Chapter 14 #2
Two hours later we’ve touched down. Noel’s drowsy and disoriented, and I’m still not quite awake.
We drag ourselves through Baltimore-Washington International, collect our luggage from baggage claim and get a ride to our hotel.
We wind up crawling into bed together and going back to sleep until noon when hunger drives us out in search of lunch.
The concierge recommends a nearby seafood restaurant to us.
“We’re in Maryland,” I tell Noel, “so you’re legally obligated to get the crab.”
“Sure.” He perks up a little. “Hey, that’s three whole states I’ve been to now. Massachusetts, Vermont, and Maryland.”
“And New Hampshire,” I remind him.
“We only drove through it. That doesn’t count.”
“We got gas there. You took a piss. Sure it counts.”
“Okay, fine. Four states.”
I pick up my water glass. “Only forty-six to go.”
Noel scoffs. “Fuck the rest of the states, I’m looking abroad. Say…a certain guy’s motherland.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Really? You want to go to Greece?”
“With you.” He ducks his head. “If you wanted to.”
“Get your passport and we’ll make it happen someday.” I see our server making her way back toward us, and I open my menu again. “Not anytime soon, but in a few years, maybe.”
“I don’t think you ever told me where in Greece your family’s from, exactly.”
I glance up. “Crete. Chania, specifically.”
“Ooh.” He gives a small shudder and grins. “You’re so sexy when the Greek comes out.”
“My accent is terrible,” I say, amused. “They can hardly understand me there.”
Five minutes after we’re served our blue crabs, Noel is dismayed.
“This is so much fucking work, Luca,” he complains, tossing aside the tiny wooden mallet.
His plate looks like a murder scene, and he’s wiping his fingers furiously on the little bib he was given.
“I just want to eat. Why do I have to work to eat?”
“C’mon, it’s part of the experience. And it’s not any worse than eating lobster, anyway.”
“I’ve never had a whole lobster,” he retorts.
“You’ve never—” My jaw drops in shock. “Noel, how can you live in Mass and not eat any lobster?”
“I’ve eaten it tons of times. On a roll.”
Yet another thing I’ll have to rectify.
Afterwards we walk down to the Inner Harbor, and it’s a frankly spectacular sight.
Tour boats glide across the water, and their wake makes the old historic warships-turned-museums rock in their berths.
The sounds of buskers playing fill the air, spirited saxophone and drumbeats whose echoes ricochet off of nearby buildings.
There are children everywhere, laughing, screaming, scampering around with fingers sticky from snow cones as their world-weary parents call after them.
Noel’s holding my hand tightly, and he chews absently at a hangnail on the other.
His glittering tawny eyes take it all in, from the creaking USS Constellation to the 9/11 memorial on display outside of Baltimore’s World Trade Center.
The aquarium looms before us, a jutting temple of glass and concrete, and he hauls me towards it with a sudden strength I didn’t know he possessed.
He’s picked the place he wants to spend his day, which is just fine with me.
He’s gorgeous as always but especially in this warm, afternoon light, the brisk sea breeze blowing strands of hair across his face and raising goosebumps on his bare arms. Without saying anything I brush his hair back, and he turns and gives me a smile.
Love you, I mouth to him.
Noel cannot be dissuaded from using the giant whirlpool tub in our suite when we get back later that evening.
I let him have his fun, even though the jets almost certainly have not been cleaned properly in their entire lifetime, and when he asks me to join him I don’t make him repeat himself; I simply undress and strategically place a bottle of lube by the tub.
He’s picked up some bubble bath from somewhere during our travels today, and he adds way too much (because he doesn’t listen when I tell him that’s a terrible idea, either) to the point where foam starts spilling to the floor after he engages the jets.
“Not our problem,” he assures me as I settle in opposite him, water slopping over the sides. “It’s fine. We’re not at home.” He’s flushed from both the hot water and the single glass of wine from dinner. “We can make a big stupid mess and someone else will clean it up.”
“Think of poor housekeeping,” I chide him.
“Oh, it’s just a little bit of water.” He’s piling as many suds as he can before him, building himself a crooked spire out of bubbles and borrowed time. “We’re on vacation, Luca. Sort of. Live a little.”
“Hmm.” I nudge his hip with my foot. “What’s your idea of living a little?”
“You, me, and some alcohol. And this.” He gazes around. “This is fancy, huh? I’ve never seen anything like it in real life. I thought this was just rich people stuff.”
