Chapter 14
Brian
We barely make it up the stairs, stopping every few steps to kiss like teenagers.
My pea coat lies abandoned somewhere near the register, and my suit jacket is discarded on the landing.
When Noa fumbles with her keys at the apartment door, I press against her back and kiss the sensitive spot below her ear that I discovered during the snowstorm.
"You're not helping," she laughs, but the tremor in her voice reveals her arousal.
"I'm highly motivated," I murmur against her skin.
Once inside, she turns to face me, her eyes reflecting the city lights streaming through the windows. The apartment feels like a haven—familiar yet new, just as I remembered, but somehow more significant now.
"The menorah," she says, yet she doesn't move toward it.
"In a minute." I cup her face in my hands. "I need to look at you first."
She's breathtaking in the dim light, her professional composure softened at the edges. Her blue dress hugs every curve, and when I run my hands down her sides, she shivers.
"Four days," I tell her. "Four days of meetings and flights and hotel rooms, thinking about nothing but you."
"I thought it was just me," she admits. "Counting days, remembering everything."
I kiss her again, deeper this time, walking her backward toward her bedroom. Unlike our first night together, there's no storm raging outside and no power outage forcing intimacy. This is a deliberate and clear-eyed choice.
Her bedroom is bathed in the soft glow of her little light. She stretches out to turn it off, but I catch her wrist.
"Leave it," I say. "I want to see you."
I unzip her dress slowly, reverently, and let it slide down her body to pool at her feet. She stands before me in black lace underwear, curves generous and inviting. My breath catches.
"You're staring," she whispers.
"Appreciating," I correct her, tracing the line of her collarbone with my fingertips. "There's a difference."
She reaches for my tie and loosens it with practiced movements. "Your turn."
I let her undress me, each button on my shirt exposing more of myself to her. When she pushes the shirt from my shoulders, her hands linger on my chest, fingers threading through the dark hair there.
"I missed this," she confesses. "I missed you."
The words strike something profound within me. How can she miss me after just one night? How can I miss her like a limb I've lost? None of it makes sense, yet it feels more real than anything I've ever known.
When we're down to just underwear, she surprises me by sinking to her knees. "I didn't get to do this last time," she says, looking up through dark lashes.
My body responds instantly, straining against cotton boxers. "Noa, you don't have to—"
"I want to." Her fingers hook into my waistband. "I want to taste you."
I'm helpless to resist as she frees me, her warm breath ghosting over sensitive skin. When her mouth finally closes around my sensitive tip, I groan, one hand instinctively tugging on her curls.
Time slows as she works me with lips and tongue, finding a rhythm that has me fighting for control.
Noa is unlike any other lover—such care, such attention to my responses.
Her hands steady my hips as she takes me deeper, and the sight of her—this brilliant, confident woman on her knees for me—nearly undoes me completely.
"Stop," I finally manage, tugging gently at her hair. "Too close."
She releases me with one last lingering lick. "Too soon?"
"Not about me," I growl, lift her to her feet, and guide her to the bed. "Your turn."
I lay her back against the pillows and trail kisses down her body. Her skin tastes like peppermint, and I take my time exploring every curve, every dip and swell. When I reach the edge of her panties, I glance up, seeking permission.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly. "Please."
I slide the lace down her legs, settle myself between her thighs. The first pass of my tongue makes her gasp, back arching off the bed. I grip her hips, anchoring her as I worship her with my mouth.
Her soft thighs press against my ears, muffling everything but her muted cries. I lose myself in her taste, her texture, the way she responds to each movement. My world narrows to this single point of connection, this woman whose body fits mine as if designed for it.
When she comes, it's with my name on her lips, her hands tight in my hair. I work her through the waves, gentle my touch as she quivers with aftershocks.
"Come here," she murmurs, reaching for me.
I move up her body, brace myself above her. Her eyes shine brighter than any menorah flame, pupils wide with pleasure and something deeper that makes my chest ache.
"I have to tell you something.” The words tumble out before I can consider them. "There hasn't been anyone else. Since you. There can't be."
Confusion flickers across her face. "It's only been four days, Brian."
"It's not about time." I struggle to articulate the seismic shift inside me. "It's about feeling. I'm yours, Noa. I don't know how or why, but I am."
She cradles my face, eyes searching mine for truth. Whatever she finds there must satisfy her because she pulls me down for a kiss that tastes of both of us mingled together.
"I want you inside me," she whispers against my lips. "No barriers. Just us."
The implication hits me with physical force. "Are you sure?"
"I’m healthy and I’m on the pill. I trust you."
Trust. Such a simple word for something so monumental.
“I’m healthy, too.” I position myself at her entrance, watching her face as I push forward slowly.
The sensation is overwhelming—heat, pressure, and connection without anything between us. I've never done this before, never trusted anyone enough to be this vulnerable. Yet here I am, giving everything and holding nothing back.
I begin to move through her wetness, finding a rhythm that makes her moan. The soft sounds she makes drive me higher and urge me deeper. Her legs wrap around my waist, hands grip my shoulders, nails leaving half-moon indentations in my skin.
"You feel like home," I tell her, the truth spilling from me in the heat of connection. "Every part of you—your shop, your apartment, your body—it's all where I'm supposed to be."
She tightens around me at the words, her eyes wide. I slip a hand between us, my fingers finding the sensitive spot that makes her arch against me.
"Come for me," I urge. "Let me feel you come apart."
Her second orgasm builds slower than the first, a gradual climbing tension that I can feel in every muscle of her body. When it finally breaks, she cries out, pulsing around me in waves that trigger my release.
I pour into her with an intensity that steals my breath.
My vision narrows to just her face beneath me.
The pleasure is almost unbearable, sharp-edged, and perfect, like nothing I've experienced before.
My whole body shudders with the white-hot force of it, arms barely supporting my weight as I try not to crush her.
When the last aftershocks fade, I collapse beside her, pulling her against my chest. Her curls tickle my chin, and her breath is warm against my skin. Contentment settles over me like a familiar blanket I never knew I was missing.
She laughs suddenly; the sound vibrates against my chest. "We never lit the menorah."
"Didn't we?" I press my lips to her forehead. "I think we ignited something…"
She smiles against my skin. "Pretty sure that's not how Hanukkah works."
"I don't know," I murmur, feeling sleep tug at the edges of my consciousness. "The whole holiday is about unexpected miracles. Finding light when you thought there was none."
Her fingers trace patterns through the hair on my chest. "And is that what this is? A miracle?"
I capture her hand and bring it to my lips. "You tell me. A man who's spent his entire life running, suddenly desperate to stay in one place? If that's not divine intervention, I don't know what is."
She nestles closer, her body soft and warm against mine. "Stay tonight?"
"Absolutely," I agree, my eyes already closed. As sleep takes me, cradled in her arms, I realize I've spent forty-five years chasing success across the country, never understanding that what I really needed was right here—this woman, this feeling of finally, finally belonging somewhere.