33. Chapter 33
Chapter 33
Stella
" I wanted you as soon as I saw a photograph of you," he murmured, his tone as unhurried and calm as our steps. "When I met you, I wanted you even more. That night…it was only us in that bedroom. I didn't think about the cameras. I was immersed in you, steeped inside you, and felt you under my skin."
"When I first saw you, I felt this…zing," I confessed. "It never happened before. I never thought you'd talk to me, but then you did, and I was swept away. Now, I don't know what was real and what was you trying to get me into bed."
Twilight surrounded us, and soon, the stars would be out. The air was crisp with the hint of fall, and the garden was softly illuminated by strings of fairy lights that twinkled like distant stars above us.
As we walked hand-in-hand through the pathways, the fragrance of autumn blooms mingled with the earthy scent of fallen leaves.
"It was all real, Stella." He squeezed my hand.
I knew he was trying. He had been for months. I now had enough space from the nightmare that took place in his office to see how he had regretted his actions from the start. He bought my house so no one else could. He purchased my partnership so no one else could. He jumped to my defense the minute the video went public. He bought me a ring that looked like my favorite flower. Noah had apologized in every way possible and, the truth was that I had forgiven him.
However, I didn't trust him. But it was more than that, as my therapist helped me realize. I didn't trust anyone.
"Growing up the way you did, you did what you had to do to survive. You created a wall around yourself so you could feel safe and pretend to be happy," my therapist, Dr. Ryan, laid out for me during our last session.
"I was happy," I protested.
"Now, be honest with yourself. You were playing at being happy because you didn't really know what that meant. Then Noah steps in, and maybe for the first time in your life, you drop your walls."
"Fat lot of good that did me."
"You dropped your walls, Stella. That took courage. You fell in love despite what the people who were supposed to be on your side did to you. Noah then showed you what you've always believed about yourself."
I didn't like to cry during therapy sessions, but lately, that seemed to be what I did, a lot. The process of looking within wasn't easy nor for the foolhardy. I didn't particularly enjoy it. But I also knew from experience that if I chose a path away from knowing myself better, I walked into darkness, the kind where no light could penetrate, where my heart might not ache, but it also wouldn’t feel anything.
"I've always felt unlovable," I accepted. "I thought I had something unique with Noah." A choked laugh escaped me. "I didn't know how terribly ‘special’ it was to be part of a horrible revenge scheme. The unfairness of it, the pain. I want to hate the man, and maybe I even did for a second."
"But ultimately?" Dr. Ryan prodded.
"He's making it very hard for me to resist him," I acknowledged.
"The question I want you to ask yourself is, what do you need Noah to do for you to feel whole again, regardless of whether you let him back in your life as a lover or friend, or cut him off completely and move to San Francisco."
I felt like Noah and I were getting to a good place.
I had started to feel emotionally better, but after JR detonated my life with his confessions, I felt lost. Had I been waiting for him to admit his sins and ask for forgiveness? No. Not because I didn't want that, but because my father never apologized for anything, and JR, his carbon copy, would never either. Now that he had, I felt rudderless in a cresting river. He had given me what I wanted—he’d said the words. He validated how I felt and laid bare his role in hurting me. Whether I forgave JR or not was moot; the question was, without having all the hurt to hold on to, who was I?
"Stella, it was all real," Noah repeated, pulling me from my thoughts. "I may not have had the balls to admit it to myself then, but you were not alone in falling in love. I was with you every step of the way."
"Until you weren't." It was petty to keep accusing him of something he never denied, and yet, my heart was trying to protect itself, rebuilding walls to keep Noah out.
"I was with you every step of the way," he reiterated. "Even when I hurt you, even when you hated me, even when I crushed you, I was with you."
Before I could respond, a laugh escaped me because we'd reached, I assumed, our destination.
"Oh my God, Noah." I put a hand to my heart as I looked at the scene in front of me. Noah had set up our picnic in a secluded spot near the water lily pond, the surface of which reflected the moon's silvery glow. A plush blanket was spread out, and a basket brimming with culinary delights awaited us atop it.
