Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cal
The first thing I register is heat.
Not the kind from the vents or the weak morning sun clawing through the blinds, but from her.
Noelle’s curled into me, one hand resting near the center of my chest like it belongs there. Her breath fans soft against my skin.
Slow and even. Unaware of where she’s laying.
She looks peaceful. Content.
And it fucking guts me.
Because I’m not.
I haven’t been since the second my mouth crashed into hers last night and rewired something I didn’t even know was broken.
I don’t regret it. Not for a goddamn second. But it’s still rattling around in my chest, shaking loose things I thought I’d buried good and deep.
I study her in the pale morning light. The way her lashes fan out. The faint crease between her brows even in sleep, like she’s always bracing for something.
She’s wearing my shirt again—slipped on quick after last night, like armor. It’s too big, swallowing her in a way that makes my throat go dry.
That and the fact that I can feel the skin of her bare legs where she must have shucked my pants in the middle of the night.
I shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want her the way I do.
It’ll lead to nothing but trouble.
But I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. Not even on the ice.
Her fingers twitch against my chest, and I ease out from under them before I do something I can’t take back.
Again.
The sheets shift. She murmurs something in her sleep, lips parting slightly, but she doesn’t wake. I sit on the edge of the bed for a second, hands clenched, jaw tight, trying to breathe through the ache low in my gut.
Then I stand.
The floor’s cold under my feet, the kind of cold that usually helps ground me.
But not this morning.
Not when I can still feel the press of her hips against mine, her breath on my neck, her moan seared into my skin like a brand.
I pad down the hall, letting the silence settle. Not the awkward kind. Not the brittle kind I’ve lived with most of my life.
This kind is different.
Warm but as though waiting for something.
I move through the kitchen on autopilot.
Mug. Grounds. Button.
The quiet hum of the machine fills the space, along with the low buzz of the heater kicking on again.
My hand scrapes over my jaw, the stubble rough against my palm. I should shower. Should do something productive. But all I can do is stand here, gripping the counter, trying to get my head right.
She’s still here. Still in my bed and in my clothes.
Last night, she was in my shower, and it took everything I had not to march in there, shove her against the wall, and fuck her the way I want to.
But I didn’t.
I just daydreamed about the water sluicing down her body, before that picture made my dick so hard it hurt.
Then I had to think about my stats this year, and that was enough to get rid of the pain in my pants.
God knows, I’ve already crossed a line I told myself I wouldn’t. A line that felt permanent the second I touched her.
The coffee finishes, and I pour a mugful. Leaning back against the counter, I sip the sharp and bitter brew slow, letting the heat hit my throat and settle in my chest.
Then I hear her.
Soft footsteps. Bare and light against the floor.
She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to.
The second she steps into the kitchen, I know I’m screwed.
Something’s got to give before I lose my damn mind.
Her hair’s a mess—soft, wild, barely tamed by sleep—but she walks in like she owns the space.
She’s changed into another one of my shirts, this time one that’s long enough to nearly reach her knees. It hangs off one slim shoulder, and even worse?
She didn’t put on the pants, so I not only felt her bare legs in the bed, but now all that creamy skin flashes as she moves into the room.
Add to the fact that her sleep-heavy eyes lock on mine like a heat-seeking missile, and I’m a goner.
My chest tightens, my palms go clammy.
My brain? Totally useless.
She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and nothing I can afford.
“Morning,” she murmurs, voice scratchy and thick with sleep.
I nod, but my throat’s sandpaper. I can’t speak. If I open my mouth, it won’t be words. It’ll be a groan. A plea. Her name dragged out with too much need.
She crosses the room to the cabinet, hips swaying just enough to kill me slow.
When she reaches past me, her arm brushes mine. A whisper of contact that lights up every frayed wire under my skin.
“How did you sleep?” she asks casually, fingers curling around a mug.
“Fine.”
That one word comes out low and hoarse. Like it hurts to admit it.
She doesn’t turn. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t sleep on the couch last night?”
“You shut that down pretty quick.”
“Because we were fine.” Her head tilts, gaze slipping over her shoulder. Her smile is slow. Dangerous. Like she knows exactly how far she can push me. “Weren’t we?”
Something snaps loose in my chest.
I move without thinking and close the space between us in two steps. My arms cage her in, hands flat against the counter on either side of her hips.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t back away. Just looks up at me like she’s already made up her mind.
My breath saws in and out, each inhale scraping down my ribs like gravel. Her scent—my soap, her skin, heat and sleep and something sweeter underneath—wraps around me like a noose.
“You keep looking at me like that,” I rasp, “and I’m not gonna be fine much longer.”
Her lips part just enough to show a glimpse of tongue. Her pulse flickers at the base of her throat. And still, she doesn’t flinch.
“Then don’t be.”
Fuck.
My fingers curl into the edge of the counter. I’m shaking. Not a lot, but enough to feel it in my forearms, my thighs, the clench of my stomach.
Her body heat rolls into mine like a current. I’m hard already. Been hard since she walked in wearing that damn shirt.
“Tell me what you want, Noelle.” My voice is pure gravel now. “Use me however you need. Just say it.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Just grips the front of my shirt in both hands and drags me closer, until her chest presses to mine and her breath fans across my mouth.
