Drum roll everybody!! You voted and you chose Nastasia as the official ship name for Anastasia and Nate!! Though I also really liked the original AnNa! Thank you for all your suggestions, and now without further delay, here is some Nastasia for you 😁❤

For those few (weird) ones who would want a ship name for Ana and Fergus, or Nate and Pamela, let me know your suggestions in the comments! 😉😅

"Just in time!" Anastasia closes the trapdoor and carefully climbs down the ladder, her soaked state making her movements more hesitant as she looks down, trying to distinguish something in the dimness. "Is there another step?" 

"Yes, one more and then you jump." Nate has his arms up, ready for her, just in case.

Though with her slim silhouette appearing closer and closer, he has to swallow hard and his hands are almost shaking as he fights the dangerous thoughts coming to his mind at the sight of her small round butt just above. Wrapped in tight, drenched leggings, these peachy cheeks – which he remembers exactly how firm they are – are doing terrible things to him.

"Aah!"

He barely gets to blink the dangerous flashes appearing in his mind that she is slipping on the last step, her whole tantalizing self falling in his arms.

"I got you," he breathes out, catching her by the part tempting his thoughts, and when he turns her around smoothly, and their chests collide, it is her turn to exhale the shaky sigh she has been holding.

There are only a few inches between their parted mouths, his hot breath fanning over her cold lips, and she is engulfed in all of him as his hands are still gripping tightly her butt, creating electric tickles and tantalizing her for more.

"Thank you, Natha– Nate," she corrects herself once more when she looks up and meets his penetrating gaze boring into her soul despite the darkness of the room. 

She still can't say his name, afraid she would moan it like in her dreams.

Nate has never disliked his nickname more than right now. He misses all the syllables ringing from her lips, wrapped in her melodious accent, and when she moves slightly, clearly trying to avoid him, but only bringing their cores closer, it worsens it all. His stomach drops, and his arousal rises. She's still upset with him, and he's still infatuated with her. 

With a great effort on all his muscles, he lets her go, stepping away the most he can in the dark and narrow space.

Though his eyes stay glued to her, and when he sees the faint shudders of her body, he's immediately leaning closer, his instinct to protect her stronger than his reason.

"You're cold?" 

It hasn't been exactly out of cold that she has shivered, and her eyes widen, more shudders invading her as he takes off his sweater, revealing a tight black t-shirt.

"No, no, I'm fine."

Yet he is already wrapping the pullover around her shoulders.

"It's a little wet, but it'll be better than nothing."

She nods, unable to form words when he is so close. His woody, slightly tangy perfume is engulfing her like a warm embrace, yet still tickling her senses at the same time, and even when he steps away, his scent is still enveloping her shoulders, her lungs, and her brain.

"Maybe we can find a cover. I just need to find the light first..." He starts searching around.

Though she clearly doesn't need more heat; she has started burning the second her eyes have fallen on his firm chest, the dim lighting and the tight fabric of his shirt not doing much to hide the lines she remembers too well, and she becomes feverish with every move of these muscles that her gaze follows carefully.

"Here."

He switches the light on, and the temperature turns hotter with the clearer view. Yet she doesn't take off his sweater; it would be ungrateful, and she may like to have his scent on her.

So she tries to cool or calm down, peering at her surroundings.

The room is really small, a few squares feet, without even a chair, only a modest table with a tiny first-aid kit on it, and an old washstand in a corner. An old neon light is in the center, barely lighting more than the two motion-sensor lights that have welcomed them, though it is already more than enough for her too attentive gaze, which has quickly gone around the room.

It is clearly just a basic emergency shelter, meant to pass only a few hours underground in cases of weather emergencies like these tornados, and after a few seconds, her gaze comes back to Nathaniel, the only valuable piece in this room... that dark close-fitting tee-shirt, those tensed muscles, and lower... Her eyes almost pop out of their sockets as they fall down on the bump of his jeans; she hasn't dreamed it when he has been close a few minutes ago.

If she has been feverish before, now she is suffocating as much as in that haunting steam room, struggling to breathe the air that appears thicker, and when she looks up and meets his gaze, her cheeks catch fire.

