Chapter 15 Noelle #2
The words land so deep I feel them in my bones. I duck my head, heat flooding my face. “Brooks never…” I stop myself, folding my lips over my teeth.
Matt’s fingers lift my chin gently, making me look directly in his eyes. “Don’t compare,” he says quietly. “I promise I’m nothing like him.”
“I know.”
He studies me for another long, quiet beat, then his hands skim up my skin, slow and respectful, pausing any time my breath catches.
“You okay?” he asks again.
I nod. It’s a blur of heat and disbelief that I’m nearly naked with Matt. “Yeah. Feels… good.”
“Good is good,” he says, thumbs brushing along the line where fabric meets skin. “You tell me if anything doesn’t. We stop. No questions asked.”
I believe him. I believe him so much my core aches.
I want more. I want to know what all the fuss is about, the thing other girls whispered about in locker rooms like it was some secret club I’d never get access to.
I want to understand my own body instead of pushing my feelings aside and just being there for the man, wondering why I don’t react the way I’m “supposed” to.
Even though I’ve only had sex once with Brooks, it was his desires that were fielded.
When his fingers dip under my skirt’s waistband, his eyes silently ask for permission with an almost imperceptible nod.
“Please,” I say, surprising myself with how sure I sound.
Matt lifts me to my knees, and I hear each metal tooth of the zipper unlatch.
He moves one of my knees between his legs and eases the skirt down, letting it fall somewhere behind him on the bed.
Now I’m in just my bra and underwear, practically sitting in his hands.
Every instinct in me screams to dart under the covers, make a joke, deflect.
But I stay. I sit there and let him peruse my body.
He swallows hard. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he says, voice rough. “I want… everything. But I’m not rushing this. Not with you.”
Everything inside me trips over that last part. Not with you. Like I’m not just some impulse. I’m something he’s choosing to go slow for.
He leans forward, pressing open-lipped kisses along my collarbone, each one leaving sparks racing under my skin. My fingers dig into his hair almost without my permission.
He makes a quiet sound that does very confusing things to my insides.
“Tell me what you like,” he murmurs against my skin. His hands glide up and down my back in long, soothing strokes. “What feels good. What doesn’t.”
Panic flickers. My brain goes completely blank, like he just asked me to solve a calculus problem in the middle of a hurricane.
“I… I don’t know,” I admit, my voice small. “No one’s ever really asked.”
He stills, pulling back enough to see my face. There’s no judgment there. Just a kind of quiet fury I know isn’t aimed at me.
“He never asked?” Matt says, and I don’t need him to clarify who he means.
“No.” I try to laugh it off, but it comes out thin. “He had… rules. About what he liked. What he didn’t. And we only had sex once. I don’t truly know what I like.”
The admission makes me feel naked in a way the lack of clothes doesn’t. But Matt doesn’t flinch, just smooths his thumb over my lower lip.
“Okay,” he says softly. “Then we’ll figure it out together. At your pace.”
My chest squeezes so tight I almost can’t inhale. “What if there’s nothing to figure out?” I whisper, voicing the stupid fear that’s sat in my gut for years. “What if I’m broken? What if all this hype about how amazing it is and I’m just… a tomboy that doesn’t work right?”
My eyes burn suddenly. Damn it. I did not schedule tears for tonight.
He notices—of course he does. “Hey,” he murmurs. “We don’t have to do anything more than kiss. Hell, we don’t even have to do that. You just say the word.”
“And what if I don’t want to stop?” I ask, my voice shaking even as my hands grip his shoulders like I’d gladly anchor myself to him and never move.
His gaze darkens. “Then we go slow,” he says. “And you tell me what feels good as we go. I promise I’ll cherish every inch of your skin. Show you the intimacy you deserve. We don’t have to get it all perfect tonight. This isn’t a test. There’s no scoreboard.”
No scoreboard. No grading. Just… learning.
I let the idea sink in, surprising myself with how much calmer it makes me.
“But you said this is a one-time thing.”
“I lied to myself. Not now.”
“Okay,” I say, breathing him in. “How do we… start?”
He smiles then, small but real, and it does something ridiculous to my insides. “We already did,” he says, kissing me again, softer this time.
He leans us backward, shifts us gently, rolling so I’m on my back and he’s beside me instead of on top, one arm tucked under my shoulders, the other spread across my stomach like he’s anchoring me there. It’s protective, not trapping. He could move away in a heartbeat, but I could too.
Tattoos cover one side of his upper body, and for some reason, it revs my engine, faster than Holly’s. I’m completely lost in all things Matt Stricker.
Matt takes his time kissing me, and it feels like he’s writing a song on my lips. I don’t know if it’s so I don’t forget or so he won’t.
Believe me. I won’t forget.
My fingers trace the patterns of his tattoos as I soak in every new feeling. His hand wanders along my hip, the side of my thigh, the dip at my waist. Every pass leaves a burning sensation behind.
Not frantic, not rushed.
One hundred percent lost in the moment.
My whole body feels like it’s humming, but not in a panicked way. More like someone finally tuned me to the right station.
He pulls back just enough to whisper, “Do you want me here?”
“Yes.”
He trails his mouth along my jaw, down the curve of my throat, pausing whenever my breath catches. “Here?”
“Yes,” I groan.
His hand slides up my arm, fingers weaving with mine above my head, grounding me even as I feel like I might float away. “Here?”
“Yes,” I say again, a little shocked at how sure I sound now, especially since I no longer have my hands to touch him or urge him to stop or continue.
But like the gentleman he is, Matt keeps checking in, keeps listening, adjusting when I flinch or go still, repeating what makes me sigh. It’s… new. All of it. Not just the touch, but the care. The attention. Like he’s invested in my experience, not just his own.
Time blurs. It could be minutes, could be hours. All I know is that I’m breathing hard and my skin feels alive in ways I didn't know it could, and nothing has really “happened” by locker room standards. No score. Just this slow, steady opening, however, I do feel his length hard against my thigh.
At some point, he rests his forehead against mine again, both of us panting lightly. His thumb strokes the side of my neck and slides down my breastbone. It’s so gentle yet lights up every nerve in my skin.
“Still with me?” he murmurs.
“Yeah, hmm,” I utter. My voice sounds wrecked. A field after a storm, muddied but finally rinsed clean.
He closes his eyes, exhaling shakily. “You’re killing me, you know that?”
“Is that… bad?”
He laughs under his breath. “Not even a little. I just… don’t want to push. I’ve wanted you for so long, Noelle. I have to keep reminding myself this isn’t a dream.”
Something in my chest loosens at that. He’s not just in this because I’m convenient or because of some revenge plot. He wants me.
“What if I want you to push a little?” I ask softly. “Not in a scary way. Just… I don’t even know what I like. I don’t know what I’m supposed to enjoy or what’s just me trying to be what a guy wants.”
His hand stills on my skin, his breath falling on my face.
“No ‘supposed to,’” he says, firm. “There’s only what you want. What your body responds to. What makes you feel good. We can take our time and figure that out.”
My heart starts beating so hard it’s almost distracting. I lick my lips, nerves and wanting and something like hope tangling up in my veins. “But it’s not just about me. I want to make you feel good too.”
He opens his eyes, and I swear I’ve never seen anyone look at me the way he’s looking at me now. Not like I’m a trophy girlfriend or an obligation. Not like I’m some fragile little sister. Like I’m… everything. The sun that warms his body. The moon that lights his nights.
I hold his gaze, the words bubbling up before I can overthink them to death. “Matt,” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
My fingers tighten around his where our hands are still tangled above my head. My throat feels tight, but the words come anyway.
“Teach me.”