13. Noah
Chapter thirteen
Noah
"You've never hooked up with a friend? Not even making out or hand stuff?"
I could kiss her. Not in a romantic way. Not like how I want to kiss Awa. More like how Michael kisses Fredo in "The Godfather". Sybil—nosy, can't-read-the-room, always-around Sybil—just became a hall of fame wingwoman!
It's been months—months!—since I asked Awa for her number.
We've talked. We've eaten meals together.
We've studied more than I ever have in my life.
But whenever I try to flirt with her, to move things to the next level, she acts clueless.
She's got some sort of blinders on that make it impossible for her to believe I'm truly hitting on her.
I don't know why Sybil's suggestive comments tonight finally got through to Awa, and I don't care.
Because now she's looking at me, not with her usual thoughtful concentration, and nothing like the stolen glances when she thinks I'm not watching, but with open desire. And she hasn't pulled her hands away.
"N-No," she whispers, blinking nervously. "All my friends are just friends."
And idiots, I finish in my head. How could any man—any man who's attracted to women—not want to jump her bones after spending mere hours with her? I can't honestly be the first person to see the siren hidden behind the bookish armor she wears, can I?
I grip her hands tighter and swallow down my nerves.
"Do you want to?" I ask.
God, I hope she wants to. I'm done pretending I don't want to. That I don't want to tap into the passion lurking beneath her librarian persona.
She looks up at me, hesitant.
"In general, or…?"
When the words die on her lips, I inhale deeply to tamp down my frustration.
Can she really not tell how much I want her?
How hard it's been for me to hold back around her?
How hard I've been?! I don't give a shit if she wants to hook up in general!
I want to know whether she wants to hook up with me, goddammit!
I caress her wrists and remind myself about the blinders, that even this conversation might be uncharted territory for her. I nod towards her bedroom.
"I—" She looks away before starting again. "Do you want to?"
I nod again. Hell yes, I want to! I want you, Awa!
But of course, I don't say that aloud. Instead, I settle my breathing. Keep my expression calm. One wrong move could send her running.
"I've wanted to ever since I borrowed that pen. I thought I was being obvious, but you always just wanted to study, and I respected that." Sighing, I let go of her hands. "I'll respect that if that's what you want now, too. And we'll be friends either way."
Her wheels are turning again, and I try to imagine what she's thinking. I've only been here a few months, but I already don't have the best track record with girls. Why should I? It's college; we're here to have fun.
I'm guessing Awa's not here to have fun, though, which makes this a risk. She could say no, and then our study sessions would get real awkward, real fast. She could say yes, but then expect hand-holding and poetry—I know that's not where I am.
So where does that leave us?
"As a friend," she starts slowly, "I can't go all the way. But I think I would like making out. And maybe some…'hand stuff'."
I grin. Hand stuff. God, she's cute. And smart as a whip, as always. She knows I'm not cut out to be anyone's first. I'm not even up for being a girl's "good night" text. Now with guardrails in place, we can explore this attraction between us without anyone getting hurt.
I extend my hand and breathe a sigh of relief when she takes it.
"Thank you, Awa," I murmur, tugging her towards her bedroom. I walk slowly, giving her ample time to reconsider if that's what she wants.
"For what?" she asks, following me across the threshold into her room.
I turn to her and am met with wide, curious eyes. Interested eyes. She's never looked more innocent.
"For saying yes. For trusting me to take care of you. And I will take care of you, Awa. This is one of the few things I'm good at."
She shakes her head.
"You're good at a lot of things, Noah. You're smart. Everyone you meet likes you. It's actually amazing to see, coming from someone who can be a bit…closed off."
I close the door behind us and pull her against my chest. My dick, standing at attention since the conversation veered away from studying, gets impossibly harder.
"I wasn't fishing for compliments," I say, pushing one of her thick twists behind her ear.
She looks down at the floor.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize," I insist, lifting her chin with my thumb. "You're not messing up or doing anything wrong. I just know my strengths, and one of them is bringing pleasure."
Behind her glasses, I can see her pupils enlarge, taking all of me in. I lean forward, angling my head down. I halt when she slams her eyes shut.
"Awa," I urge, my voice stern, "do you not want to do this?"
She shakes her head. I immediately step back, and her owlish eyes pop open again.
"No! I mean, yes, I want to do this. You used a double-negative, and I wasn't quite sure how to respond."
I can't help but smirk.
"Only you would critique my grammar when you're about to be kissed."
She squeezes her eyes shut once more.
"I'm nervous," she wails. "I want this. I want you. But I've obviously never done this before. And the way you're looking at me..."
I take her face in my hands again, her words still ringing in my ears. She wants this. She wants me. I drop my head against her hair and inhale. Shea butter and plumeria; a pairing I'll forever associate with her.
Now that I finally have permission to touch her supple skin, I caress her jaw, her cheek, and higher, to smooth her furrowed brow.
Her face looks less tense now, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks and her mouth parted in invitation.
She's waiting for me to take her. And I can't resist any longer.
