Chapter 5
Emma
I did want to feel good. And right now, in this moment, with this man, it felt like it might be possible.
I breathed in the sweet night air and felt his hands move over my inner thighs, his thumbs brushing the edges of my panties. I was throbbing, every part of my body awake and aware, my existence focused on the slow touch of his hands, the bulk of his shoulders between my knees. My need for sex was always so driven—a striving toward a goal, an ambitious running down a checklist. Being pressed open, hovering on the edge of need and anticipation, was completely unfamiliar to me.
What was Noah Pearson doing to me?
He moved deeper between my legs, and his finger brushed over the cotton of my panties, brushing a line up and then down. “You are so fucking sexy,” he said in that whiskey voice, low and soft now with lust. “I don’t know how any man could look at you and not want to fuck you.”
My breath pressed shakily from my lungs. He ran his finger over me again, upping the pressure, and then he changed the angle so he was brushing me with one of his strong, masculine knuckles. “Tell me, Emma,” he said softly. “How often do you make yourself come?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. He had no idea that question was actually a bruise, though right now the pain of it was also pleasure. “All the time,” I admitted.
“I thought so. You need it often, and you need it good. I can tell.”
My head fell back against the back of the chaise as the pain mixed with the pleasure again. He had no idea how close he was to the truth, the one I couldn’t admit even to myself. I barely knew him, and he was already closer than anyone I’d ever met. “Noah, I can’t—” I inhaled a breath. “I need?—”
“Yeah, you do,” he said. He pushed aside my panties, shifted his weight between my legs, and pressed his tongue to me.
I bit back a cry as my hips tried to lift off the chaise. Pleasure spiked through me, hot and almost painful. Noah tortured me slowly with his tongue, taking his time as I gripped the chair and fought to breathe, to think.
It was good, so fucking good, but now came the familiar feeling on the heels of all that pleasure: resistance. My body tried to shut down and go numb. My brain went into overdrive, my thoughts spinning. This was never going to work, I was going to fail, I was going to be humiliated and ashamed, he was going to be disappointed in me?—
Noah lifted his mouth and replaced it with two fingers, the pads swirling in a gentle circle. Oblivious to how I was tearing myself in two, he rubbed me, his fingers slick and wet, his breath moving over my skin. I gasped as my fingers dug into the chair, as my body and my mind went to war.
And then something incredible happened. The war stopped, and there was nothing but pleasure.
Pure, unadulterated pleasure spiraled through my body, filling me. It was bigger than me, bigger than anything, and it came from Noah’s fingers as they circled me, then slid inside me as his mouth took over again. He pressed his mouth to me and sucked softly and I’d never felt anything that good, never known anything could feel that good. I pressed myself harder against his mouth and he slid his two fingers deeper inside me, and then I was coming, the pleasure flinging me apart and putting me back together again. It came in one wave, and then another, and then—incredibly—another.
I came down slowly, and at first my thoughts were a pleasant haze. The sensation was purely physical, as if for a few minutes I didn’t have a brain at all. Just a body, one that was heavy with satisfaction. Noah put my panties back in place and cupped me gently with his palm, the touch warm and a possessive, and through the aftershocks of the orgasm my body thrilled at the feel of it.
Then I felt the breeze on my skin, and I remembered where I was: on the deck of Noah’s house, under the dark L.A. night, with my hair down and my dress pushed up past my hips. And Noah Pearson was on his knees between my legs, and he’d touched me, and then…
“Oh, my God,” I said.
I looked down at Noah, who grinned up at me. Dear God, he was gorgeous. “That’s good for my ego,” he said.
I sat up, strangely nervous, my pulse beating rapidly in my throat. “Noah, I should go.”
His eyebrows rose. “You should?”
“Yes. Definitely.” I nudged him and he retreated from the spot between my knees, standing. I put my legs together, pushed my skirt down, and stood, smoothing the fabric. “I can’t stay,” I said, babbling. “I have to catch a plane in the morning. I have a lot of work to do. I should go back to my hotel room.”
He sounded unsure. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“No. I’ll get an Uber.” I was flushed, my neck uncomfortably hot, my body jittery. Where were my shoes? My purse? I’d left them inside. I left the deck and went back into his nice house, walking through his lovely living room unseeing. “I have to go,” I said again.
“You can stay,” Noah said. “Relax. I won’t touch you again.”
Something about those words twisted in my gut, and I kept my gaze down as I put my heels on. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just go.”
He didn’t push, but as I turned to the front door, pulling my phone out of my purse to summon an Uber, he put a hand gently but firmly on my wrist, making me pause. “Tell me the truth,” he said. “Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”
Oh, Jesus. I wasn’t handling this right, and now I had made him feel like a creep. Nice work, Emma. I made myself turn to face him, look up at him.
His features were shadowed in the dim light, but I could see that he was laser focused on me, his eyes searching my face. His brows were drawn down, his mouth pressed into a line of worry. He thought I was freaked out because he had harmed me—actually hurt me. He had no idea how wrong that was.
Even though I was falling apart in that moment, I couldn’t let him believe that. But how could I explain? I couldn’t think of the words for what was going on inside of me right now.
So instead of speaking, I put a hand on the back of his neck, rose up, and pulled him down to me. I kissed him on the mouth. He paused in surprise, and then he kissed me back, his lips firm and warm. He didn’t put his hands on me.
I broke the kiss, but I didn’t pull away. My lips still brushing his, I said, “Thank you.”
And then, before he could speak, I turned and walked out the door.