Chapter 11
Eleven
BEAR
S omething is different. I don't know what, and I don't know how to ask.
I didn't miss the way she looked at me back at the worksite—the only word I can find is "ogle," but it feels weird to apply that to me. I knew a few girls that would hook up with me back in the old hood, but I was never a ladies’ man. Too shy. Too fucked up. Those girls knew the score, too. We had a good time, I went my way, she went hers, and that was it. If we hooked up again some other time, cool, but there was never an expectation of more— more simply didn’t exist for us in that world. For me, at least.
And I’ve never felt like the type of guy a girl is gonna ogle, or stare at—not that way, at least. But she did.
She was looking at me like she couldn't get enough of looking.
That does weird shit to my insides. Twists my head all around. Makes me feel like…I dunno. I just don't know how to feel.
I wish I knew how she was feeling—what she was thinking. We’ve gotten way closer and gotten to know each other pretty well over the last couple of months, but I still can’t always read her. Especially where the idea of “us” is concerned. I’ve tried hard to keep the line clear—we’re friends, no more. We hold hands, which confuses the issue, sure, but…what does that mean?
Then today she shows up at work, looking at me like I’m something to eat. Picking me up from work, taking me to her house, talking about cooking dinner?
What am I to make of it?
I decide that it's foolish to try and guess, so I'll just take it as it comes and see what happens. Follow her lead.
The ride across town to her place is quiet, the radio low and tuned to country music. I feel dirty, grimy, and smelly and I'd love a shower, but I'm not about to suggest a change in plans. She doesn’t seem to mind my stink, so whatever.
We pull into her driveway, and I let Panzer out—he trots in circles and then lifts his leg on one of her bushes. She unlocks the side door and lets us all in. Panzer jogs around the house excitedly, sniffing.
"You up for a walk?" she asks. "I get it if you're not—you just spent all day working."
“A walk sounds good."
"Cool. I've got some pork chops marinating."
Panzer accompanies us back outside into the dense, still, humid evening—the sky is leaden and heavy, and I smell rain.
"Probably can't go too far, huh?" Noelle asks, glancing up at the sky.
I shrug. “Just rain."
She threads her fingers in mine, Panzer choosing to walk at her side rather than mine. We walk at a fairly slow pace—this isn't exercise, just an evening stroll in a quiet, peaceful neighborhood. Occasionally, we pass a house where someone's sitting out on their porch; we wave, and get a wave back.
After a mile, a few drops start sprinkling.
Noelle looks up at me. "Turn back?"
I shrug. "Sure. If you want. Gonna get wet either way."
And, as we make the turn that'll take us toward her street, the sprinkle becomes a steady rain and then a downpour. At first, Noelle shrugs her shoulders up around her ears, pulls her hood up, and speeds her pace. When I don't, she looks back at me, confused.
I just shrug. "Already as wet as we can get, Noelle. It’s just a little rain."
She halts, thinking. She then pulls her hood back, turns her face to the sky, and laughs. "There's a freedom in it, isn't there? Just accepting the wet?"
I nod. "Yep. Sure is. Always liked walking in a summer rain."
So we walk hand in hand, soaked to the bone within minutes. Panzer is happy as a clam, splashing in puddles, occasionally taking a quick slurp from the rain running along the curb toward storm drains.
Her hair is plastered to her head and sticking to her cheeks and neck, her clothes molded to her body; her yoga pants were already skin-tight, perpetually drawing my gaze to the luscious sway of her firm, round ass—the rain has pressed her shirt to her chest, however, and the material is thin and light, turning translucent, revealing a black sports bra.
She's so fucking beautiful, it never ceases to amaze me that she wants anything to do with me, that she cares about me, even just as a friend.
I know myself. I know who I am. Among men, I know my place. I'm unbothered by posturing and bravado because I know what I can do. At work, I'm confident in my skills, strength, and work ethic. Among the guys at work, I'm among equals. Even with Riley, my boss, I feel as if we're friendly, even friends, in a boss-employee way.
But around women? Not so much.
I'm not sure what I have to offer, if anything.
I don't know what's going on with Noelle and me other than friendship. I know I enjoy her company, I know I think about her all the damn time. I dream about her and wake up with a hard-on I refuse to touch while thinking of her—she’s worth more than that.
I guess in my mind, she's this perfect, pure creature of light and wonder, and I’m… just me. Big, broody, quiet, with a violent history, no education beyond the GED, a criminal record, and a questionable future.
But she sees something in me. What, I don’t know. I keep hoping that at some point, I'll figure that out and learn how to see it in myself.