She immediately averts her eyes away, but uncontrollably, they find their way back to him like a magnet, and there is not much more to look at in the room, which isn't helping.

Besides, the silence is accentuating everything, the awkwardness and electricity almost ringing out in the small space, where the most shallow breath and the faintest movement become deafening.

He scratches nervously the back of his neck. "I'm sorry..."

He is fighting hard with his body's reactions because the last thing he wants to do is to make her uncomfortable, and he can't react like this when they are supposed to be 'friends'.

But stuck in a room with this angelic temptress, this siren wearing a white soaked tank top clinging to her forms in a way that should be forbidden, and with his sweater around her shoulders, he can't help the aching he is feeling down there.

"It's okay, I mean, I-I guess, it... it happens sometimes for no... no apparent reason..." she stutters, her eyes glancing everywhere, as if searching for a hole to disappear into.

"There is a really apparent reason." His voice is thick, and the dark look in his eyes makes it very clear.

"Oh..." It is the only thing she can reply, at least, the only thing that comes out of her lips, while her body is reacting too loudly with more shivers down her spine, and the thuds of her heart picking up its pace to flood her cheeks with more blood.

Through the quick drop of her head to hide her unease, Nate still catches clearly the crimson red on her cheeks, reminding him of their first encounter when she has been flushed in pleasure, much less shy. It only increases his craving to redden her milky skin again in so many ways, and it makes the burn of his gaze on her skin more intense. 

It is once again an endless and dangerous cycle, always spinning faster like the bangs of their hearts and the throbbings of desire inside them.

She grabs her phone, clutching it almost desperately, as she needs a distraction before her own body deafens her in this silence.

"There's no signal." His voice is hoarse and strained; there is no doubt that he is battling his desire as much as she is, and it makes her hands shake as she tries to unlocks her phone, which isn't easy when all her nerves seem to be focused on the tingles shooting down the small of her back.

"They forecast it will last two or three hours!" she gasps when she manages to unlock the screen and reads the notifications she has received earlier. 

Two-three hours, so many things can happen in two-three hours, especially stuck in a small room underground. A faint voice resonates in her, surely her ravenous lust.

"How do you say? Mer...?" He tries to lighten the mood, though the tension is dripping off his every word.

"Merde." She smiles, making the mistake of glancing up at him and sharpening the strain in the air.

She wriggles slightly her restless muscles and wrings her hands, anything to dissipate some of this overwhelming tension. She has never felt this uncomfortable around Nathaniel. She wants to run away, yet her body is yearning to get closer.

"Tell me something," he rasps, and although he has surely never meant to, it echoes like a primal demand.

"Yeah, about what?" She searches her mind, when only dangerous thoughts come to her.

"Tell me something unattractive about you."

She raises her eyebrows, not knowing how to take it. Why is it flattering and offending at the same time?

Yet anything is good to distract her mind and body, so she starts listing, "Er... I eat snails, you know, those rubbery and slimy gastropods? I find them exquisite..." She offers him a cheeky grin, which surely would look innocent in any other circumstances, and the chuckle he lets out is still strained.

It could work, though the way she talks about it makes it sound almost erotic, and parallels between her folds and the snail shell flash in his mind.

"Something else?" He shakes his head, closing his wide eyes as he tries to dissipate those thoughts and the shock of how dirty his mind can be, especially when it comes to Anastasia.

"I'm stubborn, but you probably already noticed?"

He nods, a smile relaxing his features, though he still isn't able to open his eyes, as her voice is already bewitching, its echo pervading too deep inside, and he doesn't need to see her to imagine the light crease between her eyebrows as she continues her enumeration,

"Er... also when it's cold, at home, I'm usually wrapped in ugly onesies and so many layers." 

The images of her tempting body in ugly PJ's immediately flash in his mind, and it's followed as fast by a rush in each of his muscles to rip all the 'layers' she is talking about, one after the other.

He opens his eyes abruptly, the darkness engulfing any light in them. "Stop, it doesn't work."