In the center of the blanket was a mason jar with a bouquet of blue daisies, surrounded by flickering electric tea lamps.
"This is…." I was mesmerized.
"You like?" His smile was broad, and his apprehension over my not liking what he'd planned for my date disappeared as he saw how charmed I was.
"This is lovely." I went on tiptoe and brushed my lips against his. Savored. Licked. Tasted. In the moonlight, we had nothing hurrying us along.
After breaking the kiss, we sat down on the blanket, cross-legged.
We feasted on pimento cheese sandwiches on freshly baked bread, shrimp and grits in miniature mason jars, and peach cobbler that tasted like a warm Southern hug.
Noah had brought along a bottle of crisp, white Napa Chardonnay to drink. Its rich, mildly oaky, and buttery notes perfectly complementing the savory flavors of our meal.
"You're a romantic." I leaned back on my elbows, feeling utterly relaxed.
"Only with you." He brushed a lock of my hair away from my face. "Have I told you how beautiful you are? Every time I look at you…I want you."
My heart was whole, overflowing. "I know that feeling," I said, and gave back.
He leaned over me, pushing me off my elbows so I rested on my back, his face filling my vision. He kissed me. It was utter perfection. Soft, gentle, demanding, accepting.
By the time he raised his head, we were both breathing hard.
I cupped his cheek. "I need to know something."
He moved his face and kissed my hand. "Ask me anything."
"Did you hate me?"
"Oh, baby. It's been so fucking hard, Stella, to pretend to hate you as much as I hate Baron," he breathed. "I never hated you. I don't even hate Baron anymore. How can I? When I'm so much worse than him?"
I looked at him, confused. "Worse than Baron Hunt ?"
He kissed my nose. "He did what he did to my sister, who was a stranger to him. I did the same to the woman who loved me, to the woman I loved. My transgressions are so much worse than his. I have absolutely no moral high ground to stand on. Did you hate me?"
That was an easy question to answer. With tears in my eyes, I told him the truth. "Not even when I desperately wanted to."
"Sweet, I never meant to hurt you. Not you. Never you. But to do what I had to…what I thought I had to…."
I smoothed back his hair from his forehead. Tears sparkled on his eyelashes, tugging at me. He closed his eyes.
"I don't know how to let go of my fear." He opened his eyes, letting go of the tears that had hung on his lashes. Past them, I could see his pain—not of the past but of the present.
"I hate myself for what I did to you. But I don't know how to hurt myself, punish myself any more than I already have."
"No more," I whispered. "No more. Détente . Remember. We let it go."
"And then?"
"I don't know, Noah. Right now, I can't imagine staying in Savannah. I feel like I'm in limbo. I need to start fresh somewhere, and find out who I have become. It's hard to do that under the limelight."
Slowly, Noah gathered me into his arms and held me. "I love you, Sweet. Do you believe that?"
"I don’t know." I wasn't playing games any longer. He didn't deserve it. Hell, I didn't, either. "I don't think I know what love means."
He pulled back so I could see him, and he could see me. His lips curved in a smile. "I understand. But I have to warn you, Sweet. I'm going to fight like hell for you, for us."
I believed him, but trust, which was always hard, was now almost impossible to find.
"I misjudged myself," he continued. "I threw us away and thought I'd be fine with it. Your nightmare, Stella, is also mine. That day in my office, when you sat like an open wound…I want you to know that I bled with you."
I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the agony in his. His pain was visceral. He had hurt with me and for me.
"I love you." He smoothed his hands over my arms and shoulders. His fingers plucked at the bows holding my blue dress up.
I stared at him, seized by the emotion in his voice, the beauty of his face.
"I want you to trust me. Trust us again, just for a long moment."
"Why?"
He pulled my dress down, and I gasped. I wasn't wearing a bra, as the dress came with support. My nipples peaked immediately from arousal and being exposed to the chill night air.
"So, we can make love, and this time, you'll know that it's just us, that it was just us that night as well." He bent his head, took a nipple in his mouth, and gently suckled. My hands immediately went to his head, feeling his silky hair. "Let me show you how much I love you."