I'm comfortable with her, that much is true. More so than with anyone else I've ever known, man or woman.
She looks up at me, expression soft and quizzical. "Penny for your thoughts?"
Rain drums on my head, trickles down my neck. "Ummm.” I opt for the truth. "I was just thinking that I've never been comfortable around most people. Never had a lot of close friends." I squeeze her hand gently. "Never had a friend like you, Noelle. Someone I feel at ease with. Means a lot. A whole lot."
She blinks rapidly. "God, Bear, you really have a way of hitting me in the feelings, you know that?"
"Sorry?" It comes out like a question—I'm not sure if I’m supposed to apologize for that or what.
She laughs, leaning against me, head on my arm. "No, no, no, silly. It's a good thing! You just say the sweetest things." A quick pause, her tongue swiping raindrops away; my eyes follow her tongue across her lips. I remember the way she tasted, the way it felt to kiss her. "You've become one of my best friends, Bear."
That makes my heart flip.
We reach her house a minute or two later, right as the rain slackens to a steady drizzle. Nolle just laughs as she opens the door for Panzer, following me in.
"I'll get a towel for the dog. Stay here."
I can see him preparing to shake off. "Panzer, Nein."
He whines but doesn’t shake. A minute later, Noelle returns with a stack of navy blue towels, and we scrub, blot, and dab Panzer as dry as he can get and then spread them out on the kitchen floor for him to lay down on. She fills a bowl with water for him, too.
"Our turn," She says, taking my hand. "Come on. The bathroom is this way."
She seems nervous for some reason.
Her bedroom, which I didn’t see last time I was here, is a calming, peaceful space. The walls are a soft, oceanic turquoise, a shaggy white rug covering the wood floor beneath her bed, which is antique with tarnished wrought iron headboard and footboard, a thick white duvet, and roughly fifty different pillows of various colors picked to complement the wall color. A white chest sits at the foot of the bed, a dove gray throw blanket folded and placed on it at an angle. A five-drawer bureau, old looking, solid, and thick, once probably stained oak, has been painted a bright, vivid sapphire with a matching oval mirror on top.
In addition to the bathroom in the hallway, she has an en suite, the doorway on one side of her bed, a door to her closet on the other, that door closed. The bathroom is more white, with subway tile on the walls, and long, narrow, rectangular tiles on the floor in a herringbone pattern. A square mirror ringed with bare lightbulbs is mounted on the wall over a deep porcelain sink, the hardware burnished copper. A freestanding tub dominates the space, deep and high-sided with more bronze hardware. A narrow shower stall takes up the far back corner, glassed up to the ceiling, with a toilet opposite.
I admit to being confused though—we're in her room. I expected her to give me a towel, or show me the guest bathroom in the hallway.
Instead, she draws me by the hand into her bathroom, stops, and turns to look up at me.
My heart is pounding out of my chest.
Her teeth are chattering.
"You should get changed," I tell her. "Take a hot shower. I'll dry off soon enough. I'll wait with Panzer."
“Bear…wait." Her voice is soft, barely audible. "Stay."
"I…" I look into her eyes, searching—and all I see is nerves…and need. "You want me to…stay? In here? With you?"
She nods. "I have no idea what I'm doing right now, but…yeah."
I can't swallow past the lump in my throat or the jangling, screaming nerves in my chest. Bats flap around in my belly.
"Okay," I whisper.
She reaches for me, hands hesitant, fluttering near the hem of my shirt, and then she finds her courage and lifts the hem. Rises on her toes and peels it off my head, letting it drop to the floor at my feet with a wet plop.
Her fingers touch my chest, one hand on each pec. "God, Bear. Do you have any idea how sexy you are to me?"
I can only shake my head.
She runs soft, quick fingertips across my chest, making my breath come in short quick puffs of searing nervousness—I haven’t been touched like this…ever.
"Is…is this okay?" she asks, looking up at me.
"Yes," I say, my voice raspy, grating, gravelly. "Here for you, Noelle. Whatever you want. Whatever you don't want."
She flattens her palms against my pecs, presses her fingertips in, dimpling, testing, feeling. Down over my diaphragm. My abs. "Does it feel good?"
I try to swallow past my tongue, which is thick and dry in my mouth. In the end, I can only nod. "Yeah," I manage, a hoarse, gritty syllable.
She slides warm, smooth, soft hands along my sides, around to my back, leaning into me, her clothes wet and cold against my chest; up my back, and down, and back up to my shoulders. Down my arms, back up to my shoulders, to my pecs again.
