Chapter Twelve Odette #2
I want something like that. I want someone to laugh with. Someone to cuddle. Someone to kiss, not just in the dark of night or in hallways.
I just want someone.
And even though I shouldn’t, I want that someone to be Noah.
“Hey, there you are!” Izzy grins up at me.
“Here I am.” I force a smile, then resume my spot. “So, did we decide?”
“Yep. We’re doing a band.”
I don’t know why her answer disappoints me, but it does. She was so adamant about a deejay before. But whatever. It’s not my wedding. It’s hers. As long as she’s happy, right?
The rest of the planning session feels like a complete blur, and Noah stays hidden in the basement, doing I don’t even know what.
We finalize a few other key things, and I get a mile-long to-do list. I welcome it, needing the distraction because he’s still all I’m thinking about even when I leave.
That’s how it stays too. Throughout my appointment to get sized for my maid of honor dress, the phone call with the vendor for chairs, and the evening when I finally make it home and pop a cup of noodles into the microwave. Even when I crawl into bed.
Noah, Noah, Noah.
Noah and the way he kissed me.
Noah and how he uttered my name with his deep, husky voice.
Noah and how he hid in the basement, even after he was the one who said we needed to talk.
He’s every one of my thoughts, which is why I crawl back out of bed—in my ridiculous pajamas with kissing dinosaurs on them and all—and slide behind the wheel of my car and drive straight to his house at ten thirty at night.
I shut my car off, but don’t move to get out. Instead, I stare at the old farmhouse that could use a fresh coat of paint, trying to talk myself into getting out and going to the door.
I don’t exactly know what I’m going to say or do. I just know this is where I want to be, and I can’t sort out why, especially since it’s the last place I should be.
After a while, the porch light flips on, and my heart rate picks up.
He knows I’m here.
A few minutes later, the door slowly opens.
Noah stands in the doorway, his silhouette illuminated by his foyer light. He crosses his arms over his chest, and even from here, I can see the hard set of his lips.
I don’t know how long I sit staring at him before finally pushing out of my car and trudging up to the porch.
I take a deep breath, then ascend the stairs.
I only stop when I’m a foot away.
“Can I come in?”
He moves aside wordlessly, and I walk over the threshold and into his house.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I jump, the sound harsh in the quiet of the night.
He steps up to me, tugging at the jacket draped over my shoulders, and I allow him to take it.
He hangs it on the hook beside the door as I go deeper into the house, toward the kitchen.
My mouth suddenly feels dry, and I need something to drink.
Or really anything to distract me from the fact that I’m at Noah’s house.
I grab a glass from the cabinet, then fill it with lemonade from the fridge. I settle back against the counter and sip on it slowly.
The whole time, Noah watches me carefully, not saying a word.
I get it. I don’t know what to say, either, but I do know two things.
One, I want to be here.
And two, I want to kiss him again. Or again again.
“What are you doing here, Odette?” he asks after a while.
I shrug. “I wanted to see you.”
He nods like that’s enough of a reason for him.
He stands in the doorway, his shoulder pressed against it and his hands in his pockets.
He has no business looking so damn good in nothing but a gray T-shirt and black sweatpants.
The moonlight filters in through the sheer curtains hanging over the kitchen sink, painting shadows over him in all the right places.
All it does is make him look even more perfect, even with his dark brown hair a mess, almost as if he’s been running his hands through it all day.
Is he more affected by our kisses than he let on earlier? Is this eating away at him too? Does he . . . does he want to kiss me again as badly as I want to kiss him?
A soft meow pulls my attention, and I’m surprised to see Pork trotting into the kitchen as if he’s lived here all his life.
He kept the cat.
Mr. I’m Not Keeping the Cat kept the cat.
It makes me want to kiss him even more.
So I push off the counter and go to him.
He meets me halfway, his hands tangling in my hair, lips finding mine in the dark.
Although this is only our third kiss, it feels oddly like coming home.
I sigh against him as he slips his hands under my ass, lifting me off the floor with ease. On instinct, I wrap my legs around his waist, and I don’t know where he’s taking me, but it doesn’t matter. I’d follow him anywhere at this point.
The coolness of the countertop stings, but all is made better as he fits himself between my legs. He kisses down my chin and over my neck. His touch is light, leaving behind the sweetest burning sensation with each feathery-soft kiss.
“Odette . . .” He says my name like it’s a curse all on its own. “What are you doing to me?”
“Kissing you.”
“Goddammit,” he mutters, and it’s the last thing he says before his mouth is on mine again.
He kisses me hard, and I kiss him back with just as much fervor. Sure, I’ve kissed him twice before, but it wasn’t enough.
I’m unsure if it ever will be.
