Chapter 7
Noah
She’s here.
In my house.
Chiara bloody Giardino.
And if I don’t calm the hell down, I might come in my shorts like a complete wanker before we even make it past the doorway.
Not happening.
Not tonight.
Because this—her—this is something I’ve been building toward for months. Thinking about. Dreaming about.
I’m not rushing it.
Even if every nerve in my body is screaming otherwise.
I carry her through the house toward my bedroom, her arms looped around my neck and her thick thighs wrapped tight around my waist.
Every step sends a spark of heat straight through me.
Christ, she feels good like this.
Fits against me like she was meant to be there.
And the way she kisses—soft one second, bold the next—has my head spinning.
I never want to let go.
This woman is my kryptonite.
No… that’s not right.
Kryptonite makes Superman weak.
Chiara doesn’t make me weak.
She makes me feel unstoppable.
Like I could walk back onto the pitch right now and take down the whole bloody league by myself.
She’s my reason.
The thing that lights a fire in my chest and dares the world to try and stop me.
When we reach the bedroom, I finally set her down on the edge of the bed.
My hands move almost automatically to the little bow tied at the side of her dress.
“You won’t be needing this,” I murmur.
She shivers as my fingers tug the strings loose.
The dress slides open.
And for a second I forget how to breathe.
Holy hell.
It’s like Christmas morning all over again.
Beneath that flirty little dress Chiara’s wearing the naughtiest little thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Not a bra exactly—more like a delicate little camisole that hugs her curves just enough to make a man lose his mind.
And the panties?
Not simple.
Not innocent.
Soft elastic, and sheer lace wrapped around her hips in intricate little lines that make my brain short-circuit.
And the color?
Rovers blue.
“Bloody hell,” I breathe.
My gaze drifts over her slowly, taking everything in.
Every curve.
Every soft inch of her.
She shifts slightly under my stare, suddenly shy.
And that somehow makes her even more stunning.
“You wear this for me, Love?” I ask quietly.
Because I need to know.
Because the thought that she did might just finish me off right here.
Her lips part like she’s about to answer.
And I step closer, reaching out to trace the edge of that delicate lace along her hip.
My heart is pounding now.
Slow.
Heavy.
The kind of moment where everything feels like it’s balancing right on the edge of something big.
Something real.
And the way she’s looking at me—nervous, excited, breathless all at once—makes something tighten deep in my chest.
Because this never was a casual one-night fling for me—and whether or not she says it out loud I know it’s not for her either.
Not even close.
I lean down, brushing a kiss against the curve of her shoulder.
“Christ, Chiara,” I murmur softly. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me.”
My hands slide to her waist, drawing her a little closer.
And the tension between us builds again—slow and electric—like the beginning of a storm that’s been waiting months to break.
Right here.
Right now.