Chapter 4
NOEL
Iwasn’t sure what came over me in the seconds that followed. I crossed to Hope, swept an arm behind her knees, and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. A small, startled gasp escaped her, but her arms tightened around my neck and she buried her face against my throat.
I carried her a few steps to the largest chair—a deep, plush armchair that swallowed her curves.
The muted sounds of the party nearby—the thrum of bass, the distant laughter—seemed to fade until the world narrowed to the sound of our breathing.
Here, the only sounds were the quiet hum of the climate control and the ragged rhythm of our breathing.
My eyes never left hers as my hands went to the hem of her long, flowing skirt. I gathered the soft fabric in my fists, my gaze a silent question. Her only answer was a slight, almost imperceptible nod, her lips parted, her eyes dark with a trust that made my chest ache.
I shoved the skirt upward, bunching it around her waist, revealing the simple, white cotton panties beneath. The stark innocence of them against her trembling thighs was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen.
I didn’t remove them. Instead, I dropped to my knees in front of the chair, my hands gripping her hips, and leaned forward.
I pressed my mouth against the damp fabric, breathing in her scent—sweet and utterly her.
I heard her sharp intake of breath, felt her hips jerk.
Then I licked her—a slow, firm stroke through the thin fabric.
A moan tore from her, low and desperate.
Her head fell back against the chair, her fingers tangling in my hair—not pushing me away but holding me there.
I did it again, and again, until the soft material was soaked and she was writhing beneath my mouth, a continuous, pleading sound humming in her throat.
Only then did I hook my fingers into the waistband and slide them down her legs, tossing them aside.
I returned to her, my hands spreading her thighs wider. I leaned in and licked her, bare this time, a slow, deliberate stroke from her entrance to the tight, aching bud of her clit.
She cried out, her back arching off the chair. I focused there, licking and sucking, my tongue circling the sensitive nub until her moans became broken sobs. I slid one finger, then two, inside her, feeling her clench around me, hot and impossibly tight.
The sensation of my mouth and my fingers working together must have been too much. I felt her body tighten, her inner muscles fluttering around my fingers. And then she was coming with a choked, gasping cry, her entire body shuddering through the release.
I gentled my touch, soothing her with soft kisses on her inner thighs as she trembled in the aftermath. The air between us was heavy with heat and the faint scent of pine from the greenhouse. After a long moment, she opened her eyes, her gaze hazy but focused.
“I want to see it,” she whispered, her voice raspy.
I stilled, confused. “See what?”
Her blush deepened, but she didn’t look away. “Your…cock. I want to see it.”
The raw, brazen request, coming from her sweet, soulful face, nearly undid me.
A groan rumbled in my chest as I shoved my pants and boxer briefs down in one frantic motion.
My cock sprang free, thick and heavy, jutting upward.
Her eyes widened, but there was no fear in them, only a deep, captivating curiosity.
Her hand wrapped around me. I jerked at the contact, eyes slamming shut. When I forced them open, she was looking up at me, her expression one of awe. That look, combined with the feel of her hand, had me teetering on the edge.
Then she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the head, taking me into the wet, hot heaven of her mouth. I saw stars, my hands fisting at my sides as I fought for control. She took me deeper, her innocence making way for a surprising, instinctual boldness.
Just as I was about to lose myself completely, she withdrew, her lips glistening. “I’m on birth control,” she said, her voice steadier now. “So no need to worry.”
The words should have been a relief, a practical reassurance.
Instead, they triggered a primal, shocking clarity.
I wasn’t worried. In fact, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more in that moment than to fill her with my seed, to mark her, to see if I could plant the beginnings of a life inside her.
The thought was insane, possessive, and utterly undeniable.
“Stand up,” I ordered gently, my voice gravelly.
She rose on unsteady legs. I sat in the chair she’d just vacated, my cock standing rigidly upward. Gathering her skirt, she climbed onto my lap, straddling me.
The fabric of her dress pooled around us, creating a private tent over our joining. Then she lowered herself onto me, inch by excruciating inch. She was so tight, so wet, I saw white behind my eyelids.
She began to move—a slow, tentative rhythm—but I could barely focus. A sudden, desperate need overtook me. I had to see her. All of her.
I gripped the hem of her soft sweater and shoved it upward, pushing the cups of her bra aside.
Her breasts spilled into my hands. They were perfect, full and heavy, with dusky pink nipples that were already pebbled tight.
I groaned, leaning forward to take one into my mouth, laving it with my tongue before sucking deeply.
She froze above me, a long, broken moan escaping her as her eyes fluttered shut. “Noel…”
I moved my thumb to her clit, circling the swollen nub in time with the rhythm of my mouth on her breast. I could feel her climax building, her inner muscles beginning to clench around me.
I pushed her, relentlessly, until she came with a sharp cry, her body convulsing around mine, milking me. Only when the last tremor had subsided did she begin to move, her rhythm now more confident, more urgent.
I kept my hands on her breasts, my thumbs stroking her nipples as she rode me, my gaze locked on her beautiful face—flushed, ecstatic, her lips parted in silent pleasure. I watched her until the pressure in my groin became an unbearable, coiling tension.
Finally, I closed my eyes as my orgasm ripped through me—a raw, guttural sound torn from my throat as I emptied myself inside her, my hips bucking upward to meet her, filling her exactly as some deep, primal part of me had craved.
For a long time, we stayed like that, slumped together in the chair, our breathing slowly returning to normal. The distant music from the party next door had shifted to a slow, sentimental Christmas ballad. A muffled, ironic soundtrack to our raw intimacy.
I nuzzled her hair, inhaling the scent of her sweat and her perfume. “We should probably get back to the party,” I said, though the thought was abhorrent.
She tightened her arms around my neck, her face still buried against my shoulder. “Just a few more minutes,” she whispered. “Please.”
I held her closer, my hands stroking slow circles on her back.
I savored the feel of her body against mine, the weight of her on my lap, the way she fit so perfectly in my arms. In this small, glass-enclosed world, surrounded by sleeping plants and the ghost of her pleasure, I felt a peace I hadn’t known in years.
The party, the city, the world outside—it could all wait.