The first press of my lips is light, like a butterfly landing on a flower petal. She gasps into my mouth, and I increase the pressure, lowering one hand to the swell of her hip.
"Mmm," she moans, and I'm lost. She's so responsive, unpracticed in hiding her reaction to me. The feeling is like a drug.
We're kissing in earnest now, though still with our mouths closed. Her insistent pecks, the way her hands hover above my shoulders as if she can't decide how or where to touch me. It's unbearably sweet; something I've never wanted in my previous encounters. But with Awa…
Even through her dress shirt and cardigan, I can feel her nipples pebble.
I'm fisting her shirt in my hands, grinding my erection against her stomach, grabbing hold of the hair at her nape.
I want so much more than to kiss this sweet siren of a woman, but she said she wanted to make out, and I won't deny her.
I start with just the tip of my tongue; a question that I let her lips answer. After the cutest squeak of surprise, she opens to me, and I boldly explore the warmth of her mouth.
My hands guide her hips in tandem with my tongue, and I wonder whether she realizes she's arching against me, pulsating with need and meeting my tongue stroke for stroke.
She's a natural, but of course I knew she would be.
I dreamed she would be, several nights alone in my bed with the smell of her still in my nostrils.
I move my hands lower, groaning when the weight of her pleasantly plump ass fills my palms. She doesn't know what she has. Has no idea she could bring a man to his knees with just the sway of her hips.
But her body knows. Miss Perfect shocks the shit out of me when she hitches up her skirt and wraps a leg around my thigh, angling to get closer, to bring that throbbing part of her in contact with the too-rigid part of me.
"God, Awa!" I groan.
I take her knee and pull it higher still, heat radiating from her core onto my straining cock. In a frenzy, I cup her ass in both hands and lift; she locks her ankles behind my back in reflex, ratcheting my pulse higher.
This is getting out of hand. Her mouth said she didn't want to go all the way, but her body is writhing against mine, mimicking the movements I would do if she'd let me. If it weren't such a terrible idea.
I walk us backwards until I hit the edge of her bed. I've avoided sitting on it until now, afraid I wouldn't be able to control myself. From the near-explosive chemistry between us, I was right to worry.
I drop down, taking her with me, and the fly of my jeans must catch her clit just right, because she moans in a way that has my balls tightening.
"Yes, Noah! Just like that!"
I clench my jaw against the pleasure. How did this virgin get the upper hand?
"We—" I gulp, sweating from the effort of not freeing myself and pushing into her. "We need to slow down."
"No." She shakes her head, eyes blazing. "No more slow. Fast. Hard. Now."
I groan, angling a hard thrust against her aching bud that could ruin both of us. But I won't give in. I said I would take care of her, and I will.
Instead, I take her by the waist and flip us so that I'm on top.
Her screams of pleasure threaten to undo me.
I grip both sides of her surprisingly sexy satin panties and look into her eyes; she nods.
She's practically thrashing against me now, and I ought to earn a sainthood for not taking her, sinking home and giving us what we both clearly want.
I slip the panties down and off her hips, resting her ankles on my shoulders as I pull the fabric free. I look down and—
"Fuck!" I curse, because damn. She's beautiful.
A small patch of tight dark curls covers her sex, glistening and swollen from our activities. I want to taste it. I want to know if it's the source of the plumeria smell that drives me wild any time she's around.
Would she let me? Feast on her until she screams my name? Should she let me? Could we really not fuck once I've had her thighs wrapped around my head?
No. I know my limits, and I don't have that kind of control.
One hand stays on her ankle, anchoring it against my shoulder. A sharp nip of the tender flesh makes her buck against me. With the other hand, I reach down and graze my knuckles against her wetness.
"Oooh, Noah," she hisses through her teeth. "You weren't lying. You are soooo good at this."
I'm too far gone to answer. Too amazed that I've reduced this poised, intelligent, objectively impressive woman to a quivering mess of sighs.
I push my index finger into her, and it's my turn to hiss—she's so fucking tight! My balls are so drawn up now, it's almost painful. I have to hold it. I doubt even someone with no experience having sex would be impressed by a man who cums in his boxers.
After several torturously slow strokes, her slick channel releases the death grip it has on my finger, allowing me to add another as I increase the pace. Her cunt squeezes my digits harder this time, fighting the intrusion. I press my thumb to her clit, making her whimper.
"Noah," she pants, "I'm going to—"
Before she can finish, I press down firmly on her clit at the same time I twist both fingers inside her. She keens noisily, surprised and overwhelmed by her release. It swamps her features, sending a wave of goosebumps along her entire body.
I'm done for. I grunt as cum bursts from me in powerful spurts, taking my breath and seeping through my underwear. It's worth the embarrassment, to be in the presence of such awesome beauty.
"Hmmm," she hums sleepily, a secret smile curling her lips. "I didn't know how much I needed that. Thank you."
"Thank you," I reply, glad she's too drowsy to see the blush on my cheeks.
I've been with more than my fair share of women. I've always left them satisfied, with a smile on their faces. I've done things most men have only seen online, with women more experienced than me. So why did just touching Awa feel so…different?