That thought terrifies me. The curse has already ensured that no matter how badly I wanted Noah, I could never have him. Not really.
Yet here I am, giving myself to him anyway because I can’t help it. Because I want to.
Because damn the curse.
Damn the curse and all the heartbreak it’s brought. Why can’t this be different? Why can’t Noah be different? Why can’t I be happy too?
His hands find the hem of my nightshirt, and I nod against him, wanting him to remove it just as badly as he wants to.
He breaks our kiss to slide the material over my head and lets out a low hum of approval as he pulls back to look at me.
“Fuck,” he whispers, and I laugh.
“Is that a good fuck or bad fuck?”
He drags his gaze away from my simple black bra and up to my eyes. “A good fuck. A very good fuck.”
My smile is covered by his lips in an instant, his tongue finding mine again as his hands roam over me. It’s almost like he’s mapping out every inch of my skin, and I swear I could sit here and do this for hours.
But another time. Not tonight.
Tonight, I want more. I want him.
“Noah,” I say when he kisses from my lips to my ear, grazing my earlobe with his teeth.
“Hmm?”
“Take me upstairs.”
He pulls back, and there’s no mistaking the apprehension in his gaze. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “More than sure.”
I don’t have to tell him twice. He drags me off the counter, and I groan when I rub against him in all the right places.
“You okay?”
“No,” I whine. “I’m not okay. I’m not okay because I’m dying.”
He laughs, then carries me up the stairs as if he does this daily. In the back of my mind, I know I should be worried we’ll topple over, but I’m not. I feel safe with Noah. I always have.
He doesn’t stop until we reach his room, pausing right at the threshold.
“This is your last chance, Odette. If we walk into my bedroom, there’s no going back. I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to take you. I’m going to make sure you know I was inside you for days to come. So I’ll ask again: Are you sure you want to do this?”
Am I sure I want to sleep with my best friend’s older brother and possibly change the course of our relationship forever? No.
But am I sure I want to sleep with Noah, even though I know he’s the same person? Yes. Yes, I am.
I lean forward, my lips ghosting over his as I say, “I am absolutely positive that I want you to fuck me, Noah Stevens.”
A low groan rumbles from his chest, and he races into the room, dropping me onto the bed so quickly that I bounce back at him.
He flicks his chin toward me. “Off.”
I know he’s talking about my pants, and I waste no time pushing them off my legs and flinging them across the room. They land on his dresser, toppling something over, and I laugh.
And then I’m not laughing at all.
Noah pulls his shirt over his head, and it’s the first glimpse I’ve gotten of adult Noah without a shirt on.
If anyone thought he might ditch his exercise routine after leaving hockey behind, they were wrong. He’s still completely in shape, looking like he could lace up his skates and hit the ice like no time has passed.
He has his curtains and window pushed open to let the summer air in, and the moonlight streaming in is doing wonders for this moment, allowing me to see all of him.
His broad shoulders, which I’ve spent far too many workdays staring at, seem even bigger, and his stomach is full of ripples.
I can’t even keep track of the number of abs he has.
When I reach his face, he’s smirking, enjoying me checking him out far too much.
“See something you like, darlin’?”
It’s cheesy—so damn cheesy—but I don’t care. I’m in Noah’s bedroom, sprawled out on his bed, and he’s looking at me like he’s about to devour me.
And I’ve never wanted anything more.
He places one knee on the bed, looming over me, and I’m captivated. Absolutely enthralled by all things Noah.
I couldn’t move even if I wanted to, and I don’t.
He sets his other knee on the mattress, then, slowly, he works his way up, trailing his fingers over my skin so lightly that goose bumps form in their wake. He doesn’t stop until he’s fit right between my legs, settling his hips against mine so he can capture my lips with his once more.
He kisses me softly this time. Less urgent than when we were down in the kitchen. Almost like he’s savoring it. Savoring me.
Nobody has ever done that before. All my past experiences have been over quickly. We just get right down to business. No build up.
I want to be savored.
When he’s had his fill, he kisses over my chin, down my throat, and right to the tops of my breasts, still encased in my bra.
Just when I think he’s going to stop and kiss me there, he doesn’t. He keeps going. Lower and lower and lower, tracing his tongue around my belly button and right to the top of my underwear—the same pair that started all this two weeks ago.
He pauses, looking up at me with hooded eyes.
“I’m trying to be patient, Odette. I really am, but I can’t be anymore. I need to taste you. May I?”
Need to taste you. May I?
He sounds so polite, but there’s nothing polite about his stare. About the absolute hunger in his eyes.
About the need in his voice.
I’m not about to deny him.
I let my legs fall open, a silent invitation.
“Thank fuck,” he mutters, and it’s the last thing he says before he disappears between my thighs.