Chapter Twenty-Seven
Oh, if he wants a peep show, I’ll…
What? Give it to him?
My pulse thunders through my head like the hoofbeats of a herd of horses more certain of their destination than I, and I debate panties versus bra, assuring myself these are the sorts of daredevil antics my grandmothers trained me for.
Which might be the least sexy sentiment ever, so I delete, delete, delete in my brain while remaining perfectly still in my seat.
Noah’s frozen as well, staring back at me very intently, and I know that the idea’s to leap without looking, but look at him.
He takes up so much of the cart with his burly frame, scruffy jaw, and crooked grin. His arms don’t have veins, they have roadmaps that carry blood to and from his heart, and speaking of the life-giving organ, I’ve never seen a guy take better care of his family.
Even on days they drive him crazy.
Just do it. Nike up and flash him.
A quick glance confirms we’re still alone and shrouded by pendulous branches that swish lightly in the breeze.
I’ve had the perfect amount of laughing, connecting, and gin, and the stars have perfectly aligned, so I stop the negative what-ifs swirling through my head and flip the questions back around.
What if we just let ourselves enjoy a perfect night?
What if this is exactly what I need?
What if I just wanted something and went for it?
I don’t think about the fact that this is temporary or the likelihood of my heart getting bruised. I curl my fingers in the hem of my skirt and hike it higher a trembling inch at a time.
Air that holds the promise of rain kisses the tippy tops of my bare thighs, and Noah’s jaw falls open and hangs ajar. His chest rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths, and the bob of his throat renews my urge to lick the stubbled skin.
Then his mouth is on mine again.
Each and every cell of my body fires and zings as our lips find their own rhythm, both of us fervid in our mission of tasting, exploring…devouring.
As he strokes his tongue over mine, igniting a fire he so exquisitely feeds, I mentally declare this the best decision I’ve ever made—and that’s even with the strip of lace permanently wedged between my butt cheeks.
Around Noah, all my emotions are heightened, so big and unwieldy they demand to be felt. Our chemistry is off-the-charts combustible, like hydrogen and oxygen that, when combined, can create harmonious, life-giving water…or cause an explosion.
Rather than focus on the possibility of the latter, I let the tap within me flow as fast as the groping of our hands and the plundering of our mouths. I’m more alive than I’ve ever been, and this is so much more than mutual attraction and slaking my lust.
He pays such tender attention, whether with his fingers, mouth, or tongue.
Each time he caresses or kisses a new spot, he studies it as though committing it to memory.
It’s the type of affection and fascination I’ve always craved, and having it aimed so unreservedly at me makes me finally feel seen for who I truly am.
The naked awe on his face boosts my confidence to levels I’ve only ever dreamed of before, inspiring me to be as bold as the makeup and lingerie.
My hands are in his hair, my heart is in his hands.
Firm fingers band my hips, lifting and maneuvering me to straddle his lap while he deepens the kiss, and I love how deftly he takes control—it means I don’t have to think at all.
Arms winding tighter, as if I’d dare leave now, his whiskers abrade the sensitive skin of my neck as he paints hot, open-mouth kisses along the column.
His arousal grows more insistent between my thighs, the hardness and heat pressed up exactly where I want it. He dips his head and forges a path across the line of my collarbone, nipping and licking me into needy oblivion.
I tip my head to the side, dizzy and breathless as I grant him full access.
He takes it, too, the glide of his mouth and tongue from neck to jaw to my lips resulting in a lightheaded free fall.
I have no doubt he’ll catch me, and it’s exhilarating and I’m completely enthralled, and my God, the man can kiss.
Then he pulls back, everything except the noisy creatures we’ve been putting on a show for, grinding to a halt.
Suddenly self-conscious, I straighten and shake the curls out of my eyes, racing to figure out why our make-out session has come to a standstill, as I certainly wasn’t finished.
What I see causes my breath to lodge in my throat.
Noah, the same hulking dude who takes up so much space and oxygen wherever he goes, is as undone as previously claimed.
His arms hang heavily at his sides, almost as if he’s surrendered use of them.
He swallows hard, every feature rigid, and desire streaks through me at the naked hunger in eyes narrowed on my breasts.
Boosted to their fullest potential by lavish lingerie I probably would’ve claimed wasn’t worth it yesterday, and I totally take it back.
Noah’s all hard planes and angles, a rubber band about to snap, yet it softens him in all the ways that make him easier to dive into.
We collide in the middle, panted breaths, impatient hands, and a tango we dance with our mouths. He’s giving me life with each brush of lips and tongue, and I whimper and cling tighter, encouraging him to go ahead and dip me as far as he wants.
