Chapter 29 Noah
Noah
I wake up tangled in a mess of limbs and sheets, blinking slowly into the sun-warmed space of Damien’s room.
My cheek is pressed to his bare chest, breath ghosting over his sternum and nose nuzzling the soft hair there.
One of his arms is draped possessively over my back, pinning me in place.
For a long minute, I just listen to his heartbeat before I realize with a quiet sort of thrill that there’s nothing demanding my attention.
No alarm. No swim practice. No class. Nothing except Damien’s breathing and the distant, muffled chaos of Sin Bin boys waking up on a Saturday, probably already fighting over coffee.
The covers are heavy and warm, cocooning us together in that lazy space that belongs to mornings like this—rare and precious, a day with nowhere to be.
I let myself enjoy it, feeling the weight of his arm, the scrape of his stubble when I nuzzle closer, the subtle flex of his muscles as he shifts in sleep.
I want to stay here all day. I want to bottle this feeling and keep it for when things get loud again, when I need a reminder that comfort can be this simple.
I’m content to just stay still, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, the security of being wrapped up in him, the way everything quiets when it’s just the two of us and nothing else.
Damien stirs, exhaling a huff of air that flutters the hair at my temple. His eyes are still closed, lashes tangled and dark against his cheekbones, but he’s awake. I know the difference by now.
“Good morning,” I say, voice still scratchy from sleep, but full of quiet amusement.
I feel him tighten his hold on me, pulling me in until there’s no space left between us, then groaning as he cracks one bleary eye open. He looks wrecked—hair wild, mouth swollen, pillow lines pressed into his cheek. He looks young, unguarded. He looks like mine.
Damien is looking at me as if I’m the most disruptive alarm clock ever invented. “Mmm. It can’t be morning. Too early. Not moving,” he mutters, dragging the sheets up higher and tucking them around us. “Besides, I had a little Smurf keeping me up all night. Should get to sleep in for once.”
I flush, cheeks prickling with heat, immediately catching on to what he meant. I nudge him in the ribs. “Smurf? Is that really what we’re going with? You’re the one who couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. You said you liked the lace. And the jockstrap. And… everything else.”
Damien’s hand drifts down, tracing idle circles on my back, fingers slipping under the hem of his own shirt that I borrowed.
“Oh, don’t play innocent,” he says, feigning exhaustion.
“Little blue-haired Smurf shows up in my bed at three a.m. in lace and straps and—fuck, I didn’t stand a chance.
I’m not responsible for my actions when ambushed like that. ”
I let out a scandalized huff, poking him in the ribs. “Ambushed? You practically drooled on me. I had to wake you up. I should’ve filmed how long it took.”
He grins, all dimples and cocky self-satisfaction, but then his brow furrows, and he lets his head flop back against the pillow with an exaggerated sigh.
“Truly tragic. A man can’t even get his beauty sleep in his own house…
” He trails off, feigning another dramatic sigh.
“You’re trouble, Blue. I’m filing a complaint. My legs still hurt.”
I laugh, snuggling closer just to be annoying, dragging my palm up his chest until my fingers play absently over the chain at his throat.
“Fine. I won’t do it again. No more lace, no more straddling you at three in the morning, no more…
anything.” I let the silence hang, playing up the offense.
“You’ll just have to settle for boring, flannel-pajama Noah from now on. ”
He gasps, rolling us so I’m trapped beneath him, staring up into his eyes, which are much more awake and mischievous than he’s pretending. “Don’t you dare. That’s cruel and unusual punishment. I’ll sue.”
I give him my best unimpressed look, chin tilting up. “Nope. If you don’t want me to go full flannel mode, you’ll have to apologize for calling me a Smurf. And for complaining about the lace. In fact, I think you should have to grovel. Beg a little. Maybe get on your knees.”
His mouth quirks up into a crooked grin. “Grovel, huh? You want me on my knees, Blue? You sure you can handle that?”
I swat his chest, blushing even harder, but I don’t back down. “You’re not getting out of this. I require a formal apology. I want you to mean it. I want regret, Damien Moore. Regret and repentance.”