"So big," she whispers. "So strong."
There's nothing to say to that. My heart is crashing in my chest, and my stomach is flipping. My cock is an iron bolt in my jeans, which I struggle furiously to ignore.
She finally takes my hands in hers. Looks up at me as she guides my hands to her waist. "Will you help me?"
"Do what?" I ask, knowing what she meant, but feeling stupid for thinking it. There's no way that's what she means. Not me.
Her smile is teasing, kind, amused, eager. "With my wet clothes."
Her thin black hoodie is unzipped; I peel it down her shoulders and let it join my T-shirt. She waits, gaze expectant on mine.
I lick my lips, so unsure, so nervous, filled with so much raging need and desire and pent-up everything that I don’t know what to do with it. I slip my fingers under the hem of her shirt, and then hesitate.
She nods. "Go ahead. It's okay."
Swallowing hard eyes again, I peel her pale purple tank top up; she raises her arms over her head as I tug the wet garment off.
"My turn, now," she whispers. "You okay?"
I nod. Dip my head to one side, shrugging. "Little nervous."
"It's okay. So'm I." She gazes up at me with a look I can’t quite decipher—soft, tender, sexual, affectionate, apprehensive…a world of emotions. A universe. One that mirrors my own, I suppose. "We're in this together."
"Together," I echo.
She steps close to me, breasts bulging against the wet fabric of her black sports bra, pushing against my chest. Rests her hands against my pecs. Steps closer yet, smashing herself against my front, and every inch of her soft curves mold against my frame. She rests her chin on my chest, and looks up at me.
"I want to kiss you, Bear." She licks her lips. "But not yet."
"Why not?" The question emerges unbidden.
"Because I won't want to stop, won’t be able to stop. And I want to take this one step at a time." She turns her head so her cheek rests on my skin, and my hands lift on their own to cradle her shoulders.
Drift down to the hot bare flesh of her waist; at my touch, she shivers, gasps. "Your hands! They're so warm. And…rough."
She leans back—just her torso, not her lower half—and pulls my hands around, examining them one at a time. Traces my calluses—the ones from the barbell along the pads just beneath my fingers, the ones on my palm and heel from swinging hammers and using shovels without gloves. My hands are similar in texture to cinderblock.
"Sorry," I mutter. "Probably don’t feel good.”
She smiles, shaking her head, and puts her cheek to my palm. "No. Not at all. Just the opposite, actually."
I frown down at her. “Really?"
She nods, pushing my hands downward to her waist. “Really. I mean, yeah, they're rough, but…" her cheeks flare with a bright blush. "I…I like how it feels."
I caress her back below her bra strap, her shoulders above it. "You like this?"
She nods. "Very much."
"So fucking soft," I growl, heart clogging my throat.
She nibbles her lower lip. Steps back from me an inch or two, looking down at my jeans and boots. Up at me, nerves apparent in the way she searches me. “Um…okay, " she whispers. "Boots." I bend to unlace them, but she pushes at my chest. "Let me, please."
"Uh, okay?" Again, my statement emerges as a question.
She crouches, her slender back rounding, the curves of her chest, waist, and hips like the body of a violin—not just any violin, one of those special ones. Stradavary-something.
Her nimble fingers unknot the laces and tug them loose, working downward from the tongue to the toe. I balance, lifting my foot, and allow her to remove my boots one at a time.
"Oof," she says, snorting. "Wow."
"Yeah. Not letting you touch my socks. Smell like a science experiment gone wrong."
"No arguing with you on that one," she says, straightening to her feet.
I rip off my socks and toss them near the door, away from us, along with my boots. "Sorry," I mutter. "Feet tend to get a little ripe."
She brings her soft small body back up against mine, a tender, bright smile playing on her lips. "Nothing to apologize for. You work hard." She licks her lips, eyes moving, searching. "You know, watching you work…it was…" she swallows, giggles nervously. "Kinda hot. Or…or a lot hot."
I can't help but smile a little, shaking my head. "It was, huh?"
She nods. "Yeah." Her hands go to my arms, trying vainly to wrap them around my biceps, rubbing up and down. "Mainly just because it was you."
"You're weird," I mutter, letting my smirk stay on my lips; she seems to like it when I smile.
She makes me smile. No one else ever has, not the way she does.
She's pure joy.
Light.
Goodness.
Her light burns away the darkness in my soul. Pushes the shadows away. Keeps the demons at bay.
