Chapter 27 Noah
Noah
I keep thinking about when Damien called me brave enough to be open with him. I’ve never been brave a day in my life, not really, not where it counts. But tonight, it doesn’t feel impossible.
Tonight, with the memory of him still fresh on my skin, I want to see how brave I can be.
There’s a risk to what I’m about to do, but it doesn’t feel terrifying in the way I expected. It feels like taking a deep breath and letting go.
I want Damien to see all of me—not just the parts that are soft and easy and safe.
The parts that are risky, strange, and beautiful, even if my hands shake while I show them.
There’s a key sitting in my backpack, tucked beneath my wallet, given to me by Damien weeks ago with a smirk and a muttered “just in case.” His version of subtle is terrible, but it’s good enough.
The city outside is quiet as I lock my apartment, hoodie over my shoulders, backpack slung across my body. The drive to The Sin Bin is quick, anticipation sitting low in my gut. The house is a looming shape in the dark, windows glowing faintly, the front porch lit with a yellow bulb.
I unlock the door and punch in the alarm code, heart hammering, as I slip inside, closing the door as quietly as I can. My nerves sing as I pad upstairs, past the framed photos, the trophies and game balls, all the evidence of the chaos that lives here.
Damien’s door is closed but not locked. I turn the handle and slip inside, locking the door behind me. The curtains are half-drawn, moonlight sliding over the familiar mess: shoes in a pile, books stacked beside the bed, hoodie tossed over the back of his chair.
He’s sprawled in the center of his mattress, limbs tangled in the blanket, mouth soft in sleep, hair mussed and wild. He looks less like the guy everyone on campus idolizes and more like the boy I fell in love with all that time ago, when I was still learning the shape of my own want.
I drop my hoodie to the floor, then tug my shirt over my head, careful not to catch it on the thin black lace bralette I picked out just for this.
My hands are steady now as I strip off my jeans and socks, then wriggle out of my boxers, swapping them for the jockstrap I bought weeks ago but never had the guts to wear.
Then I reach for the slip chain choker I’ve kept hidden at the back of my drawer, the one I never thought I’d actually put on.
It’s heavier than it looks, made of silver-toned chain that threads through matching heart-shaped O-rings.
I slip it around my neck, threading one heart through the other and letting it settle high against my throat.
I check myself in the mirror over his dresser—a flush blooming high on my cheeks, hair a riot of blue, lashes dark around my eyes.
I look nervous, yeah, but also… pretty. Hot, even. The type of guy who could break hearts if he wanted. The type of guy Damien Moore might lose his mind over.
I tiptoe to the bed, one knee sinking into the mattress, then the other. I straddle his waist, breath catching when I see just how deeply asleep he is. The urge to wake him gently, to give him a memory he’ll never forget, overrides every doubt.
I lean in, mouth close to his ear, and whisper, “Rise and shine, superstar.”
Damien stirs but doesn’t open his eyes, lips quirking at the sound of my voice. I press a slow kiss to his cheek, then to the edge of his jaw, nuzzling the stubble there, and breathing him in—cinnamon, soap, and that spicy cologne I love so much.
He lets out a sleepy groan and turns his face instinctively toward my mouth, seeking out the contact even in dreams. “Hmmm… Blue…” He murmurs, and my pulse stutters at how natural it feels.
I kiss his neck, soft and teasing, mouthing at the spot below his ear, whispering, “C’mon, Damien. I snuck in just for you.”
He groans deeply this time, and his hand comes up to grip my thigh automatically, possessive even in sleep. “S’too early,” he mumbles, not quite awake yet.
I nudge him again, pressing my hips down a little, rolling slowly. He’s half-hard already, and the feel of me on top of him finally pulls him up from the depths.
Damien’s eyes flutter open, unfocused at first. He blinks, confusion crossing his face, then his nose twitches, brow furrowing. “Noah?” His voice is rough with sleep, but he inhales again, and I see the moment he knows it’s me.
His eyes widen, pupils blown, and he jerks fully awake beneath me. “What the actual—” He can’t even finish the sentence, just lets his eyes roam over me, stunned and hungry, lips parted. “Holy shit, Blue.”
The way he says it makes my stomach flip.
I let my knees settle wider, bracketing his hips, and lean down, kissing him again, open-mouthed, tasting sleep and surprise.
His hands slide up my back, fingertips finding the edge of the bralette, tracing the straps.