He gives me a look of pure betrayal, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head, leaning in so his hair brushes my forehead. I melt for it even as I try to keep a straight face.
“Alright. Fine. I’m sorry, Blue. I take it all back. You’re not a Smurf, you’re an angel, and the lace is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’d write a thousand apologies if it means you’ll keep wearing it just for me.”
I turn my face away with a dramatic sigh, refusing to look at him. “Not enough,” I insist, but my voice is wobbly, full of laughter I can’t quite suppress.
Damien groans, nuzzling into my neck, his stubble scratching my skin as he presses desperate, silly kisses along my jaw.
“C’mon, Babygirl. I’m sorry, okay? You’re the bravest, hottest, most dangerously sexy man I’ve ever met.
You could wake me up in the middle of a coma, and I’d thank you.
Please, baby. Don’t take away my sexy privileges. I’ll die.”
I snort, shaking my head, but his mouth is at my neck now, hot and insistent, finding all the places that make me squirm. “Grovel harder,” I tease, even as my resolve is crumbling, my body arching into him. “I want to see some real suffering.”
“Please, Blue,” he murmurs, voice dropping low. “Don’t take it away. Don’t take you away. I’ll be good. I’ll do anything. Just—let me have you. Let me see you. Lace, jockstrap, whatever you want. You’re so fucking beautiful, I’ll say it until you believe me.”
My heart clenches so hard it almost hurts.
I try to look away, shy and overwhelmed by the intensity in his eyes, but he won’t let me.
I let him pepper me with apologies and increasingly absurd promises—“I’ll do all your laundry for a month,” “I’ll let you pick the music in the car, even if it’s that weird sad indie stuff”—until I’m grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.
I squirm, trying to keep the giggle locked behind my teeth, but it slips out anyway, muffled by his neck as I give in and wrap my arms around his shoulders.
“You’re ridiculous,” I manage, but the sound of his voice and the heat of his skin have already undone every ounce of resolve I tried to muster.
“Okay,” I say quietly, giving in. “You’re forgiven. But only because you beg so pretty.”
He draws back a little, tilting his head, mouth quirking at the corner. “I love you, Noah Adams, and I’d let you ruin my sleep every night for the rest of my life if it meant waking up like this.”
The way he says it leaves me breathless for a second, all the jokes falling away until it’s just the two of us, raw and real, barely awake but more alive than I’ve felt in years.
“Good,” I murmur, pulling him down for a slow, drawn out kiss. “Because I don’t want to sleep alone anymore.”
He kisses me back, soft and lingering, then flops back on his side, dragging me with him until we’re tangled together again.
His fingers trace absent patterns over my hip, caressing the stretch marks mottling my skin.
They’ve always made me feel self-conscious, but Damien doesn’t seem to mind that they’re there—not with the way he’s touching them.
Damien breaks the silence with a low, teasing grumble. “Do you want to get up?” he asks, voice muffled in my hair.
I consider it, but shake my head, snuggling closer. “Not yet. It’s Saturday. I don’t have to move.”
He hums his agreement, squeezing me tighter. “Good. I wasn’t planning on letting you go anyway.”
For a long while, we lie there listening to the muffled chaos of the house waking up.
Eventually, my stomach growls loud enough to make Damien laugh.
“Alright, c’mon, Blue,” he says, pushing up on one elbow and grinning down at me. “Let’s go see if there’s any food left before Luca eats it all.”
I groan, grabbing the hem of his shirt as he tries to get up. “Or we could just stay here and make out until everyone leaves the house.”
He pretends to consider, then shakes his head. “Tempting, but I’d like you to eat something first, yeah?”
I sigh, but let him pull me up, dragging the sheet with me as I try to cover my morning wood. Damien wraps his arms around me from behind, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to my shoulder.
I feel the scrape of his stubble trail across my skin as he noses along my neck, and I let my eyes flutter shut, melting into the sensation. “I’m not really hungry for cereal,” he mutters against my skin.