"Bear?" Her voice is that tiny whisper again, delicate as lace, ephemeral as dew drops.
"Hmmm?"
"Can I see more of you?" Her deep, expressive green eyes convey her thoughts clearly, now. Her emotions.
Need. Desire. Fear—or nerves, at the very least.
"Whatever you want, Noelle. Here for whatever you want.”
She drags her fingernails down my chest, ghostly and tickling, sending shivers of effervescence down my spine and into my balls. "I'm here for you, too, Bear. Okay? Hear what I’m saying to you?"
I gotta give her the truth. "I hear you. Scared, though. Hard to…hard to believe. Hard to trust this. Not you—I trust you . Just…" I growl, frustrated with my inability to say what I mean in moments like this. "Doesn't feel real. Dunno how to put it."
She takes my hands and places hers palm to palm against mine. "Bear, listen to me." She lifts on her toes and touches a tiny, delicate kiss to the tip of my chin. "This is me telling you, and hopefully showing you, that I…I want more with you. I'm scared, too. Nervous. Unsure."
"Don't wanna do the wrong thing. Say the wrong thing." I let my hands find her waist again.
The soft flesh there is so warm, so silky. My heart lurches and my gut tumbles at the privilege of having this woman's body in my hands.
Her trust.
He affection.
"You won't, Bear. You can't." She's breathing fast, breasts swelling and rising with each swift inhale, pressing against me. "You won't ever hurt me. And if there's a misunderstanding, we'll talk about it. We're honest with each other. Open. Brave. Right?"
"Tryin' like hell," I say.
Her tongue slides along her lower lip again, sticking at the corner for a moment. I'd give anything to kiss that spot.
So, I do.
I test her.
Dip closer, cradling her beautiful face in my rough workman's hands. Touch my lips, as softly as I can, to the spot where her tongue was, that little corner of her mouth.
She gasps, a sudden sharp inhale, and her hands clap against my chest, fingernails digging in. "Bear," she breathes.
Pulls back just a hint. Runs her nails down my chest, down my abs. Hesitates. Slowly, slowly, she slides the button of my fly free from the opposing buttonhole. I stop breathing. My lungs burn, my skin burns—everything is on fire, so superheated I'm half-worried she'll combust upon contact.
She keeps her eyes on my face as she tugs the zipper down, down, until it rests at the bottom of the V. My aching, straining, painful erect cock pushes into the opening. She steals a glance down, eyes flying wide and then returning to mine, lower lip caught in her teeth. She says nothing, however. Hooks her fingers in the belt loops at my hips and tugs my wet jeans down until they sag loose—I step on a cuff and yank my leg free, and then the other. Now I'm in nothing but a pair of tight gray boxer briefs, and there's nothing to hide my arousal.
"Your turn," she whispers.
I sink to my knees in front of her, and she cups my cheek, brushes a thumb over my lips, and then frees my hair from the ponytail, slicking her fingers through my hair until it's loose.
Hands shaking, I wrap them around her waist, which I can’t quite span, but almost. Soft skin, pale skin. Beautiful, perfect skin.
Unable to catch my breath, I hook my fingers inside the stretchy waistband of her yoga pants, careful to make sure her underwear stays in place. Look up at her—she nods. Runs small, clever hands over my head, petting my hair with such tenderness it makes my lungs seize all over again.
Tug down, peeling the skintight black fabric inside out, baring a lacy black thong, the triangle covering her sex— the damp, black material sticks to her skin, framing the outlines of her seam. High hipbones and the silk of her inner thighs. Her belly button is tiny and shallow. Long legs. Powerful legs. Thick, smooth, luscious thighs.
Small, delicate feet, toenails painted bright red.
She steps out of the pants, toes them aside, pressing her thighs together, eyes wide, shimmering.
I stay on my knees in front of her, shaky hands hovering above her thighs. Boldened by the kiss, and further by her allowing me to help her out of her pants, I settle my hands on her thighs, wrapping my hands around as much of their generous, lush curves as I can. Her breath catches, eyes wide even as her brows furrow, lips parted—a sensual, wild, fraught expression.
"Keep going," she whispers. "Please."
"So fucking gorgeous," I grate, throat raw with the fire in my lungs. "Take my breath away."
She fists my beard and leans down. "Then have mine."
Her lips meet mine, and her tongue is soft and wet and hot in my mouth all at once, and her breath is in my lungs, cooling the burn, stealing the ache. Greed for her skin, her curves, her soft flesh surges through me and takes over.
