Chapter 37 #2
I gently suck her finger in, and her neck moves with a delicate swallow.
Fuck me, but if it’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.
Her finger twitches against my tongue like she can’t decide whether to yank away or push in.
I take one more slow pull, then release her with a soft pop I absolutely do on purpose.
Her breath stutters. “You can’t—” She swallows. “You can’t do that.”
I grab her finger again to suck on it. After another lazy swirl, I let go of her finger.
“I just did.” My voice is rough. “And I’m going to think about it for the rest of my life.”
“I wonder what else I can do to replace that memory.” Her eyes flare and drop to my lap, and for a heartbeat I swear the only thing holding my bones together is stubbornness.
“Breathe,” she whispers, like I forgot to do so. Her breath fans over my lips, and my self-control does a full, panicked scramble for the exits.
I tip my head forward the smallest fraction, enough to feel the heat of her, but not enough to make contact. “If you’re going to torture me, at least take responsibility for the casualties.”
Her fingertips flex against my chest. “I’m already responsible for too much.”
I close my eyes, count to three, fail at four. “One kiss,” I say, quiet and wrecked. “A goodnight. A truce. Then I take you back, and we act like two of the most grownup, put-together people in the city tomorrow at work. Then we can be dirty animals at night.”
She doesn’t move. I feel the conflict roll through her, tangible as the humid air outside the car.
“One kiss.” She sounds like she’s testing the word on her tongue. “Singular. And no naughty stuff until your ribs are healed.”
“No naughty stuff,” I confirm, even though my internal counsel is shouting sustained objection. I lean in that last, fatal inch and fit my mouth to hers.
It’s not the fever dream from last night. It’s careful and slow, like laying a hand on a sleeping animal to prove you’re not a threat. Her lips are soft and warm, and the second she sighs into me I forget every argument I’ve made against this and all the ones I will need tomorrow.
Her hand trembles slightly as it rests against my chest, a faint but undeniable acknowledgment of this fragile moment between us when we balance the blade, deciding where our relationship will go after.
The kiss deepens by mutual, silent agreement. It’s soft and exploratory, not a fight but a dance. Something I’m not used to. I’m used to conquering and taking, but I get a feeling Bea doesn’t want either right now.
I’m breaking every rule I set for myself when I met her a year ago, every line I drew in the sand. But as her lips move against mine, all those rules seem trivial and distant. The hum of blood in my brain is all that remains.
When we finally pull away, the world doesn’t snap back into focus like I expect it to.
Instead, it’s spanning off my axis, sending me wobbling into an uncertain orbit.
Her forehead rests against mine, and for a heartbeat, I consider the possibility of redefining normal to accommodate this—us.
I’ll erase every single line and boundary if she lets me.
But then she pulls back, breaking the spell with physical distance. The space between us gives me a sudden chill.
“We should go. You need to rest,” she whispers breathily, and I get a feeling she is probably affected by our kiss too. Though apparently not like me because there’s no way I would have been able to pull away.
“Yeah.” The word feels rough in my throat, and I clear it to be able to speak.
I start the car again, the engine’s rumble a harsh return to reality. We drive back in silence filled with the unspoken, the weight of our shared moment hanging between us heavier than I anticipated.
When I pull up outside her building, she doesn’t move at first, just sits there staring out the windshield. Finally, she turns to me, her expression unreadable.
“Thank you,” she says. Her worried eyes tell me she’s as torn up inside as I am.
She slowly unlatches the seatbelt after a long pause, clearly not knowing what to do. “Goodnight, Noah.”
“Night, Bea.” I watch her climb out of the car, gripping the steering wheel to keep my hands from reaching out to her and snatching her back, here, where her scent lingers long after she’s gone.
She doesn’t look back as she walks into her building, and something tightens painfully in my chest.
I sit in the car long after she disappears, the engine idling, the night deepening around me.
My thoughts are a tangled mess, each one starting with Bea and ending in a question mark.
What am I doing? This isn’t just about wanting someone anymore; it’s about wanting something more, something deeper that terrifies me because I know how much it could cost if it doesn’t work out.
Eventually, I drive home, my mind replaying every moment of tonight over and over like a film I can’t stop.
The city blurs past, lights streaking through the darkness, but I barely see any of it.
My penthouse feels cold and empty when I finally get back, a stark contrast to the warmth of Bea’s presence.
I throw my keys on the counter and head straight for the shower, trying to wash off the ache that has settled deep in my bones. The water is hot, almost scalding, but it can’t burn away the feel of her lips on mine or the way my heart still races at the memory.
My phone rings when I step out of the shower. I sigh after glancing at the screen and pick it up.
“Hi, honey. Can you come over?”