Chapter Twelve
Noah
Ikick Elsie's front door closed behind me, my heart pounding like I'm chasing a goddamn suspect through every alley and backyard in Chicago.
I flip the deadbolt behind me, locking the door, my eyes never leaving her face.
Part of me worries she'll vanish like smoke if I blink—or that I'll wake and realize she never opened the door or called my name with that look in her eyes, as if she can't live without me.
I can't even think about how much I don't want this to be another dream. My cock actually hurts from how hard it is. If I don't kiss her again soon, I won't be responsible for my actions.
Now that I've tasted that sweet mouth and bitten that flawless skin, now that the truth is finally out there, hell itself won't be enough to stop me from putting my hands all over her, over and over again.
Need hums along every inch of my skin, settling deep into my bones.
Desire shakes me to the fucking core, fogging my thoughts until all I can think about is Elsie, all I see is her.
Her cheeks flush deep red, and her chest heaves as she sucks in breath after breath.
Her eyes are wide and wild. Her lips, swollen from my kisses, part to form my name.
"Noah."
My heart skips a beat, then slams faster at the way she says it, as if she has to. As if she has to taste it on her lips.
She lifts a trembling hand toward me.
My cock jerks as I stare at her, memorizing her in this moment—hair tangled around her face, hand shaking as she reaches out. Her eyes beg me to touch her, to quiet the storm raging inside her.
I wrap my fingers around her wrist, light as a whisper.
Her shoulders slump into relief, and I haul her closer, until her breasts press against my chest and I can wrap my arms around her. She fits naturally, her body curling into mine like she belongs right here. Fuck, she does. This right here is precisely where she was made to fit.
I hold her for one perfect moment, my face buried in her hair, hers buried in my chest. It feels so fucking right.
Thank God I didn't blow it tonight. Those ninety seconds after she shut the door were pure hell, laced with panic.
All I could think was that I'd damaged us beyond repair by admitting just how obsessed I am. If she'd walked away—my anchor, my light—what the fuck was I going to do?
For ninety seconds, the idea of living across the street without being allowed in her life ripped me apart. I need her. She makes this whole fucking world tolerable, helps me forget the sting of seeing a kid drop in a hail of bullets. My job—my whole goddamn life—sucks less with her in it.
Without her, what the fuck would I do?
"Shh," she murmurs, squeezing me. "Shh. I'm not going anywhere."
Only then do I realize I've asked the question out loud, my arms shaking around her. That thought still wrecks me, despite her arms around me. I'm not stupid enough to pretend otherwise.
Elsie Cameron holds my heart in her palm—and by some miracle, she isn't saying no.
Thank you, God. Just…fucking thank you.
I tilt her face up and kiss her hard, pouring every ounce of gratitude and worship into that kiss. This beautiful, brilliant woman owns me, and I've never been more okay with anything. I'm beyond okay with it, actually. I'm fucking ecstatic.
"I want to make love to you," I whisper against her lips, then pull back to show her what words can't capture—the adoration, the need, and the worship blazing in my eyes.
"Yes," she says without hesitation, so damn brave.
I kiss her again, then step back. I kick off my shoes on the spot, my gaze never leaving hers, saying what I can't put into words: that I need her to piece me back together and stop the ache gnawing at my bones. That I need her to let me love her in a way I haven't been allowed yet.
As my socks and tie land by my shoes, her answer burns like green fire in her eyes. She wants me in every way I come to her tonight, and she won't regret it tomorrow.
"Yes," a primal part of me whispers. "She's mine."
"Not yet," I say when she moves toward me. I unfasten my holster and lay my Glock on the table by the door. "Gun always gets put away first, baby. I won't risk you getting hurt."
Her body vibrates with need as I shed my jacket and shirt, letting them drop to the floor. My own body trembles, but I force myself not to press into her. I've waited for what feels like an eternity for this moment with her. I'm not about to rush it now.
Before I make love to her, I want her dancing that razor's edge where pleasure and pain blur into one.
I want her absolutely certain that she'll never find anyone who can love her better.
And when I take her, I want my name on her lips like a prayer she'll murmur long after.
I want her to remember every moment of this night, because if I have my way, it's her last first time.