I do what I've longed, yearned, and dreamed of doing since the moment I laid eyes on her: I let my hands slide up the outside of her thighs, pause, shaking, and then glide up to cup her ass.
She whimpers into the kiss, and then gasps. " Yes ."
"Perfect," I growl. "Fucking incredible."
I want to weep at the feel of her ass in my hands—hot, silky skin, round and plump and firm. I explore it, the curves of it, palming the delicate weight of each awe-inspiring cheek, lifting and releasing, kneading, clawing, desperate to touch, fearful against reason that she’ll suddenly come to her senses and make me stop.
"God, Bear." She cradles my face, tilts my head up to hers. "The way you touch me. It takes my breath away."
“Then have mine," I say, echoing her words.
"Yes, please," she breathes.
Her breath is sweet, her tongue nimble, daring, darting. Tasting, teasing, probing. Demanding mine. She pulls away just enough to allow words to emerge, lips moving on mine, her voice barely a breath. "Keep going, Bear. All the way."
"Noelle," I mutter, my voice so deep it's coming from my toes. "You're sure?"
Her lips curve in a smile against mine. " So sure. I want you to." She slides her hands over my shoulders, down my back, scratching and caressing. "And then it's my turn."
"All the way?"
"All of me, Bear. You can have all of me. Please.”
Still on my knees, I sink back to sit on my heels, searching her for signs of nerves, of refusal, of hesitation.
All I see is her desire.
How is that for me?
How is she real? How can she stand to have my blood-stained hands on her perfect skin?
Have to ask her, someday. Not now. Don't dare ruin the moment with my self-doubt.
I slip two fingers inside the strip of lace around her hips; my breath shakes, my hands shake. I hold her eyes, moving slowly, giving her all the time in the world to change her mind.
Instead, she slides her fingers into my hair at my temples, watching me. I draw the scrap of black lace down an inch at a time. The desire-damp material clings to her sex, sticking where her thighs touch.
"Oh god," she breathes.
I stop instantly. "You okay?"
"I'm okay. Just…nervous." She licks her lips. "Please don't stop. I’m just scared."
I pull the lace down a few more inches, past the sticking point where her thighs meet, and then the underwear falls free. Her scent greets me, sensual and erotic. I clutch her thong in my hand, amazed and awed that this is happening.
I have a wild urge to sniff the underwear, to see if it smells as good as her sex. I can't seem to stop myself.
"Bear!" Noelle cries, laughing. "Did you just…smell my underwear?"
My cheeks burn. "Yeah."
I set the black lace aside and fill my hand with her curves, sliding my touch up her thighs to her butt. Press my face to her belly, forehead against her diaphragm. Her breath makes her belly swell against my face, and I can't help but kiss her there.
I inhale deeply. "You smell so fuckin' good, Noelle," I murmur. "Sorry if that was creepy. You just…fuck. You smell so goddamn incredible."
"Ohmygod, Bear," she breathes. "You mean my…I smell good… down there ?"
“Yes,” I growl, longing to taste her.
Kiss her left thigh, just below her hipbone. The other side. Her belly again, just below her sweet, adorable little navel—I kiss her there, too, and catch a giggling gasp from her.
Press my nose just above the soft thatch of curly red fuzz, hands cradling her ass. Take a long inhale of her scent, heady and dizzying and uniquely hers and so fucking arousing I could crawl out of my goddamn skin with need.
"Your pussy smells like fucking heaven, Noelle." I press my eyes into her belly. "I've got a filthy mouth. I'm sorry. You deserve better than to be spoken to like that."
Her gasp at my words is shocked, shrill; at my apology, she murmurs a wordless sound of negation. Smooths her hands over my head, gently tilting my face up to hers. “No, honey. No. Don’t apologize.” She kneels and presses her mouth to mine, kissing her words to me instead of speaking them. "I like your filthy mouth. I liked it…what you said." Her cheeks flame red. "It was hot."
She moves to her feet, tugging me up with her. Brings my hands to her belly and guides them to slide up around the lower curves of her breasts.
Honey.
I'm stuck on that. The sweetness of it, the affection that sinks hooks into my heart. Into my soul.
I'd do anything—any fucking thing at all—for this woman; this fact rifles through me and lodges at the core of my being. I may not deserve her, but I'll be damned and double goddamned if I ever stop trying to be worthy of her.
All because of that one word—and the intent and emotion behind it.
She senses something or sees it in my face. "Bear? What is it?"
Where do I start? What do I say? It's too much. Too big.
“You called me honey." It's the best I've got, right now.
