Chapter Seventeen
NOAH
I watch in awe as Amira draws her fingers out and brings them up to her mouth. I can’t breathe as she wraps her lips around them and hollows her cheeks to suck all her juices off. Her eyes twinkle as her fingers pop from her mouth. Then her lids fall shut as she hums and her throat bobs as she swallows.
My legs finally give out, and I fall to my knees, my hand still on Amira’s cheek. She looks at me, eyes darting between my own, with an expression I can’t read. Unease races through me almost as quickly as my desire did, until Amira reaches between us to wipe her thumb between my brows.
“You’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning,” she says with a soft laugh.
I grab her hand, moving to drop it over my shoulder. “Stop giving me things to frown about, then.”
“It’s hard to not do something when I don’t know what I’m doing. Why were you frowning?”
“Because I was right.” Stroking her cheekbone with my thumb, I dip my head to press my forehead against hers. “You’re not out of my system, Cupcake. And after that … I don’t think I ever want you to be.”
“Do you have places to be today?”
I shake my head even though I do.
I’m not technically ‘working’ today, but work is piling up, and I need to look over my proposal for the hotel before sending it all off to the architects. In some weird twist of the seven degrees of separation theory, Cassidy’s boyfriend’s ex-wife is now dating a guy with a building company. I found out at the housewarming, and he looked just as scared about the idea of running his father’s company as I felt about owning the winery. Whether I felt an immense amount of empathy or was just jumping at the chance to not have to research companies and make a decision, I’ve given him the chance to quote me on the big hotel build.
But first I need to figure out what I want. The old, converted barn house we use for events has a unique rustic charm, and the cellar door and restaurant building was first built decades ago to match it. I want the hotel to feel luxurious and modern, I just don’t know how to make it match the aesthetic people have grown to love the winery for.
But even with that looming over my head, I’d choose spending more time with Amira any day of the week.
“Amira, we … I …” I trial off, not knowing how to speak the words. I need her to know what this meant to me. I need to know if it meant the same to her or if I’m getting a thousand steps ahead of myself.
“I know,” she whispers, leaning into my hand. “I know.”
Tilting her head to the side, Amira closes the gap between us. Her mouth finds mine in a kiss that’s tentative at first. I hesitate, our lips pressed together but unmoving until I can’t help myself. Coaxing her mouth open with my tongue, I deepen the kiss. Amira falls into me, and I savour the way our combined taste lingers on her tongue.
Together, we get lost in the moment. Exploring, appreciating … and God I swear I’m in way too deep because it feels like loving. The thought crashes through me like a bullet straight to the heart and I pull back, panting.
“What?” Amira frowns, and I mirror her movement from earlier, rubbing my thumb between her brows.
“Don’t do that.” I breathe the words out while blinking away the moisture that has crept its way to the corner of my eyes. “Amira, this is … everything. And I know why we are here but God … it’s not enough.”
“It is. For now at least, it is.”
I grab her hands in mine and hold them against my chest, wondering if she can feel the way my heart beats for her.
“Not for me.”
Closing her eyes, Amira’s chest rises with her inhale. She lets her breath out in a long shaky exhale. “Noah, it has to be.”
Before I can hold her close to me, she stands and moves towards the couch. She reties her robe around her waist before sitting down, curling her knees close to her chest and wrapping a grey throw blanket over her body. Fiddling with the tasselled corner, she doesn’t look over to me as she speaks.
“I want whatever this is, Noah. But I want it as it is. I want to pretend you’re my boyfriend in public and act like you are in private. I want to thoroughly enjoy you and us and what we can share. But I can’t handle anything more than that. Relationships are … not for me. There’s too much pressure and I crumble under the weight of labels. I just want what we have, without worrying about where it’s going.”
It feels a little like she’s pulling out the threads of my heart instead of the cotton of the blanket. But the hardest part is knowing she could unravel every inch of me and I’d still worship the ground beneath her feet. I want everything with Amira. Not just the fake in public and not just the real in private. I want her to know I’m hers and I always will be. I want to know she’s mine. That we’re a team in every way.
But for whatever reason, she can’t give me that. Or she doesn’t want to. And that burns behind my eyes more than I thought possible.
“Why?” I force myself to stand, moving towards her only to drop to my knees again in front of her. “What are you afraid of?”
I ball my hands into fists by my side, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around her as her lower lip trembles.
“Me,” she admits. “I don’t know what this is, Noah. I’ve never felt this before and I’m terrified I’m going to fuck it up. For so long, I’ve turned up my nose at my father’s expectations of me. I refused to even consider settling down with one person. It was my own private rebellion, and I was enjoying myself. I never expected to find someone who makes me want to forget it all. I don’t know what that means for me , for the person I thought I was.”
“We can figure it out together, Amira.”
“I want to. Just … without the pressure.”
“Without the pressure.”
Giving in, I stretch up to kiss her forehead, then along her nose before planting a firm kiss on her mouth.
