27. Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Seven
Lennon
“ T hat wasn’t so bad.”
Noah closes the door behind us as I throw myself on the bed, staring at the ceiling of my childhood room and wishing I had taken down the Jonas Brothers poster plastered to the wall near the bathroom that connects with my sister’s room.
“Yeah, minus the part where you had to watch hours of football.”
“Not my favorite thing, but I’ll survive.” The mattress sinks, and Noah sits next to me, staring at the very poster I’ve suddenly become embarrassed about.
“That poster seen a lot of action?” he asks, the amusement clear in his tone.
I smack him on the arm gently. “I didn’t kiss posters in high school, if that’s what you’re implying.” I smile. “Kind of weird that’s where your mind went, Noah. Have a confession?”
“I’m not ashamed of my weird adolescent behaviors.”
I snort a laugh, my legs still hanging off the bed as I melt further into the mattress, thankful that the introductions are over. Releasing a breath, the tension leaves my muscles, allowing me to truly relax for the first time all day.
Having Noah come to my family's Thanksgiving was not on my radar the last time I talked to Lorelei. I’m pretty sure she thought I was lying after I assured her he wouldn’t be here, and then here he is, dating me, no less.
The consistency showcases the very best of my qualities.
Noah lays down beside me, his fingers intertwining with mine. For a moment, it’s silent, and I can finally breathe.
I close my eyes briefly. “Ellis invited Cass to dinner with her family for tomorrow.”
Noah turns his head to look at me. “Cass doesn’t have family in the area?”
“I guess not. I feel bad I didn’t invite her or something.” My brow furrows. “An oversight, really.”
“Third-wheeling in a different state sounds like a perfect holiday to me.” Noah’s smile is bright when I turn to look at him.
“Don’t be such an asshole.”
That dimple appears on his cheek just before he sits up, propping himself on his elbow. Noah places a hand on the side of my face, leaning in slowly as his thumb strokes my cheek. He smells like whatever cologne he’s worn since the day we met, and I make a note to ask him what it is, if only so I can huff the bottle when he’s not around.
“I’m glad you invited me, Lennon.” His voice is low, intimate, as his lips hover an inch in front of mine.
“Not regretting it?” I ask, hating the thread of vulnerability in my voice.
“Not in the slightest.” The press of his lips has me melting into him, pulling him closer until my whole world is taken up by Noah Ashwood.
I was certain he’d regret coming, and that he doesn’t, sends a different kind of warmth through my body. Even when I’m an absolute dick to the guy, he’s still in my corner–a steady presence that believes in me, in what I’m doing. He wouldn’t have been painting those fucking cabinets last week if he didn’t.
Plus, he reminds me pretty frequently.
Noah’s hand migrates lower, skimming against my neck, and down until his finger brushes over my nipple. The soft bite to my lip has me moaning into his mouth, my body already buzzing with need.
When he shifts, hovering on top of me, I wrap my legs around him to draw him closer. The press of his cock against me driving me wild.
“Noah,” I breathe.
“Think you’ll be better about keeping quiet this time??” he asks through a breathy chuckle before grinding against me.
I gasp, leaning into his touch as he explores. “I think we should test it.”
Noah shakes his head. “I want your dad to think I’m a respectful boyfriend.”
“I’m sure he does.” I arch into him, desperate for more contact. I’m not sure why he’s still wearing clothes at this point.
His eyes darken as he looks down at me, but there’s a softness there–something more. “He won’t if he hears what I’m about to do to you.”
His mouth is on mine, fingers fumbling with the hem of my sweatshirt, pulling and tugging until we are both bare and sprawled out on the bed.
Noah holds himself over me, lining himself up. I moan, trying to pull him closer, but he won’t move.
“Noah,” I practically beg, and he skims his lips over my neck, kissing my jaw as one hand squeezes my thigh.
“Condom,” he murmurs, and I hate everything about it. All of it. I want him .
“I’m technically on birth control,” I whisper, and he pulls back. His eyes searching. “Tested and clean. You?”
“I’m clean,” he says.
I can still feel him there. “Please.” My nails scrape gently down his back as his eyes darken, and he pushes in.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
My hands are in his hair, tugging as my mouth explores any piece of skin I can get to, his thrusts keeping time with the beat of my heart. I lift my hips, grinding against him and feeling a spike of pleasure as my orgasm builds.
The room fills with harsh breaths, and when he whispers my name, I feel myself tip over the edge.
Noah’s thrusts become erratic, chasing his own release. “I–”
He doesn’t complete his sentence, groaning as he spills inside me.
Night has fallen outside the window, a few stars peeking out despite the streetlights in the neighborhood.
When we’re done, Noah pulls me into him; His body curved around mine, and his arms wrapped around my torso.
There’s no uncertainty–no question about what we are or what we’re doing–just the gentle rise and fall of his chest at my back and the steady beat of my heart matching his rhythm to my own.