CHAPTER 10. Connor #4
Noah nods, but he’s still watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. Like he’s trying to see inside my head and make sure I’m really here with him.
I frown, suddenly wondering if maybe I’m the one who should be worried.
“Wait—are you drunk?”
He shakes his head, still watching me with that searching look.
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, both of us breathing hard. Then I lean down and kiss him on the lips again, just for reassurance.
Noah blinks, as if he’s been pulled out of his own head, then smiles at me.
I smile back, and then we’re kissing again. Hotter now. Messier. Like neither of us wants to waste another second.
Noah’s fingers twist in my hair, and the sound he makes against my mouth—helpless, unguarded—drives me wild. I pull him closer, my hand sliding up under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin and the quick rise and fall of his ribs.
He wants this.
That’s the thing that keeps hitting me.
Noah wants me.
I drag my mouth from his, pressing my lips to his jaw, then his throat, then the hollow beneath it.
Noah’s breath hitches. His hands move over my shoulders, my back, his fingertips digging in like he’s trying to find something to hold on to.
I push the collar of his shirt aside and kiss the curve of his shoulder.
He smells incredible. Warm skin, the barest trace of whatever soap he used in the shower.
I press a kiss to his collarbone, then another to the center of his sternum as I work his shirt up with both hands.
He helps, lifting his arms so I can pull it over his head, and then he’s almost completely bare.
Well, except for his boxer briefs clinging low to his hips.
I have to stop and look at him for a second.
His chest rises and falls fast. His face is flushed pink from his throat to his hairline, his lips swollen from all the kissing. He’s watching me with his bottom lip between his teeth, like he can’t quite decide whether to be nervous or impatient.
I lean down and press my mouth to one nipple.
Noah exhales in a rush.
I lick it, then suck it into my mouth, and his whole body reacts under me. His fingers tighten in my hair, his back arching off the mattress just enough to make my head spin. I give the other one the same attention, slower this time, because apparently I’m not above torturing both of us.
“Jesus,” Noah curses, and if his ex weren’t sleeping in the room next to us, I’d almost think no one had ever touched him like this before.
I keep going.
Down the center of his chest, over the flat of his stomach, feeling his muscles tighten under my mouth. I follow the soft trail of hair below his navel with my lips, lower and lower, until I reach his cock, flushed and wet above his boxer briefs, the fabric shoved down and caught low on his hips.
I look up at him.
Noah’s face is flushed, his eyes bright, his mouth still parted like he forgot how to close it.
God. My pulse kicks up so hard at the sight it’s embarrassing.
Noah shifts under my attention, color deepening. “Stop staring,” he mutters, a tiny laugh caught in his voice.
“I’m not staring,” I say, which is a complete lie.
I move forward and press my mouth to the inside of his thigh, and my God, his skin there is so soft. Noah shudders beneath me, his breath going shallow.
I kiss him a little higher, then pause and look up at him.
“Is this okay?”
The question comes out quiet, barely above a murmur. It’s not just about consent—though that matters more than anything. It’s about the rest of it too. Whether he’s sure. Whether he wants me here like this. Whether this is something he can wake up with tomorrow and not regret.
Noah blinks down at me.
For a second, he looks nervous enough that I almost pull back. But then his gaze drops to my mouth, his lips parting around a shallow breath, and I understand.
He’s not unsure.
He’s turned on enough that he can barely look at me.
He nods.
“Yes,” he says, so quietly I almost miss it.
I hold his gaze for one more second. Then I lower my head and press another kiss to his inner thigh.
Noah’s hand moves back to my hair. He doesn’t push me. His fingers settle there, light at first, then tense, like he catches himself before they can tighten. I can feel the effort in it, how hard he’s trying to keep that touch careful when the rest of him wants to let go.
My pulse kicks harder at the thought of what he’s not letting himself do. Grabbing my hair. Dragging my mouth lower. Making me stop teasing him and take his cock the way he clearly wants me to.
God, I want that. I want his control to snap. I want to be the reason it does.
I move inward, kissing the crease where his thigh meets his hip.
Noah sucks in a breath, his hips going still under me as if he has to lock them down to keep from chasing my mouth.
I press my lips to the jut of his hipbone, then drag my mouth back across his lower abdomen, hovering just over his cock without touching.
Close enough that he can feel my breath.
“Connor,” Noah says, ragged.
It sounds like a plea.
I look up. He’s watching me, pupils so wide his eyes look almost black. His jaw is tight, his chest moving too fast.
God. I want to make him beg. I want him writhing under my touch before I even put my mouth on him, too far gone to care how wrecked he sounds. Probably not this time, though, because I’m not that far from begging myself.