“But with everything else, right?” She teases my mouth with her tongue and I part my lips to let her deepen the kiss.
“Yeah,” I breathe when we part. “With everything else.”
Amira kicks the blanket off her lap and stands in front of me. Her hand finds the back of my head, and she tugs on my hair so I stand before her. Looking up at me, her eyes glisten with the moisture of her tears. I wipe it away with my thumb, kissing her forehead again.
“I need you to know something,” I whisper in her ear.
She hums in response, fingers teasing the hair along the nape of my neck.
“It’s always been you. From that day Cassidy first moved in here and I saw you watching me. I’ve been obsessed with you. And fake or not, I will gladly be whatever you need, for as long as you need me.”
By the time Ella comes home, Amira and I have gone our separate ways, even though we’re still in the apartment. I’ve spread out once again on the table, over analysing my proposal for the hotel and Googling architectural designs to show as examples. Amira has taken over the kitchen, as she often does, to bake for the boutique. Cookies a few days ago, macarons today, possibly cupcakes tomorrow.
And entering the apartment, Ella sneaks down the hallway as though we might not notice.
“Oh fuck.” When she sees us, an exaggerated sigh escapes her. She gives up tiptoeing with her shoulders hunched, instead rolling her shoulders back and marching into the living space in what I can only assume is last night’s dress.
The sparkly navy fabric drapes from her upper body before clinging tight around her hips and thighs. Large gold hoops hang from her earlobes, matching the strappy shoes hanging from her fingers.
“You really thought you were going to get away with that?” Amira jests as she pulls a tray out from the oven.
The sweet, sugary scent I’ve grown to associate with Amira’s baking wafts from the kitchen, spreading through the room until I’m all but drooling onto my keyboard.
Ella covers her face as she slouches into the chair opposite me. “Don’t tell my mum?”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Leaving her trays to cool on the counter, Amira sets a timer before joining us at the table.
I’ve learned everything to do with baking is so delicately timed. It’s not just how long something is in the oven, but how long it rests before going in the oven and how long it cools after being cooked. It reminds me of the wine making process and how intricate every step is. There’s a reason I continued to leave that side of the business to the oenologist and vintner my grandmother hired many years ago. They are the reason our wine continues to sell exponentially well. Not me.
And just like they know their art better than they know their own hands, Amira understands her baking better than anyone I know. She thinks she just ‘makes the treats’ for the café portion of the boutique, but I can see it’s more than that. Her homemade sweets are what sets the little coffee cart apart from every other café in Melbourne.
It was hard enough to work with Amira distracting me from the kitchen, but with her seated next to me all I can think about is touching her again. Holding her again. I close my laptop in defeat and drop my hand under the table to rest on her thigh. The muscles in her leg tense at first, but then she places her hand over mine and gives my wrist a short squeeze.
Ella tracks the movement, arching her eyebrows.
“So,” Ella draws out the word. “You’re welcome.” She giggles to herself before adding, “Although I have to admit I was thinking selfishly when I didn’t come home.”
I glance at Amira, but she shrugs her shoulders ever so slightly and curls her lips down.
Turning back to Ella, I lean back in my chair. “What do you mean?”
Dropping her shoes to the floor Ella leans her elbows on the table and rests her chin on her fingers. “Do I really have to spell it out for you Noah? I. Got. Laid.” She taps a hand on the table with each word, before slamming both down and clapping as she whoops. “And boy was it good.”
She can’t talk. I’m sure her experience was fine, more than fine, judging by the pale blush spreading over her cheeks and the way she fans herself at the memory. But no matter how good it was I know it had nothing on what Amira and I shared earlier today. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. Haven’t stopped wondering when we’ll get another chance to be that untamed. Haven’t stopped imagining what it might be like to feel her come apart from the inside. My balls ache at the thought, and I’ve been sporting a half-chubbed cock ever since.
“I’m sure it was,” I say, doing my best—which from the sound of my voice is very little—to hide the gravelly undertones. My fingers tighten on Amira’s thigh and she pats two quick taps on the back of my hand.
“Anyway, I hope you two lovebirds had fun while I was out.”
Fun is one word for it, although it does little to convey the sheer intensity. My skin still crawls with the memory.
Amira shifts her thighs, pressing them together until my fingers are stuck between her legs. Shock waves jolt up my arm and my ears buzz. Is she remembering just how good it was as well?
“Well,” she says as she jumps from her chair. “Ella, let’s go get dinner.”
“It’s three thirty, Amira?” Ella stands slowly. “And I have to get changed.”
“Get changed then. We need to debrief.”
The timer goes off, and Amira races back to the kitchen to stack the fresh biscuits in containers. She keeps her back to me as she heads for the entry to grab her shoes. Her sudden change in mannerisms is stark and concern creeps along my spine.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
She still doesn’t turn when she answers. “I don’t know.”