Her expression melts, and she sinks against me, soft thighs pressed against one of mine, sex against my taut quad, her pubic hair a delicate scratch against my skin. "You liked that?"
"Broke something in me. Or rebuilt it. I dunno."
“Bear…” Is it a question, the way she says my name? A statement? Neither, both.
The way she says my name is everything.
She hooks her fingers in the waistband of my underwear at each hipbone. "Take my bra off, Bear. Please."
I growl, a wordless rumble in my chest—anticipation, fear, need…all of it is so overwhelming in me that all I can do is let out that one growl.
She shivers at the sound. "Love it when you do that.”
"Growl?"
She nods, shaking her head. "I'm not sure why. It just…it drives me a little wild."
"Wild? How?"
"Crazy. For you."
I slip my fingers under the wide elastic band running around her middle. Tug upward. The fabric cups catch at the weight of her breasts, and I pull upward further. Huge, tear-drop breasts fall free, bouncing and swaying—lifting as she raises her arms so I can draw it off and toss it aside.
"Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Oh god." She's breathing hard, almost hyperventilating.
I wrap my arms around her, marveling that she's naked for me, and pull her soft warm body against mine. "Breathe. Just breathe, Noelle. We can stop if you’re not ready.”
Her cheek goes to my chest, and she slows her breathing. After a minute, she tucks her chin against my breastbone and looks up at me. "Sorry. I just…I freaked out a little. I'm…I guess I'm feeling sort of self-conscious now that I’m naked."
"Should I leave?" I ask, the question burning a hole in my gut; I'd walk through fire if she asked, so there's no hesitation in me if she were to say yes.
"No!" She cries. Her fingernails dig into my back. "Please don't leave. I just…I haven't been naked with anyone for a long time."
"Noelle…" I frame her face, keeping her body pressed against mine so the sight of her perfect breasts doesn’t distract me. “You’re a gift. Priceless. Perfect.” I ever-so-carefully free her hair from the long braid—it falls free around her shoulders, a cascade of coppery sunfire and luminous gold. “Kill me now and I’d die a happy man because I got to see you like this, just once."
She digs her fingernails into my pecs and buries her face in my chest, shaking her head—I feel wetness. "The things you say to me, Bear. You’re a poet. You make me feel like…god, I don’t even know how to say it. Like I’m the only woman in the world. Like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world."
"You are."
She backs away, out of my arms. Stands a few feet away, inhales deeply, the heavy globes of her breasts lifting, and then lets it out with a shake of her hair. Hands at her sides. At ease. Waiting.
Letting me just look at her.
"So…fucking…beautiful,” I growl each word, and she shivers at each growl. "Don't deserve to look at you. So goddamned perfect."
I just look.
Toes to hair. Soak in her beauty. Every inch, every curve. Her fingers wriggle at her hips, moving to cover stretch marks there. I cross the space between us.
"Don't." I catch her hands. Put them to my lips. "Don't. Don’t hide a fucking thing. Ever. Not from me. Every inch of you is perfect."
Her eyes water and she shakes her head. "I'm not."
"You are to me."
She swallows hard, tears sliding down. "You really mean it."
"To my fucking bones, Noelle."
"God, Bear, you're killing me." She slides her hands out of mine and cradles my neck. Pulls me close. "In the best way."
Without a word, without warning, she slips her hands down my arms, to my ribs, down my sides to my hips. Hooks her fingers into elastic and runs them around to my navel, pulling away. Tugs down, past a raging erection so hard I could use it to drive nails.
My hands curl into fists at my sides as she lowers my underwear until they drop, and I step out of them.
Naked with her.
Holy shit.
I meet her eyes—she's locked on my gaze, nibbling at her lower lip. Slowly, she drags her gaze away from mine and down.
"Oh," she breathes. "Oh…my… god .”
Her eyes are wide, shocked. "Wow. Just… wow ."
Cheeks burning, lungs frozen solid, I have no clue what to say, how to react. So I don't—I just try to breathe and hold still.
She blinks, gnawing on her lip. "Bear…" she shakes her head. "I don't know what I'm gonna do with all that."
"Don't have to do anything you don't want to," I say.
"Have to?" She steps closer, hands going to my ribs. " Want to. Get to.”
"Noelle," I growl. "Killing me."
“Talk to me." She leaves a little space between us, just the tips of her breasts touching my chest.
"Want you. Need you. But I've got no fucking clue what to do."
She sighs, a sound of relief. “I’m so glad you said that, because me either." She licks her lips. "Let’s take a shower. I’m freezing."