I break off the kiss but keep my mouth on his, whispering, “You said you liked surprises.”
He laughs, the sound rough, caught between disbelief and arousal. “Not at four in the fucking morning, I didn’t.”
I smile into the kiss, tugging his bottom lip gently with my teeth. “Liar,” I murmur. “You love it.”
He groans, voice going rougher, hands digging into my thighs. “You’re insane, you know that?” His hands slide lower, cupping my ass, finding the bands of the jockstrap. “You’re so—fuck, baby, what are you even wearing?”
“Something just for you.” My voice is quiet as I sit back so he can see everything. “What do you think?”
His eyes rake over me—bralette, slip-chain, and jockstrap barely containing the bulge beneath. He swallows hard, eyes gone dark and hungry. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” His hands slide up my thighs, then settle at my waist, thumbs stroking my hips.
The way he’s looking at me makes everything inside me go soft and shivery. I rock against him, feeling the hardness of his cock pressed against my ass. His fingers slide under the band, teasing at the edge, then back up to palm my chest through the lace.
I grind down harder, and he bucks up beneath me, breath catching in a hiss that punches straight into my core. “Fuck, Noah—” his voice breaks, breath shallow, like he’s on the verge of losing control.
I bite down on a grin, squirming just to feel the reaction again. Damien groans and pulls me down hard, his mouth crashing into mine. His hands are greedy—sliding up under the jock, cupping my bare ass, holding me so tight I can’t move unless he lets me.
His kiss is deep and filthy, his tongue in my mouth and his fingers marking bruises into my skin.
Every inch of me is sparking—lit up and open, aching to be touched, to be kept.
I press against him, chest to chest, letting him feel how much this is for him.
How hard I am. How bad I want him to take it.
He breaks the kiss first, breathless, eyes wild. “You really did this for me?” he asks in a shaky voice.
I nod, biting my bottom lip. “Wanted to be brave and show you what you do to me. I thought about you all night and couldn’t sleep. So, I came here.” I pause, my cheeks burning. “I want you to look at me and touch me like you did the other night. I want you to see all of me.”
He lets out a shaky breath, sitting up and pressing our foreheads together. “You don’t know what you do to me, Blue. You’re all I’ve wanted for years.”
My chest aches at the honesty in his voice, at the hunger and the care wrapped around every word. “Then have me,” I whisper, voice trembling. “Please. I’m already yours.”
He doesn’t make me wait. His hands move up, brushing over my nipples through the thin lace, making me gasp. He grins, wicked and gentle, and pinches lightly, watching my reaction. His thumb rubs over the spot he just pinched, and I shiver hard enough that my knees press tighter into his sides.
“Jesus, baby—” he leans forward, burying his face against my chest.
I run my fingers through his hair, carding through the strands at the nape of his neck.
His groan is a prayer. He mouths at the lace, hot breath fogging over the delicate fabric, nose brushing the little bow at the center.
I can feel him staring, feel the weight of that hunger crawling under my skin.
He nuzzles again, then drags his tongue over my nipple through the bralette greedily.
I shiver so hard my thighs tighten around his waist.
“You’re already fucking soaked for me, aren’t you?” His hand slides down, cupping me through the jock, and groaning at the weight of it
I nod, barely able to think. “Take your shirt off, please. I need to feel you against me.”
There’s no hesitation when his hands drop to the hem of his t-shirt, and he pulls it off in one smooth motion. The fabric drags over his abs, revealing tattooed skin I already know too well but will never stop wanting to memorize.
He’s golden in the dim light, cut and scarred and warm all over. His tattooed chest is broad and dusted with hair, his abs tight as he leans back against the headboard, dark eyes locked on me.
I press closer, lace brushing against bare skin, and god, the contact makes my whole body shiver.
His hands come back to my waist, guiding me tighter against him, letting me feel every inch of his hard cock pressing up under the thin stretch of my jockstrap.
He groans, head falling back for a second.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he rasps. “You know that? Sitting on me all dressed up in lace like a goddamn gift.”
I smile, but it’s shaky. “Then unwrap me, Mien.”
His hands slip to my back, and he unhooks the bralette slowly, fingers careful as the lace falls away.
Then his mouth is on mine again, one hand in my hair, the other sliding down the curve of my spine, slipping under the waistband of the jockstrap to cup me.
I moan into his mouth and grind down without meaning to, whimpering, the chain at my throat catching against my collarbones as I move.