Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Noa
T he frosted light of a winter sun peeks through the translucent curtains of the bedroom.
I crack my eyes open and stretch, my arm bumping into Stone’s bed-warmed side. Pushing a tangle of hair out of my face, I study him in slumber, peaceful and boyish.
I don’t regret what we did last night. If this time with Stone has taught me anything, it’s that we are each other’s escape, and escapes always feel like the right decision.
Against my better judgment, he’s endeared himself to me during these several weeks, gamely attending cooking classes taught by a chef who fast became his mortal enemy, helping me with Thanksgiving, adjusting to his mother’s illness by being present, spending time with her, and lessening his denial until nothing but a droplet remains.
I’m watching the boy who never grew up mature before my eyes, and while I don’t count myself lucky, I consider it to be fate.
The house is silent. I lift enough to check the clock. 7:00 a.m. Mrs. Stalinski won’t be awake for a few hours, and I should’ve put the turkey in an hour ago.
I flop back on my pillow, considering.
I’m all tingly and relaxed from our sex last night, and a part of me doesn’t want it to end. Too soon, this house will fill with company and holiday scents and the sound of football on a loop. It’ll be noisy, an amazing distraction, and brimming with social pleasure. We’ll all have fun.
Right now, though, all I want is him.
I tilt my head to study Stone again, biting my lip against a mischievous smile.
It’s so unlike me, too spontaneous, but I’m certain we’ll both be game.
Sitting up, I peel the covers off me and straddle Stone.
Around his head.
I knuckle the headboard as I press my pussy onto his lips and make tentative circles.
Muffled surprise comes from down below. Stone’s lashes flutter.
My heart skitters with embarrassment. Maybe this was too much. I’ve never woken a man up like this. Last night, he said he liked my pussy, but he could’ve just been saying it to be nice. I should pull back and pretend this never?—
Hands clap onto my butt cheeks. They push against me at the same time his tongue darts out, and he groans inside me.
My head falls back on a sigh, my balance against the headboard assisting in my fucking his face like his tongue is his dick.
When he circles my clit and sucks, I lose any reservations. I come against his mouth, and he licks up every drop, ensuring no place is unattended as he parts my folds and finishes his breakfast.
Then, with a determined grunt, he flips me onto my back and plunges into me with his morning wood.
Our sex this time is hurried, meant for quick pleasure, and while his girth and length are always pleasurable, I want this to be for him.
Stone seems to notice something’s off when I wrap my legs around him. He stops while buried inside me. “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Why?”
“You’re not about to come.”
“No, well, I just did. I don’t have to come every time.”
“Uh, yeah, you fucking do.”
If pillows weren’t underneath my head, it would’ve jerked back with surprise. Other than Stone, no man has ever been so determined to make sure I’m satisfied first. Even the teenaged Stone wasn’t this adamant.
“I don’t come until my woman does.” Stone must see a flicker of reservation in my expression, because he adds, “Right now, you’re my woman, Noa. And I’m not coming until I see you explode. Plus.” He nips at my lower lip. “The sounds you make when I bring you to orgasm help me get off, too.”
“Okay,” I whisper, unable to fight the flush in my cheeks.
“Good girl. Now, touch yourself while I fuck you.”
“H-Huh?”
“You must not remember how much I loved seeing you get yourself off when we were on the counter.” He tilts his head and gives me a mischievous look. “Let me see you massage your clit.”
His dirty talk has the intended effect. My vagina swells with want around him.
I skate my hand down my clavicle, between my breasts, and over my navel. He watches the whole thing, his eyes hooded with the dark dare.
When I reach my slit, I rub two fingers over my small nub, made larger by his presence and my prodding.
I arch underneath him at the instant zing of pleasure I bring to myself.
With a cocky smile, Stone rasps, “My sweet Lavender,” and thrusts with my swirls.
I bite back a moan until Stone encourages me to unravel, eager to hear my moans and pleas to go faster, harder, more.
He does, rising on his hands so he can watch his cock slide out of me, then in while my fingers work on myself.
Stone likes what he sees. His jaw cuts through his skin. Tendons and muscles pop in his cheeks, and his skin has a strained flush.
“I’m not coming until you do,” he grits out.
I’m beyond comprehension. I’m writhing against the sheets, angling so his cock hits me just right, and pleasure builds beneath my hand.
“I’m coming,” I gasp.
“Hal…” he stutters between thrusts, “le-fucking-lujah.”
We come together, our sweat-coated bodies meeting, sliding against one another and taking all the other has to give.