“We used to have one of these at our house,” I tell him. “We tore it out and replaced it with a normal bath tub.”
“But why?” He can’t comprehend it. “This is amazing.”
I have to admit, it does feel pretty good. “Because they’re a huge pain to clean. I’m not a big bath-taker, anyway.”
“Okay, but say we ever do buy a place together...”
My heart does a fluttery little two-step at the thought of that, hearing it vocalized at all.
I’ve been fantasizing about it a lot lately, what our living situation will look like after my daughter’s born.
I wonder if we can find somewhere affordable in the same neighborhood.
Could be doable, once Demi buys me out. Once we actually get that divorce.
“We should get one put in,” Noel goes on. “A tub like this.”
“If you take all responsibility for cleaning it, sure.”
His bubble tower collapses and he peers at me with lurid, amber eyes, his damp hair clinging to his cheeks.
He is more gorgeous and nymph-like than ever, an impish half-smile tugging at his lips.
“You look so fucking sexy right now, Luca,” he says in a low, soft voice, his leg sliding alongside mine. “All wet and soapy.”
All at once I’m tired of pretense; I just want him. I’ve wanted to bring him back to the hotel to bend him over and fuck him senseless all damn day. I lift my chin at him. “C’mere, stunt girl.”
Noel happily sloshes his way over, water sluicing over the sides as he settles himself between my legs with his back pressed to my stomach.
This pins my half-hard dick against his ass and it’s more than happy to be there.
He tilts his head back to look up at me, exposing the long, gorgeous line of his throat.
There’s water beading on his dark lashes.
“Is there something you want?” he purrs.
“What makes you say that?” I slide my hands beneath his arms, thumbing his nipples. “Maybe I just want a cuddle.”
“You’re such a tease.”
“And you’re a brat.” I kiss down the side of his neck, and his breath hitches when my teeth graze just over his fluttering pulse.
I have to stop myself from biting down and marking him; I know the bruises will not look professional at his convention tomorrow.
I roll his nipples between my fingers and until they grow hard indeed, and he’s making small sounds in his throat now, squirming against me. “An awfully cute one.”
He doesn’t say anything. He’s got one rosy lip between his teeth before I tangle his wet hair in my fingers and kiss him, hard, hard enough that it yields beneath mine and he moans softly into my mouth.
My tongue brushes against his and he tries to turn in my arms, but I don’t let him.
I keep him pinned against my front as my free hand slides down his stomach, his hip, and down along his sensitive inner thigh.
“Please,” he whispers against my mouth.
I break the kiss to watch his face, the way it contorts in anticipation as my fingers move back up, getting closer and closer to his cock. He’s pushing himself toward my hand, desperate. “Please what?” I taunt him softly.
“Touch me. Fuck me,” he clarifies.
“I don’t know.” I stop just short of where he wants me, teasing him with proximity alone, and it’s working. He writhing, splashing water everywhere as he seeks contact desperately. “You didn’t listen about the tub,” I say. “Or the bubbles.”
“I’m sorry.” He immediately capes, playing along. He adores this and I adore seeing him like this, frustrated and wanting, begging the way he won’t for anyone else. It feels so natural, how we fall into this. I’ve missed it. “Please,” he adds again, rubbing his face against my jaw. “Daddy.”
Jesus fucking Christ. I pretend to think about it for a minute while I fight not to come undone right then and there, switching the tub jets off with the dial.
Then I position him so he’s making a sort of bridge over my lap, knees on one side of me as he braces his elbows against the tub’s rim.
He’s an exquisite sight, his lithe body stretched out and dripping wet, the suds clinging to him.
I take a moment to appreciate the view, running my palm along his ribs and flank, and his breath quickens.
I can see his gorgeous cock twitching between his legs. He’s aching to be touched.
“Look at me,” I tell him, and he pillows his cheek on his arms. He watches me with a lidded, expectant gaze, lips slightly parted. “Do you remember what you said to me?” My palm follows the curve of his ass. “Months ago, at Strapped. When I was fucking you in my truck.”
A flicker of recognition crosses his face, and his breath catches audibly in his throat. “Yes,” he says softly. “I remember.”
“What was it?”
“I said that you want to hurt me.”
“And what did I say?”
His glittering eyes hold fast to mine. “That you really fucking do.”
“Because you want me to,” I finish. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” he whispers.
“I’m gonna hurt you now, baby.”