exhaled slowly, and I could feel his breath against my cheek.

I swallowed again, trying to keep my breathing steady, trying to pretend like my heart wasn't hammering against my ribs.

"I can feel you holding your breath," he murmured, his fingers inching just a little higher.

I let out a shaky exhale, cursing myself for giving him any sort of reaction.

"Relax," he said, amusement laced in his tone. "It's just a hand, Mary."

Just a hand.

I turned my head then, finally meeting his gaze. His eyes were dark, full of something I didn't want to name, something that made my stomach twist. He was enjoying this—enjoying watching me struggle, enjoying the power he had over me.

And I hated him for it.

Hated him for making me feel this way.

Hated him for how badly I wanted him to keep touching me.

I narrowed my eyes. "Don't you have anything better to do?" I asked, forcing my voice to sound unimpressed, even though my body was betraying me.

Nick smirked, his fingers tightening just slightly on my thigh before he finally pulled away. The loss of contact sent an unexpected jolt of frustration through me, and I hated that even more.