23. Twenty-Three
Twenty-Three
Lennon
A fter lunch, I ended up picking cards out of the box in my bedroom closet. I didn’t have it in me to go searching for any board games, so while it is not the most engaging choice, I decided on Go-Fish.
Noah leans against the back of the wooden chair in the dining room across from me. The bay window behind him faces away from the barn, revealing a stretch of grass before the line of trees. With the sun dipped below the horizon, deep purple paints the dark sky where stars will be peeking out at any moment. It’s one of the reasons I love the place–secluded, but not so far out of the city it wouldn’t make sense.
My small kitchen table from the apartment rests atop the original hardwood I fell for upon first sight. The table feels out of place–too simple next to the crown moulding. In a few months, when I get a bit more cash, I vow to furnish this room next. Pacing myself will ease the financial strain.
Which is a ridiculous thought because I’m already in enough debt, as it is. Nobody told me girlbossing involved financial ruin. It would have helped to know the truth.
“Is Go-Fish your favorite of the card games?” Noah looks at me over the cards in his hands, spread out like a fan. “Because, to be perfectly honest, this is a little slow.”
He’s not wrong.
“What if we change the rules? I don’t know where I packed the other board games, so we are stuck with a deck of playing cards, but I’m sure we could figure something out how to make it more interesting.”
Something darkens in his gaze, causing my stomach to swoop and dip like an acrobat. “I think I have an idea.”
I lick my lips, his stare heating every part of me it touches, engulfing me in flames. The sensation sets every nerve ending alight, buzzing with need. “What’s your idea?”
Noah leans forward, his sweater rolled to his elbows that are now planted firmly on the wooden tabletop. “Every time we draw a card, we also remove a layer.”
“Of skin?” I say, knowing full well that’s not what he meant. “Gross. Next, you’re going to tell me you brought lotion for me to use.”
Noah chuckles, that dimple popping in his cheek. “I meant clothes,” he clarifies.
When his brown eyes hold mine, and I can’t look away. There’s a challenge there–one I’m willing to meet.
I pick my cards up off the table, swallowing. “Sure,” I say as a thrill runs through me. After a day of picking out furniture, holding hands, and spending time together, what we’re doing feels dangerous.
Noah confessed to some form of exclusivity, and I’m not sure what it means, but it feels different. I have a feeling he doesn’t operate that way with the other women he sleeps with. Plus, it’s been weeks.
Weeks of laughing, banter, flirting, and splitting open every hope or dream that’s taken up space in my heart for the last decade.
I feel known–seen in a way that makes me want to reveal more to him. For an English Professor, there’s no judgment in Noah. I can’t help but decide I’d be willing to let him pick me apart–analyze me like a classic piece of literature.
I’d be safe under his scrutiny.
I lick my lips. “Do you have any fives?”
He fights his widening smile, biting the inside of his cheek before he says exactly what I thought he would. “Go-Fish.”
As if operating in slow motion, I draw a card and add it to my hand before placing my lot on the table. I pull the beanie off my head and run my fingers through my hair until I’m convinced the hat head is as good as it gets.
If my hair looks flatter than my chest in the seventh grade, Noah doesn’t let it show.
Picking up my cards, I roll my tongue along my cheek. “The forehead doing it for you?” I ask, and Noah lets out a breathy chuckle.
“It really is.”
I smile. “Your turn.”
Tapping a finger on the wooden surface, he scans his cards before settling on a question. “Do you have any fours?” I look at my hand, hating the gift the universe gave me before handing the card over.
“Unfortunate,” I say. “I was really looking forward to getting a glimpse of your ankles.”
“How scandalous.” He leans forward, the dimple deepening in his cheek. “I actually built my OnlyFans following by exclusively posting pictures of these ankles.”
I throw my head back laughing, holding my cards to my chest. “And the universe decided I don’t get to see them?” I question. “How much is a subscription?”
“For you?” Noah blows out a breath, his eyes lighted. “Free live shows every weekend, provided you offer me a job at the Inn.”
“Showing ankle?” My heart squeezes in my chest, soaking up every ounce of charm he throws my way.
Noah pushes the glasses up his nose, cocking an eyebrow in my direction. “I’d love nothing more than to become an ankle stripper for your guests.”
I chuckle, noting the two tens in my hand. “Tens?”
Noah shakes his head. “Go-Fish, Lennon.”
My name rolling off his tongue sends a chill down my spine. I hold his gaze as I reach my hands under my sweater, unhooking the back clasp of my bra, and carefully reaching into my sleeves to remove the straps before dragging it out without revealing an inch of skin. I let it dangle by my finger and make a show of dropping it on the floor.
The chair creaks when Noah shifts, a low sound rumbling from his chest.
“Kings?” he asks, and I note the one in my hand–making a quick decision.
“Go-Fish,” I say, knowing full well it’s a fucking lie.
He doesn’t waste time grabbing the back of his sweater and shedding the layer, leaving him in a white undershirt, his biceps pulling the hem of the sleeves taut. “Your turn.”
I squeeze my thighs together, helpless to the pull of his shirt across his chest–his arms.
“Fives?” I cock an eyebrow, and Noah huffs a laugh.
“You already asked that,” he says.
Feigning ignorance, I draw a card before standing up and pulling my leggings down. My sweater hits mid-thigh, keeping me covered. I hold the leggings out before letting them drop on the floor. His gaze follows every movement, heating when he catches sight of the thong falling to the ground in the heap.