I should be afraid of making love with Noah. I had thought intimacy wouldn't be possible for me anymore. But I couldn’t deny how my body craved his. I couldn’t deny how my heart wanted to connect with him in this primal dance of lust and love.
"That night, I came harder than I ever have in my life," he continued to speak as he used his mouth to excite both of us. His mouth brushed over my areola, and he licked softly. "You're so responsive. You get wet so easily. You come so beautifully."
I shifted, so he lay atop me. I moved my thighs, making room for him. I raised my knees and clamped his hips, holding him to me.
"Let me show you how beautiful it was to make love with you." His hand lifted my dress and clamped around my thigh. "I won't take you. Not this time. But I want to taste, smell, feel. I'm dyin' without you, Sweet."
I looked into his clear blue eyes and saw his love, saw his need, which reflected mine—we were in this together. It was a massive realization that rocked me. My insecurities about sex, about what happened that first time, were not as big as my love for him.
He waited for me to give consent, waited for me to come to him as he'd been coming to me all these months. There was an ache in his eyes, pleading with me to accept his apology, his love, his need, his heart.
"Yes," I murmured. "Show me how much you want me."
His hands shook as he touched me, and that in itself was proof of his desire for me. He rocked his hips against mine, letting me absorb him and how hard-against-soft felt.
His warm mouth moved over my temple, my eyelids, my cheeks, my nose, my lips. His hand against my thigh moved up, higher and higher, and he slid the gusset of my panties aside, cupping me.
I moaned. He buried his face in my neck, nipping softly at my skin. "Wet. So wet." There was a tremor in his voice, an unmistakable hitch that was evidence of his vulnerability. "I never thought I'd have this again. Oh, baby. Thank you." He slid a finger inside me, and I gasped at the intrusion.
My hips moved in counterpoint to first one, then two, and ultimately three of Noah's fingers. He watched me as he moved inside me. He dropped a tender kiss on my mouth and used his tongue to trace my lips. The light touch of his lips contrasted with how his fingers were claiming me.
"I so badly want to taste you," he whispered. "So, fucking badly, but I want to see you come first. Give me that, Sweet."
I clenched around his fingers.
"Yeah," he growled, "give me what's fucking mine."
The orgasm began deep inside me, and I felt myself come apart, unraveling slowly and yet oh so quickly. A moan escaped my mouth, and I didn't realize until he began to lick my cheeks that I was crying.
"Come for me again. Come now; so I know you're still mine." His fingers increased their speed while the back of his hand, his knuckles, brushed against my clitoris.
"Fuck yeah," he groaned when I came, my eyes unable to look away from his. "Fuck yeah, my little slut."
His use of the word slut registered inside me—and it washed away the time he'd called me that in the video. I'd thought that hearing him use such language with me would destroy me—but I realized that his holding back when we made love would be worse.
"Noah."
"I can feel your release, baby. You're so wet. So warm. Tell me how you feel, baby." His hips were moving. His control was slipping. I could feel it, and savored it. I did this to him.
"You make me feel beautiful, powerful, insatiable, and sexy." I gave him everything, not only because he deserved it, but also because I did. "No one has ever made me feel this way."
My hands moved and began to yank at the buttons of his jeans.
"No. No," he pleaded, even as he pushed his erection against my hand. I freed him, and he groaned. "Fuck, baby. I'm so hard for you."
"Come inside," I told him, and he smiled at me.
"I will, but not here, not now."
Oh my God! I'd forgotten where we were. I was mortified.
He laughed. "It does my ego good that you're so into me that—"
"Christ! Noah. Are you sure no one's watching?"
His eyes darkened. "I'll kill anyone who sees us together."
I raised both eyebrows and paused at the violence I saw on his face.
"Never again, Sweet. No one gets to see our private moments. No one gets to see you come, except me, ever again."
"Okay." I whimpered softly when he pulled his fingers out of me.
He painted my juices onto my lips, and began to lick at me, kiss me, and it started all over again.
"Noah, baby, we got to go somewhere private," I reminded him.
He traced the rim of my ear with his tongue. "Call me baby again."
I smiled. "Baby, zip up your pants and let's go to our bed."