I release my clit and scrape my nails down his back, marking him more permanently than he did me last night and taking from him all that I want.
We end on mutual gasps, flopping onto our backs side by side and catching our breaths.
After a few beats, Stone’s head turns to mine. “I’d say this warrants a giant feast, don’t you?”
I laugh up at the ceiling. “I’m starving .”
Stone rumbles with a pleasured growl before climbing on top of me again.
Most of our guests arrive on time.
It’s a good thing because I’ve timed the appetizers for their arrival and would love it if everyone ate them warm.
Maisy, Carly, and Mae arrive first, laden with flowers, pumpkin pie, and a local cheese plate.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Maisy greets brightly as they wander in.
She kicks at the doorframe, dislodging the buildup of frost and dirt on her boots.
The weather has turned into November’s gray skies and frigid wind, but no snow.
November likes to greet us with dead, slimy leaves and hard-packed earth.
The whole white Christmas thing doesn’t really apply to Falcon Haven—we really only see it come February.
“Where’s Judy?” Maisy asks after scanning the entryway.
I glance at Stone, who greets everyone with his trademark smile, his eyes dulled with concern. “She’s not feeling well and says she’ll come down when dinner’s ready.”
Maisy hums in sympathy. “Mind if I go up and say hello?”
“She’d demand it,” I say before Stone can deny her. Mrs. Stalinski is already upset about not being able to join in the early festivities, so I don’t want her to think we’re keeping her isolated.
Stone and I have been switching off all day between Thanksgiving prep and taking care of Mrs. Stalinski, a woman who threatened to smother us in our sleep if we tried to cancel today after we noticed she wasn’t doing well.
Stone catches my drift. “Just let me know if she needs anything,” he says to Maisy.
“Will do, doll.” Maisy sets her boots near the door, then climbs up the stairs.
“Hey, girl.”
Carly envelops me in a hug, her long, auburn hair cold against my cheek from being outside. She’s dressed in a maroon cap-sleeved dress under her plaid coat, appearing refreshed and beautiful despite her commute.
“Hi,” I say, a little too emotionally. I didn’t realize how much I needed a hug from my best friend until she gave me one.
Carly senses the change and pulls me in tighter.
“Everything good?” she murmurs into my ear.
“Yes, of course.” I blink back my emotion. Now’s not the time to tell her about Mrs. Stalinski’s failing health and my growing feelings for her famous son. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you . Like miss missed. I’m so glad I’m here and I’m ready to catch up when you are.” She kisses my forehead before pulling away.
“Stone,” she says while brushing past him into the living room.
“Carly,” he greets with equal flatness as she flounces away.
I shrug. “Don’t mind her. She hasn’t had as much time with you as I have.”
“You’ve got that right.” His voice fills with promise, but he’s distracted by more company.
I make sure Carly and Mae are settled in with drinks and surrounded by appetizers before I ask Stone, “Where are Rome and Aaron?”
“Coming, I assume.” Stone answers, but his focus is clearly somewhere else. He keeps glancing up the stairs.
Our explosive, amazing sex is long forgotten as Mrs. Stalinski deteriorated throughout the day. I do my best to keep his spirits up, but honestly, cancer is so fucked up and unfair, and I let him go through the emotions of it.
Thirty minutes later, Rome ambles through the front door carrying a cooler of God knows what.
“Hey, farm boy,” Rome drawls as Stone comes into the foyer to meet him, holding two beers. Rome’s in a black Stetson hat, black button-down, and black jeans.
“Dressing up for the holidays, I see,” Stone says, then points at the cooler. Stone’s dressed in what has fast become my favorite white cashmere sweater and jeans. “The hell is that?”
“Fresh venison. I had little else on the farm to bring and figured you’d do with my latest hunting. Noa’s a skilled cook now, I hear.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I say, though I’m flattered. Anyone immune from a man like Rome with his stormy eyes and rugged good looks isn’t someone I’d like to meet. “But thank you. Truly. I haven’t cooked venison in years.”
Stone eyes the cooler like what’s in it is still alive.
“You should come hunting with me next time,” Rome suggests to him.
“No.” Stone passes Rome a beer before making a quick exit.
Amused, I gesture to Rome. “Bring it into the garage. There’s a freezer I can put it in.”
“Lead the way.”
I open the attached door to the garage, and Rome passes through it, carrying the cooler with ease. He sets it down by the freezer and opens it.
Rome’s butchered the deer into separate, edible parts and wrapped them, too.
“Wow, you didn’t have to do all that,” I say as I open the freezer for him to drop them in.