He swallows just before I sit down on the chair.
“Do you have any twos?” he asks, his voice lower–sensual.
I don’t bother picking up my cards. I place my elbows on the table, leaning forward as I hold steady eye contact. The air is as thick as my voice when I speak. “Go-fish, Noah.”
“You didn’t look.”
“I said Go-Fish.”
Noah pulls the white undershirt off, revealing the planes of his chest, his stomach, the dusting of hair that trails downward, and I let my eyes linger.
I lean back, my cards still stacked on the table. “I don’t have it,” I say.
Gathering up his cards, Noah sets them off to the side. “Pity. I thought we’d be better at this game.”
“I think we are very good at it, actually.” I tug at the sleeves of my sweater before pausing. “Care to help?”
Noah stands, slowly rounding the table and prowling toward me. I push away from the table, the scratch of the chair echoing as it grinds across the floor. When he stands in front of me, Noah reaches for the bottom of my sweater, thumbing the fabric before slipping both hands in.
The calluses on his palms scratch against the skin of my thighs. When his hands rise higher, thumbs brushing over my hip bones, I suck in a breath.
“You were right,” I whisper.
“About?” he questions.
“Reece would never know how to handle me in this situation.” I stand, Noah following my movements, pressing closer when I rise to my full height, his hands still under my sweater. My heart pounds when I let my hand run over the planes of his chest, feeling every dip and curve–the heat of his skin.
My voice drops to a whisper as he leans in, his lips so close they’re almost touching mine.
He’s everywhere all the time–fixing the house, in my dining room, in my head. I downloaded that dating app because I was a wreck. Noah doesn’t do relationships, but what we’re doing definitely toes the line. I want him.
I want him building bookshelves and watching movies–eating charcuterie late into the night. As he gently lifts the sweater higher, tugging until it’s over my head, added to the lump of clothing on the floor, I struggle to catch my breath.
Noah presses his mouth to my shoulder, warm and wet, as I hold his biceps, needing some sort of anchor.
“I don’t think anyone would know how to handle me,” I admit, trailing one hand over his skin until my fingers are in his hair, tugging slightly. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
A dark sound leaves his mouth when he kisses me–devouring and needy.
His hands grip my ass, and I moan, tugging his bottom lip into my mouth, biting and soothing it with my tongue.
Noah groans, his hands lowering to the backs of my thighs as he lifts me, gently placing me on the dining room table before his tongue enters my mouth, tangling with mine.
I make a note to buy a new table sooner rather than later–especially when he presses forward, a hand slipping between my legs, his finger running along the seam of me.
“You’re so fucking wet, Lennon.”
I gasp, tilting my head when his mouth finds my neck, sending jolts of pleasure through my blood. I shift, encouraging him–begging him to touch me.
My hands move, memorizing every muscle beneath the stretch of his heated skin, the way his bicep flexes when he presses a finger into me.
His other hand finds my breast, thumb flicking over my nipple. Every breath–every touch feels intensified. It’s as if I can’t be anything but present with him in the moment–needy.
I whimper when his thumb circles my clit as he adds a second finger.
“I love the sounds you make.” His mouth moves lower, sloppy kisses trailing downward until his tongue finds my nipple, his hand still working me as pleasure builds.
I’m drowning in him, my eyes squeezed shut, climbing to the peak of my orgasm, when I suddenly feel empty.
My eyes snap open, watching as Noah brings his fingers to his mouth, his lips parting around them, sucking until they’re clean.
I squeeze my thighs together, reaching for the button of his pants. Noah gently grabs my wrist to halt my motions before pulling a condom out of his pocket, opening the foil with his teeth.
With his pants around his ankles, cock sheathed in the condom, Noah leans forward, heated and consuming. “I liked spending time with you today,” he whispers against my mouth.
My chest feels full, warmth washing over me at his words. “I liked it, too.” When the head of his cock presses against me, I moan, moving my hips in encouragement.
Noah brushes my hair away from my face, pausing as his warm brown eyes soak me in. I feel splayed out beneath him–fully myself and fully appreciated.
His fingers trail down the side of my face, sending sparks in their wake until his hand is around my throat–gentle and warm. He takes a deep breath before leaning down and pressing his lips to my neck, just above his hand. “You look so fucking good.” Another kiss. “You always do.”
I arch up, pleading for him to take . His praise has the temperature rising, my body squeezing around emptiness and leaving me desperate.
“I want to watch you come,” he whispers, his thumb stroking my skin, nose trailing up until his lips are at my ear, biting–teasing. “I want to watch the flush bloom over your chest when you gasp my name.”
He’s still there, his cock brushing against me, refusing to fill me the way I want.
The hand at my throat migrates lower, over my chest, down to my breast as his hips press into me. It’s not enough.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer, and a tether seems to snap. Noah’s breaths are harsh, wild as his forehead drops to mine. “Fuck, Lennon. Fuck. ”
When he pushes into me, I cry out, my nails scratching down his back. He pulls back, filling me again, and a guttural sound pulls from deep in my throat.
“I thought you were going to be quiet?” he asks, his breathy chuckle driving me wild.
“Fuck that,” I say before he pushes into me again. My body stretching around him, skin slick with sweat.
Noah chuckles again, and the warmth of his breath on my cheek has me moaning again. “Yeah, okay,” he says, his hand is on my hip, holding me steady as he enters me. “Fuck that,” he parrots. “I want to hear you scream.”
His mouth lowers onto mine, swallowing his name when I cry out.