Noah
noah
. . .
A fter having the limo driver stop at the store, we finally make it to the hotel I booked without contacting my manager. He’d never understand, and I’m not in the mood for a lecture. I have to trust the hotel clerk isn’t going to say anything when I check in, even though he’s eyeing me, Peyton, and the name on my credit card and driver’s license. He knows who I am. I can see it in his eyes.
I swipe the keycard and push the hotel room door open, letting Peyton step in first. Her heels click against the polished floor, and for a second, we just stand there silent, staring. The soft hum of the air conditioning fills the space, but all I hear is her breathing. If I had more time to plan this, we’d be in a suite with champagne, flowers, and a change of clothes.
She turns slowly, facing me, and my heart beats harder than it ever has on the field.
“This okay?” I ask her, voice low. “You can still say no. We can order room service and watch bad movies, or just lie here and talk.”
Peyton shakes her head gently, walking toward me. “I don’t want to talk.”
Her voice is soft, breathy—shaky, even. But there's certainty in her eyes.
Want.
Need.
Love.
“I want you to be my first,” she says, placing her hands on my chest, over my heartbeat. “Only you.”
My heart thumps wildly. I know what she’s asking, what this entails, and the power that comes with being her first. I won’t take this responsibility lightly or brush her aside. Peyton knows this. Whether she believes it or not, she’s wrapped around my finger, and I will be at her beck and call.
Whenever.
Wherever.
My arm snakes around her waist, pulling her close. Peyton trembles against me.
“You have me,” I whisper. “All of me.” I speak nothing but the truth, but I also hate that she’s eighteen and not twenty-one. I love her and want to be with her, but the media, my manager, and the league would frown so heavily upon a relationship between us. No one would understand us except for us. Maybe Elle.
Our parents would lose their ever-loving minds.
Harrison would likely shatter both my kneecaps for what I’m about to do.
Peyton wants this, though.
And I want her.
I bring one hand up to her cheek, brushing a tendril of hair behind her ear. My thumb gently traces her jaw as I stare into her eyes. There’s a quietness in the moment that wraps around us—sacred and full. My heart aches with the weight of everything I feel for her.
Then, slowly, I lower my head.
Our lips meet.
It’s not like in the movies—not rushed or frantic. It’s soft, tender, like a promise sealed with a breath. Her lips are warm and plush—hesitant at first, and then surer when I respond with the gentlest pressure. I taste her sigh as it slips between us, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
My heart feels like it’s breaking open.
Kissing her is like finally finding a piece of me I didn’t know I was missing—like exhaling after holding my breath for years. Everything I feel pours into that kiss. Every late-night thought of her, every ache I pushed aside, every time I watched her smile and couldn’t reach for it.
Now, I can.
I angle my head and kiss her deeper—our mouths moving together like we’ve always known how. Her fingers slide into my hair, anchoring me to her, and I swear I’ve never felt anything more grounding in my life. My hand cups the back of her neck, keeping her close—never wanting to let her go.
When we finally part, barely, I rest my forehead against hers.
She’s breathless.
So am I.
“That was our first kiss,” she whispers.
I smile, brushing my nose against hers.
“Yeah,” I say. “And every single one after is going to be just as unforgettable.”
We kiss like we mean it—slow, exploratory, reverent. It’s not rushed. I’m not just kissing her lips; I’m memorizing her.
Her taste.
Her breath.
The way she melts into me.
When she pulls back, she looks up at me through her lashes, then reaches up and starts to undo the buttons of my shirt, one at a time. Her fingers tremble, but she doesn’t stop. I stand perfectly still, letting her take the lead.
Once my shirt is open, I slide it off and reach for the pins in her hair.
“Can I?”
She nods.
Gently, I remove each pin, letting the dark waves tumble down. It falls like silk, and I run my fingers through it, watching her eyes flutter closed as I do.
“You’re so beautiful, Peyton. You don’t even know.”
She leans into me, hands on my shoulders. I find the zipper of her dress, sliding it down with care. The fabric loosens, and she lets it slip off her shoulders and puddle to the floor. My breath catches.