She wouldn't be able to continue anyway; she can't even catch her breath with the ravenous look in his eyes and the air around growing thicker and thicker.

She glances around for anything to distract her, but her gaze inevitably falls back on the bulge of his jeans, even more prominent now.

"This looks painful..."

'Painful' is a euphemism; it's almost torture. Every single one of his muscles is tensed excruciatingly, fighting the urge to jump on her. 

Only four little feet are separating them – his gaze has run over the narrow distance enough times to know it accurately – and the way she bites her lower lip with a sorry look in her doe eyes is tempting him to cross the line. He closes his eyes once again, letting out a sound between a sigh and a grunt, unable to answer her.

There is something so primal and animalistic while he seems to be battling his desire, and it only arouses hers. As his eyes are closed, hers are uncontrollably and shamelessly roaming over his figure, from his clenched tight jaw, to every muscle of his arms and shoulders flexing, to his visible hardness. This might be the sexiest sight she has ever witnessed. 

Actually, he might be the sexiest man she has ever seen, and knowing she is the one to drive him in this state is thrilling, yet also guilt-inducing. She doesn't know if it is the guilt or the thrill making her say, "You know... if you need, you can–"

"No, I can't." His eyes shoot wide open, stopping her before she can pronounce the words because wrapped in her soft accent, they might be the final blow that tears the last straw of his control, and even his low voice is echoing the shakes of his restraint. "In front of you, I don't wanna make you feel uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry," she repeats, nipping her bottom lip, and making it harder for him, in many ways.

She's peering up at him with so much innocence and guilt, yet it only makes his thoughts and all his body more lustful as her eyes are growing larger and the darker shades there more inviting. Even the ways she's nervously playing with a wet lock holds something sensual, and actually, every small movement, as imperceptible as her uneven breathing, is accentuating her forms under the clingy, thin fabric of her wet top. His sinful angel.

This nickname has never sounded truer as she confesses breathlessly. "If it can help... you're not the only one..." 

He swallows hard, now noticing how tight her legs are squeezed together. 

"It doesn't."

The look he offers her carries so many emotions: apologizes, guilt, amusement, complicity... all of this drowned in the darkness of desire, and this triggers something in her.

"Maybe..." she starts slowly, not even knowing where she is going with this.

He widens his eyes as he envisions too clearly the path she is thinking about.

"We can't break the law again..." At this point, her hoarse voice makes it sound like she's speaking up her thoughts, letting her internal battle echo in the silence, and it resonates too much in him. "But if we... each... relieve ourselves... on our own... we wouldn't be really breaking it..." 

Her fingers let go of the strand they've been mindlessly curling, sliding down to her scales pendant falling just above the neckline of her tank top, and slowly, her hand slithers lower.

"Are you sure this is a good idea when we're... friends?" he finishes his last word in a shaky breath as his hungry eyes are glued to her right hand.

Inch by inch, her fingers drive a path down, her gaze not leaving his dangerously dark one like it can guide her. The throbbing in her core is becoming almost unbearable, and she squirms her legs, seeking some friction when his own hand gets closer to his bulge. 

She arrives at the waistline of her leggings just as his fingers are at the belt of his jeans, and they both stop, hesitating and searching in each other's eyes like in a mirror.

The thoughts of breaking the rules, of crossing the line of their 'friendship', of betraying her future husband resonate in her conscience. But she is doing nothing wrong; she is just touching herself, like she has done many times before, except that this time, it is in front of Nathaniel, who is as aroused as her. Those are the reasonable counter-arguments she gives to her conscience when the tingles of anticipation on her skin are everything but rational, blurring her ideas.

"This is a case of emergency." She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, refuting her reason and Nathaniel's arguments.

Yet she doesn't move as, paralyzed, she is looking for resistance or salvation in his hooded eyes.

"Just once..." she continues as his fingers are unfolding slowly his leather belt. "And then we forget it..."

"Just two friends helping each other out?"

A smile replaces the incessant nibbling of her lower lip at his suggestion. They both know they're only talking themselves into it, blinded by their insatiable lust, but they're in too deep.