Her gaze slides away when I pop the button of my pants, drifting down… down… until it locks on my hand and the bulge beneath. Her body trembles, her fingers fluttering at her sides.
"Noah."
"I know, baby." I hiss, tugging my zipper down and freeing my rigid cock from my slacks.
Her eyes follow the swath of fabric sliding over my thighs and down my legs before dropping to the floor.
"Look at me, Elsie," I whisper, hand hovering near my cock.
Her pupils widen when she finally meets my gaze. She sways a little.
I wrap one hand around my length and pump once, twice, my tight fist sliding up and down.
"This is what you do to me." My voice is low, barely carrying through the foyer.
I pump again and nearly groan at the electric rush.
Christ. Fucking my hand like this while she watches is heaven, so much better than doing it alone in my bed or beneath the showerhead while I fantasize about her.
She stays rooted in place, her eyes fixed as my fist glides down to my balls and back up to the head.
"I've thought about you so many times while I did this, Dimples," I confess, unable to keep the truth from spilling out.
I don't want to keep secrets from her. I want her to know every part of me—every fucking second of obsession.
"Every time we were together, I'd jerk off after, imagining you wrapped around me. "
"Oh God," she whispers, her body trembling again.
"Did you ever think about me when you touched yourself?" I ask, knowing a gentleman wouldn't—but I don't care. The thought of her hands sliding down her body while she moans my name sets me on fire.
Her pupils dilate until the bright green gives way to desperate black. The way she trembles tells me everything I need to know.
Elsie Cameron is a bad, bad girl. She thinks about me when she comes. All those nights I spend alone, fucking my hand to thoughts of her…she did the same.
"Yes," she finally whispers, her voice shaking.
I groan, the sound torn from my chest. "Fuck, I like knowing that, baby." I close my eyes, fighting the urge to pull her into me right then. "Tell me what you did to yourself." I risk it all by asking, but I need to hear her voice, need to know her desire.
"I cried out for you," she whispers.
My eyes snap open.
She's still staring at my hand, hypnotized.
"When I came, I called your name. Sometimes, I hoped you'd hear me, that you'd come back for something, hear what I was doing while moaning for you, and that you'd—" She breaks off with a groan as I pump again.
"That I'd what?" I press, wanting every little confession she's willing to give me.
She swallows, tearing her gaze from my hand, and looks me in the eye. "That you'd come back and make me come for real. I want you inside me, Noah. I've wanted it for so fucking long."
I'm at her side in an instant, needing her closer. We both cry out when our bodies meet, as if that simple touch banishes every night spent in cold beds, dreaming of one another.
No more waiting. No more dreaming.
I press my lips to hers again, kissing her softly. "No more wishing, baby."
She moans against me, relief clear in the sound.
I turn her around until her back presses to my chest, lifting her hair with one hand and trailing open-mouth kisses down her neck to her shoulder.
My other hand settles low on her stomach, holding her still as I lavish attention long denied.
She shakes and sways, her muscles fluttering beneath my palm.
"God, I could eat you up," I whisper in her ear before tugging at her zipper. The silky fabric of her dress slides down easily. I groan when I realize she's been braless all evening.
"Please," she breathes, helping me lower the dress the rest of the way.
Each bit of her skin I unveil makes me ache a little more.
I want to put my mouth on every inch of her, kiss every curve, and lick every faint freckle dusted across her back.
I settle for running my fingers down her spine and around her waist. Her curves are just as soft beneath my hands as I imagine they'd be, just as perfect.
She melts into me. The heat of her bare skin against mine acts like a brand, searing into me.
"Fuck," I hiss in her ear, closing my eyes so I can live in this moment for a little while—not long, just a minute, just enough to sear the electric sensation into my mind.
She turns her face into mine, a soft sigh whispering from her lips as if she feels exactly the same way. I slide my hand up the swell of her stomach, loving how her body moves beneath my fingers. She is so soft. I'll never get enough of that.
Her body shudders as my fingers dance higher, my palms sweeping over the bottoms of her breasts. I heft their weight in my hands before circling her taut nipples with my fingers. Jesus, her breasts are even more perfect than I deserve—a handful I can get lost in.
She cries out then, her body arching into my touch, pleading for more.