My hips roll of their own accord, needing more of him on more of me, and we both groan at the friction.
Then he’s the one diving—headfirst into my cleavage, and I gasp at the scrape of his beard and teeth. I wrap myself around him like we’re in the eye of a storm, while the world around us whirls.
What else am I to do but cling tighter?
Noah slows the pace, cupping the back of my head and angling my mouth so it meets his.
This kiss holds a different type of intent and urgency, promising sweet oblivion if I can let go of the fact that we’re technically in public, although hidden by a plenty leafy tree.
I’m surprised my mind goes there so quickly, despite being painfully aware how long it’s been since anyone has, including me.
Emotionally, I’ve got to be there to get there, but as his large hands glide higher on my upper thighs, fingertips mere inches from where I want them most, I know that wouldn’t be an issue with Noah.
We’ve done everything in the wrong order, yet it’s such a relief to finally be kissing him, I can’t seem to stop.
“Goddamn, Mia.” His exhale stirs the sticky hair at my nape, and we’re both panting and giggly and a hint delirious. “You kiss your grandma with that mouth?”
I laugh and coast my mouth across his cheek to nip gently at his ear. “It’s been building up for a while.”
Iron fingers dig into my sides, holding me perfectly still as his erection strains against the denim of his jeans. He slides his hands up my sides to fiddle with the strap that’s slipped off my shoulder, raising a questioning eyebrow as he moves to do the same to the other.
I nod, incapable of speech once again, and my skin pebbles as he peels down the top of my dress, baring more of me to his hungry gaze. Ever so slowly, he lowers his lips to kiss the exposed skin, his low hum of satisfaction radiating through every inch of me.
As someone who craves control, it’s almost scary how willing I am to hand it over to him, but intimacy and sex are the one area of my life I don’t want to ponder or orchestrate.
Nothing hits the brakes on an orgasm quite like overthinking, and I long to be uninhibited and fully present with Noah in a way I rarely am.
Fabric puddles around my elbows, and the air in my lungs leaves me in a dizzying rush.
Noah palms a breast, groaning as he squeezes, and my nipples harden and send a shockwave down my core as he continues to gape in astonishment.
“Mia, I…” Not only does the way he says my name do something twisty to my insides, the strain in his voice floods me with relief—it means I’m not the only one so affected I can hardly speak. “Here I thought I’d be the one to show you a spectacular view.”
My cheeks flame, and if my heart could talk, it’d be whispering his name.
I shudder as he glides his palms up my inner thighs, pausing torturously close before asking, “Can I—?”
“Yes,” I answer, desperate for him to continue his ascent.
Unyielding lips capture mine as he skirts the triangle of fabric covering my sex, his movements hungry and confident in all the ways I’m not but am gradually learning how to be.
Then he touches me.
A keening, plea-filled sound escapes as he strokes me over the gauzy fabric, unguarded and raw. But before I can be too embarrassed, Noah groans and sinks his teeth into my lower lip, the gentle sting heightening the incredible sensations shivering through me.
Whoosh goes my breath as he drags a couple of fingertips over my clit, and worries and cares? What are those?
I’m too concerned with Noah’s hands and mouth and tongue.
Since I’m also learning to be bolder myself, I do some exploring of my own. I slip my hands beneath the hem of his shirt, savoring the dips and grooves of his torso before peeling the fabric up and over his head.
I accidentally end up binding his arms in the process, robbing myself of his ministrations, and he grips the collar and jerks it off with an impatient grunt.
“Thanks,” I say, “I was struggl—”
Noah arches his hips up off the seat, pushing his steely length tight against my core while anchoring me to him with the arm he’s banded around my waist. Noises I’ve never made before escape as my head lolls forward, a rag doll coming to rest on his shoulder.
It also provides me the leverage I need to lift myself an inch or so off him, only to sink onto his lap farther with a languid roll of my hips.
“Noah.” Half rasp, half plea, I exhale his name as he reaches between us and strokes me.
I plant my hands on his shoulders and steer the kiss, the pressure of his fingers and friction of the lace so deliciously divine.
The humidity’s cranked the temperature to a sweaty, carnal inferno, and my hair sticks to my neck and forehead, but I’m too close to care.
Pressure builds within me, intoxicating and bubbly, and oh sweet Jesus, I haven’t come through dry humping since college.
But selfishly, deliriously, as Noah wrings out every ounce of pleasure he can, I’m just glad the person getting some action is finally, blissfully me.