Chapter 38 #2
“Not to erase what happened with Diane.”
“No.”
“Not because surviving the call makes you feel you have to prove something.”
His mouth tightened.
“You are remarkably difficult to seduce.”
“I’m trying to understand you.”
He stepped closer.
His voice dropped.
“I want to go upstairs. I want to sleep. I want to eat and let my head settle.”
“Yes.”
“And tonight, I want you to make love to me.”
The clarity in his gaze stripped every argument from me.
“Tell me exactly what that means.”
“Slow.”
“Yes.”
“On my side, at least in the beginning.”
“Yes.”
“Enough preparation that my body doesn’t have to fight.”
“Yes.”
“No barrier.”
My breath caught.
“No barrier,” I repeated.
“I want you to stay close afterward.”
“I will.”
“And I want you to finish inside me.”
Heat surged through me with enough force that my hand closed around the stair rail.
Noah noticed.
His eye darkened.
“Still think I’m trying to prove something?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I stared at him.
“I don’t want you careless with me,” he said. “But I don’t want fear making every decision either.”
I put my hand at the back of his neck.
“Rest first.”
“Yes.”
“Food.”
“Yes.”
“We reassess tonight.”
“Yes.”
“And if tonight becomes tomorrow?”
“Then it becomes tomorrow.”
I kissed him.
One deep, deliberate kiss on the narrow landing.
His fingers gathered the front of my shirt. His mouth opened beneath mine, and for a few dangerous seconds, the apartment above us seemed much farther away than a single flight of stairs.
When I pulled back, his breathing had changed.
“Go rest.”
“Bossy.”
“Upstairs.”
He smiled as he began to climb.
I watched until the apartment door closed behind him.
Then I returned to work and spent the rest of the afternoon attempting not to think about the bed above my head.
I failed comprehensively.
At closing time, Noah came downstairs.
He had slept for three hours, eaten the soup I had left in the refrigerator, and showered. His hair was damp. He wore dark sweatpants and a soft black shirt that followed the lean line of his body.
Caleb and Owen were returning tools to their cabinets.
Noah joined the final security check without being asked.
No one mentioned the phone call.
The system had stored it.
He did not have to.
After Caleb and Owen left, I stood in the office trying to complete an email to a supplier whose definition of “urgent dispatch” differed significantly from mine.
Noah appeared in the doorway.
“Marian can handle that on Wednesday.”
“She hasn’t started yet.”
“Practice delegating.”
I saved the draft and turned off the computer.
“Head?”
“One.”
“Energy?”
“Enough.”
“Fear?”
“Some.”
“Do you still want tonight?”
“Yes.”
We locked the gate.
Upstairs, dinner was deliberately simple.
Salmon.
Rice.
Steamed vegetables.
No wine.
No elaborate meal designed to make the night feel ceremonial.
We ate beneath the brass pendant lamp while rain gathered in silver threads over the harbor windows.
Noah did not hurry.
Neither did I.
After dinner, he checked his medication schedule. With Dr. Whitcomb’s previous approval, he delayed the sedating dose until later.
He placed his phone facedown.
Turned off the television.
Opened the bedroom window a few inches to let cool air into the room.
I watched him prepare.
Not with a fortress of pillows or a written plan.
With small decisions.
A towel folded near the center of the bed.
Lubricant within reach.
Water on the bedside table.
The green navigation lamp left burning in the hall.
When he was satisfied, Noah stood beside the mattress and looked at me.
“You’re nervous.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you matter.”
“That is emotionally impressive and practically useless.”
I stepped closer.
“Because I want this badly enough to be afraid of getting it wrong.”
His expression softened.
“You won’t.”
“You cannot know that.”
“I know you.”
I went still.
Those words had belonged to me once.
Now he offered them back.
Noah opened his arms.
I crossed the room.
We held each other before removing a single piece of clothing.
His face rested against my chest. My palm covered the back of his head. Beneath my hand, his hair was still slightly damp.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too.”
“I want to remember tonight.”
“You will.”
“And if I don’t?”
“We’ll create another memory.”
His breath warmed my skin.
“That was the correct answer.”
We undressed slowly.
Noah opened my shirt and pushed it from my shoulders. I eased his over his arms, careful of the healing joint.
He unfastened my belt.
I helped him step out of his pants without twisting his hip.
When nothing remained between us, we stood close enough for our bodies to touch from chest to thigh.
Noah looked down.
“Still want me?”
“Yes.”
“Not the person I was before?”
“You.”
“Say my name.”
“Noah.”
His eye lifted.
“Again.”
“Noah.”
He kissed me.
There was nothing tentative in it.
The kiss was hungry and emotional, alive with every choice he had made that day. His hand closed around my neck. Mine settled at his waist, and I let him lead until the rhythm of his breathing became too quick.
Then I slowed us.
Noah followed.
That trust nearly undid me more completely than his hunger had.
We went to the bed on our sides, facing each other.
I kissed his mouth until the tension left his jaw. Then his cheek. His throat. His chest.
My hand traveled over him slowly, turning caution into warmth.
He touched me too.
He did not lie still and allow the night to happen around him.
He chose every part of it.
His fingers moved along my back, over my hip, between us. Each time desire sharpened his breathing, I waited for his body to settle before continuing.
When I lowered my mouth to him, Noah’s hand entered my hair.
He let me bring him close, then tightened his fingers.
“Not yet.”
I stopped.
“All right.”
“I don’t want to disappear into it.”
“You’re here.”
“I want to be more here.”
I kissed the inside of his thigh.
Then I moved behind him.
Noah lay on his left side with the upper leg supported by a pillow. I fitted my body along his back, close enough for him to feel my warmth without carrying my weight.
My hands moved across his chest and stomach while I kissed the back of his neck.
“Color?”
“Green.”
I reached for the lubricant.
The first touches stayed outside.
Slow circles.
Pressure only when his body relaxed enough to welcome it.
Noah drew deep, deliberate breaths.
I entered him with one finger and stopped.
He held my wrist.
Not to remove my hand.
To keep the contact anchored.
“Good?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Pain?”
“No.”
I waited until his grip softened before moving again.
The motion remained small and patient. I listened to every breath and every change in the muscles along his spine.
Then I added more lubricant.
“Another?” I asked.
Noah swallowed.
“Yes.”
I began gradually.
The moment the second finger entered, his body tightened.
I stopped.
“Amber?”
“Stay.”
I stayed.
His fingers closed harder around my wrist.
“Talk.”
“You’re in our bed.”
“More.”
“Rain is touching the windows.”
“More.”
“My hand is on your stomach.”
“More.”
I pressed my mouth to his shoulder.
“I love you.”
His body softened around me.
I moved carefully.
He exhaled.
“Green.”
I prepared him without haste.
Noah began to press back in subtle movements, first with his body, then with words.
“More pressure.”
I gave it to him.
“Again.”
I repeated the motion.
His arousal remained hard against his stomach.
I reached around.
He stopped my hand.
“Not yet.”
“All right.”
“I want to come while you’re inside me.”
The words nearly ended my control.
I withdrew my fingers carefully.
Noah turned his face toward me.
“Still yes.”
“Say it.”
“I want you inside me.”
I coated myself with lubricant and moved close again.
The first contact made us both go still.
“Color?”
“Green.”
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
I pressed forward slowly.
His body resisted.
I stopped before entering.
“Breathe.”
He did.
Once.
Again.
His hand found mine across his chest, and our fingers threaded together.