She’s standing in front of me in nothing but panties—delicate, pale pink lace. My eyes meet hers, and I can see the vulnerability there.
“You’re perfect,” I say, my voice thick. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she breathes. “More than okay.”
She reaches for my belt, unbuckling it slowly, her knuckles brushing my stomach. When she slides it out of the loops and drops it, I kick off my shoes and step out of my pants, pulling her close again.
Our skin touches.
Warm.
Real.
My hands are on her waist, her arms wrapped around my neck. Her mouth finds mine—hungry now—and I respond with every ounce of control I have.
I guide her backward toward the bed, laying her down gently like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever held. And she is.
We take our time.
Every kiss, every touch, every whispered word is careful—worshipful.
I tell her she’s beautiful.
That she’s mine.
That I’m hers.
And when I finally become her first, it’s with her name on my lips and tears in her eyes. Her fingers grip my back, pulling me closer, needing me as much as I need her.
Her breath catches when I first move inside her, and I still instantly, brushing her hair away from her face with shaky fingers. “You okay?” I whisper, my voice tight with restraint, every part of me focused on her—on making this everything she deserves. Her eyes are locked on mine, wide and shining with emotion. I lower my lips to her cheek, then her jaw, whispering how much I love her, how proud I am of her, how honored I am to be hers.
She touches my face, tracing the edge of my jaw with trembling fingertips. "I want this," she whispers. "I want you."
I kiss her—soft and slow, letting her feel every ounce of love that’s lived in me for her all these years. My hands are everywhere, memorizing every curve, every breath, every quiet moan that slips past her lips. I move with care, with intention, my heart hammering in my chest—not from lust, but from awe. From the overwhelming truth that this moment will live inside me forever.
Her breaths come in uneven waves, but her hands never leave me. She pulls me closer, urges me deeper into her world, her soul. The heat between us is undeniable, but it’s the connection that consumes me. We’re not just two bodies. We’re hearts colliding.
I feel everything, and yet know that this is only for tonight—that the world is keeping us apart.
Peyton’s legs wrap around me, anchoring me to her, as if she’s afraid I might slip away. But I won’t.
Not from her.
Not now.
Not ever.
Her softness, her warmth, the way she opens for me—it surrounds me, claims me. We move together in quiet rhythm, our hands tangled, our lips constantly meeting, sharing kisses full of love and longing.
“I love you, Noah,” she whispers, her voice breaking. As well as my heart. Those three words, coupled with my name send my heart and mind into a tizzy. I don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear them. To be able to say them to her and it be an eternal moment between us and not something fleeting.
I want her to mean it the same way I do when I say those words to her. She’s only eighteen, with the entire world ahead of her. I won’t take away her future. Not when I’ve had a chance to live mine.
Everything inside me stills as a rush of heat and lust takes over. I’m going to tell her, repeat the same words, and pray she absorbs what I’m saying. I lower my forehead to hers, brushing a soft kiss to her lips. “I love you more. Always have. Always will.”
She moves beneath me with new confidence, meeting me stroke for stroke, her hands trembling as they frame my face. “Don’t stop,” she says through soft gasps, her voice laced with wonder and hunger. “Please don’t ever stop.”
“Never,” I promise, my voice cracking. “Never, Peyton.”
When we come undone, it’s slow and quiet, as if we’re the only two people in the world, and maybe for this night, we are.
We don’t fall asleep right away. We stay tangled together—bare skin against bare skin, hearts syncing, breaths mingling. I brush kisses to her collarbone, her shoulder, the dip of her waist. Her fingers trace lazy circles on my chest, anchoring me to the moment, andImake love to her again.
At some point, she texts her mom and tells her we’re out with my friends and promises she’s not drinking and is safe. I’m secretly happy I get her all night long.
We order room service. I get the champagne I would’ve ordered if I could’ve planned this night perfectly for her. We munch on fruit, crackers, and cheese. We talk, laugh, and when our eyes meet in the middle of a round of giggles, she crawls into my lap and asks me to teach her.
It pains me to think she’ll be with someone else after this, but those are my worries.
Tonight, I didn’t just get to be hers.
Tonight, she became mine, and I would do anything possible to hold onto her forever.