My breath catches. “No?”
His hand slides down, slipping beneath the sheet I’m clutching, until it grazes over the very obvious problem I’ve got tented. He lets out a quiet, sinful sound—half groan, half laugh—and I swear, I feel it in my spine.
“You’re hard,” he murmurs, dragging the sheet down slowly.
I start to twist, ready to tease him, but the look in his eyes when I meet them over my shoulder stops me.
His grin is lazy, but the heat behind it isn’t.
He leans in and nips at the back of my neck, dragging his mouth slowly along my shoulder, voice dropping to something rough and still sleep-warm.
“Lie back for me a sec.”
I ease down into the pillows, watching as he shifts beside me, the sheets pooling low around his hips. He brushes my hand gently away from where I’m trying to keep myself covered, then leans over me and says, voice sinfully soft, “Let me take care of that.”
Before I can ask what he means, he slides down the bed, eyes never leaving mine until he’s level with my hips. He kisses my thigh first—just a slow, warm press of lips that sends my whole body sparking as he nudges my boxers down inch by inch.
When they’re gone, his hand slides up my inner thigh, pushing my legs farther apart, thumbs spreading me open. I feel his breath before I feel his mouth, warm and steady, right where I need him most.
“Mmh,” he hums, lips wrapping around the crown, eyes flicking up to watch my reaction. “Tastes like you need this bad.”
I try to respond, but my throat locks up when he takes more of me in, his mouth warm and wet and eager. He’s not teasing anymore. He sucks me in slowly, watching as his jaw accommodates the size, and when his lips slide lower than I expect, I nearly see stars.
“Damien—god—too much,” I pant, but I don’t mean it. Not even close.
He moans low, sending a vibration through me that nearly finishes the job right there. I can feel him adjusting his position, bracing one arm over my hip to hold me still while the other slides under my ass, lifting me slightly, settling me where he wants me.
My mind blanks out.
His mouth is so warm—wet and soft but greedy, his tongue working me over with the kind of confidence that makes me lose the ability to do anything but gasp and hold on. He’s slow at first, teasing, flicking his tongue over the sensitive spot just under the head, sucking there until my thighs shake.
Then he takes more of me, and I groan when the tip hits the back of his throat.
I slam a hand over my mouth to stave off the rising scream, but he doesn’t stop.
If anything, that spurs him on. I feel his hand curl tighter under me, pulling me closer.
I can’t think. I can’t breathe. His lips stretch around me, saliva pooling and dripping as he takes me deeper.
I nearly lose it when I feel him swallow.
I’m not going to last. I can’t. My thighs are shaking, my stomach is tensing, and he knows it. He wants it.
He pulls off with a wet pop, spit making the whole thing look obscene, and smirks up at me, stroking my cock. “Fuck my mouth. Let me gag on you, Babygirl. Show me how much you want it.”
Then he’s back on me, and I rock up, shallow thrusts into his mouth. Spit slicks down my shaft, and his thumb slides lower, circling my hole with slow, knowing pressure. He moans low around me, and the sound sends me right over the edge.
My fingers bury in his hair as I pulse hot into his mouth, and he doesn’t pull back. He swallows everything I give him, holding me through every twitch and shudder until I’m half-limp and wrecked beneath him.
When he finally lets me go, he kisses the crease of my thigh. His mouth is glistening, lips red and swollen, and he’s got that smug, satisfied look again—the one that says I win.
“You,” he says, voice hoarse, grinning wide as he licks his lips, “are way bigger than you have any right to be.”
I’m breathless. Boneless. Ruined in the best fucking way. “That was—”
“A-plus?” he teases, nuzzling the inside of my leg.
I manage a breathless laugh. “A-plus, extra credit, full marks forever.”
He crawls back up the bed like a cat, stretching out beside me, mouth brushing mine with the ghost of a kiss. “Still wanna skip breakfast?” he whispers, breath hot against my lips.
I just pull him down for another kiss, tasting myself on his tongue, and decide that if this is how Damien starts a Saturday, I’m never sleeping alone again.