Chapter 39 #2
Frustrated tears prick at my eyes. I scramble to my feet, my dress falling haphazardly back around my thighs as I go to stand in front of the door. “You don’t get to make that decision for me. I said I'm ready, and I want you.”
It’d be easy to think he looks cold like this, because it’s Noah and his poker face is decades in the making. But I know him. The sharp exhale gives him away when he spots the slickness still coating my thighs.
His glare could pin me to the door, but I stand strong and he scoffs.
“I’m not trying to take anything away from you, Em.
I’m trying to keep you from forcing yourself to do something you aren’t ready for.
Something you won’t know if you’re ready for until we’re in the middle of it.
I don’t want to be inside you when you realize you might not be fucking okay with me being there. ”
The ache in my chest throbs painfully, only because he’s placed himself in restraints to keep from pushing me. Putting himself in shackles until I can break my own. It’s the confirmation I need that what I want is him, all of him, in every way that can make me feel good and make me forget.
“I love you,” I say simply, hands falling to my side. “Please, let me have this. I’m not afraid and I need to know you aren’t either.”
“But I am.” His hands run into his hair, eyes closing as he thinks. Remaining silent, I watch as he shakes his head then drops his eyes back to mine. The next few seconds are loud in my ears as he searches me and I let him.
“Fuck it. But you’re in control here, okay? It’s the only way I know I won’t push too far.”
I nod greedily and the need is already back in his stance as I stalk forward, desperate to sate the thirst that burns inside me.
Pushing the papers to the side, I try to clear a place for us but he moves faster, swinging his arm across the top so that the pens clatter to the floor and papers fly in zigzags to the ground.
He sits back on the desk, unzipping his pants as his mouth parts, eyes crawling over me as I eat up the sight of him pulling his cock out. I’m on my knees for him in a moment, desperation heavy in my gaze as I take him in my mouth.
“Fuck, Em, I didn’t mean for you to—” He bites his lip, hands going to my shoulders as he attempts to pace me, but I push them off.
I’m in control right now.
Licking the underside of him, I swirl my tongue around the head and suck him slowly as I find a comfortable position.
Like his hands can’t help themselves, they wind into my hair, gentle as he gathers the strands back so his view of me is unbroken.
Mine is perfect, the puffs of air from his slightly parted mouth as he watches me, finger-mussed hair wild and his arms flexing as he grips the ponytail he’s made for me.
And then, just for a moment, the taste of blood filters in. The hellish memory of the last person who’d been in my mouth before I’d killed him.
I blink rapidly, and his face tightens, trying to pull back as he sees my expression change. “Em?”
Catching my breath, I wipe my mouth and shake my head. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
He just watches me, saying nothing as I sniff and peek back up at him. Scooting forward, I flick my tongue across the head as he growls in his chest. Somewhere between ending this and wanting to surge into my mouth. I suck the tip of him for a moment, pushing the memory from my mind.
“Look at me only,” he says roughly, the harsh control he has on himself heavy in his voice. “It’s just you and me here, baby.”
I soften, exhaling the tense moment through my nose before I swallow him deeper.
“Fuck…” The word draws slowly from his mouth and I squirm in response. His thumb traces my jawline, feeling the underside of my mouth as he fills it. “You look so fucking pretty right now.”
I preen under his praise, popping him from my mouth and raising to push him back. “Lie down.”
He chuckles low, letting me manhandle him back onto the desk before raising the thin sweater and clamoring on top of him.
“Good fucking god, Emma,” he groans as I crawl up and position myself over top of him.
His large hands grip my hips, holding the clothing out of the way so he has a perfect view of me teasing his cock with my wetness.
It’s almost hard to move in this position, my knees spread wide over his hips, but he holds me steady as I find my way.
For just a moment, hesitancy emerges at the newness of this dynamic.
Noah has never been beneath me like this, has never handed me the reins.
I never asked for them, but here we are now, with me on top and a devastatingly beautiful man below me, watching as I figure this out.
“Hey,” he says softly and our heavy eyes meet. “Do not push yourself, or I will end this.”
I blink, exhaling heavily and steel myself. Then, I start to sink onto him, slowly, waiting to see how it feels.
He waits right with me, eagle eyes searching for any sign of discomfort, pain, panic, and the intensity there keeps it all at bay. The need to make sure I’m okay is exactly what makes it work, for someone to just care enough about me that I don’t have to wonder if they do.
I keep sinking, mouth parting as he fills me. His hands flex, tight on my skin and I wonder if he even realizes the strength of his grip. I love it, the possession, the need. That he has the control, but part of him doesn’t.
“You love me,” I say simply, because it’s beyond obvious and I can’t believe for a moment I’d lost sight of it.
I roll my hips and his breath is heavy, choppy as I set a slow pace. His thumb brushes against my hip bone as he licks his lips. “Yeah, baby. I love you.”
I’m nodding like an idiot because maybe I am right now, for forgetting. I let him steady me as I pick up speed, focusing on the way he fills me, the way we fucking fit like the universe knew I would need him like this someday. To feel whole and human and cherished again. “I love you too.”
If there’s pain remaining, I brush it to the side as I find my rhythm. Bruises are gone, the stitches removed. The nails I’d broken fighting the men who’d hurt me are no longer scabbed.
The scars that remain are invisible to any stranger that ever looks at me, but somehow it feels like each and every one is vivid on my skin for Noah.
They’re obvious and loud and he sees them but more importantly, sees me underneath them.
He loves me regardless and wants me all the same as he ever fucking did.
His hips must escape the bindings he tried to place on himself and start raising to meet me as my slow, safe movements become more needy, more confident. “Eyes on mine,” he grits out.
I meet them and he nods shortly. “You won, Emma. Look at you now, pretty girl. Taking what you want.” He sits up, my breath catching as his hands rise to my head, holding it tightly between them as he looks down at my mouth.
“My beautiful fucking Angel,” he bites out, a starving kiss peppering each word as he thrusts into me.