"Just helping each other out." She breathes, and his lips part when she sneaks her fingers into the waistband of her leggings.

This is too much for him to handle; he can't tear his eyes away from her, from her hand disappearing in her pants, from her hips swaying, and from her open lips letting out the gasps faster and faster. This makes his hardness pulse painfully.

He's had many fantasies about Anastasia, in many various positions, yet never like this, and this sight of her pleasuring herself shamelessly holds something so powerful and intimate. 

He opens his jeans, sliding his hand hastily in his boxers, while still holding her gaze, and not knowing where to look between the forbidden path of her hand and the sinfully dazed expression on her angelic face. He can't even blink away from her, his hand rushing to work against his shaft. He's never been this hard so fast, and he senses he won't last long, feeling like a horny teenager again, except that his wildest fantasy is right in front of him.

The pleasure coursing through her veins is so intense that she needs to close her eyes, but she can't, unable to look away from him. The glimpse of his erected member sends sparks all over her skin. She has never seen something like this: a man sinfully touching himself, though she knows it is because it is Nathaniel that it is pushing her over the edge.

When his other hand joins to pump faster his erection, she arches her back, her left hand running up to her breast and kneading it desperately, and a low grunt instantly rumbles through his chest, echoing in the empty room until her throbbing center. It is once again an endless cycle faster and faster, yet this one is only of desire and pleasure, and her head is spinning as she feels herself getting carried away.

Her fingers are matching the frenetic rhythm of his hands, their ragged breaths coming out in synch, and even if he isn't touching her, there is a special closeness, a connexion, like he is guiding her fingers with his ravenous gaze. It is these dark eyes that are leading her to sink one finger in her wet entrance, and the gasp she breathes out is because of the pressure building there, but also in the air around as the vein of his neck bulges out and he groans again.

It brings her closer and closer to the blissful explosion, the tempest threatening to take her away at any second, and she throws her head back, letting the blast of warmth and tension invade her core as she shifts her hips helplessly.

"Wait for me." His voice sounds pleading and desperate, the husky echo almost making her come, and she lets him know with a loud moan, not caring about anything but their pleasures at this point.

Yet she slows down the pace of her fingers, complying with his demand, while her heart only picks up its rate at the sight of the muscles of his arms becoming tenser and his hands faster. She doesn't see much, but it is like she can feel his member against her center, as the memories of their first encounter, of her first time, are inked in her mind and in her body. 

He is inked in her mind and body, and when he hisses a breathless sigh, the bliss invading progressively the darkness in his eyes, she lets it guide her fingers against her most sensitive place, aching for the release of the electric tornado triggered by him and only him.

"Nathaniel..." she moans, the sparks of euphoria engulfing her.

"Ana..." he echoes, her tornado of bliss blowing his.

He can almost feel her throbbing of pleasure as she's getting lost in the waves of her orgasm. Her lips parted, her head thrown back, her blown-out pupils, her shaky moans, and her trembling silhouette, he's losing himself, watching her, and the pleasure shoots him abruptly, almost striking him with the intensity. He just has time to turn around and hunches over.

Through her half-closed lids, she glimpses his figure, trembling with his back to her, as he releases himself in the washstand, and this dangerous, hidden sight is drawing out the last ripples of her bliss, carrying her a little bit more away, dangerously away.

Once she slowly floats back to reality, she meets Nathaniel's tired, drunk eyes, and they both breathe out a satisfied and exhausted breath. No word is needed; the silence is explicit enough, and they don't have the strength.

She has never brought herself this high with her fingers, but something in his dark gaze tells her that he could easily take her higher.

Sooo... what do you think of this chapter and Nate's little 'problem'? Nice way to help each other out as 'friends', isn't it? 😉 Did you expect this? 

Vote if you liked this steamy chapter 😉😉

And also, let me know in the comments, what you think will happen next? Will the two friends be able to pretend nothing ever happened? Or will they want more? 😉 Tell me! I love to hear from you my little rays of sunshine!! 🌞