“I want your mouth on me.”
My vision goes hazy. My knees damn near give out.
I cup the back of her head and she rises up on her toes, our mouths coming together like we’re oxygen for each other.
Our tongues curl together and teeth clash, unable to get enough of each other.
It’s not enough—I want more. And yet, it’s enough to ruin me.
Then she pulls back, and her voice is steady when she says, “On your knees, Cal.”
I drop without thinking.
Hands on her thighs, breath ragged. And for the first time in my life, surrender feels like the most powerful thing I’ve ever done.
The tile’s cold against my knees, but I don’t care. I’m not thinking about anything but her—bare thighs, parted lips, the soft rasp of her breath as she watches me settle between her legs like I belong there.
Because fuck me, I do.
Her fingers hover just above my shoulders. Not pushing me away. Not guiding me closer. Just…waiting.
I press a kiss to her inner knee. Then the other. Her skin’s warm, soft, and she shivers beneath my hands like she can feel the restraint I’m barely holding onto.
“Cal—” Her voice is already shaky. “Are you—”
“I’m exactly where I want to be,” I murmur. My hands slide up her thighs, fingers spreading, stroking, anchoring.
She leans back, palms bracing on the counter, her shirt falling down her shoulder just enough to drive me fucking crazy. Her breath stutters when I kiss higher—her thigh, then the tender skin beside her center.
She widens her legs, giving me full access to her lace-covered pussy.
Red lace, no less.
And while it’s so pretty on her, I want to taste her on my tongue without a single barrier.
I pull the lace aside and use my thumbs to open her to me fully. When I finally press my mouth to her clit—slow, open, deliberate—she lets out a sound I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Like shock and relief.
Like yes, finally.
I groan against her. She tastes like heat and want, slick and ready.
And Jesus, she’s responsive—hips twitching under my grip, thighs flexing around me. I flatten my tongue, slide up and circle, and her hand finally tangles in my hair.
“Fuck,” she whispers, breath breaking. “Just like that—don’t stop.”
I won’t. Not until she’s shaking.
I suck gently, then flick my tongue in tight, slow strokes, feeling her tense, then melt, over and over again. Her other hand grips the edge of the counter, knuckles white, and I swear I can feel her falling apart.
She gasps. “Cal—I’m—shit, I’m gonna—”
Her thighs tremble. She tries to hold back. I don’t let her.
“Come for me,” I rasp against her. “Give it to me, baby.”
And she does—her whole body bowing, breath caught on a moan that’s broken and beautiful and fucking mine.
I stay with her, gentle now. Letting her ride it out, savoring every shiver, every tiny twitch of her fingers still knotted in my hair.
When she finally exhales, chest rising and falling like she’s been through a war, I look up at her.
And her eyes—damn. There’s something in them now. Wild. Raw. Sure.
“Still want to use me?” I ask, voice low and wrecked.
She grabs my shirt and drags me up until our mouths crash.
The kiss is rough. Messy. All teeth and tongues and need.
“I want all of you,” she says. “Right now.”
I lift her by the hips, her legs wrapping around me, and set her on the counter.
Her breath hitches when I grind against her, hard and desperate, and her nails dig into my shoulders.
“God, you feel good,” she whispers, forehead resting against mine.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” I growl.
She gets rid of her panties and I shove my boxers down just enough until my cock springs free and her eyes widen.
“Shit, Cal. You’re…”
“Don’t worry, baby. It’ll fit. I promise.”
I grab a condom from the drawer—don’t ask me how I remember, or why they’re in my kitchen because my brain is pure static.
She takes it from me and rolls it on with shaking hands, her breath coming in small pants. Then she reaches between us, guides me in—
And I lose every last ounce of control.
I slide inside her in one long, slick thrust. She’s hot and tight and clenching around me like she’s meant for this.
We both groan—loud and unfiltered.
She grips my shoulders as I start to move, fucking her sharp and deep, her heels pressing into my back to keep me close.
The cabinets rattle, and the whole fucking world shrinks to this.
My name on her lips. Her breath in my mouth. The wet heat of her body dragging me toward the edge again and again.
We don’t last long.
She tightens around me, moaning, eyes locked on mine—and I snap, hips jerking, vision going white as I spill into her with a hoarse shout.
For a long beat, we don’t move. Just stay there, bodies locked, breath mingling. Her forehead against mine. Her hand stroking the back of my neck.
Then she kisses me—softer this time. Slower.
“You okay?” I ask, voice rasped to hell.
She nods, with a smile that lights me up. “Better than okay.”
I press my mouth to her shoulder, then lift her off the counter and carry her down the hall.
To my bed.
Because yeah—we’re not done.
She’s still clinging to me, arms around my neck, lips swollen from kissing, skin flushed and damp from the kitchen.
Her head rests against my shoulder as I carry her down the hall—barely five steps, but it feels like crossing a line I can’t uncross.
I kick the bedroom door closed with my heel. The sound clicks loud in the silence.
She doesn’t let go.
I lower her to the bed, but she doesn’t sink into it like before. She stays upright, hands on my chest, eyes tracking mine like she’s afraid I’ll vanish. Like this will.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur, brushing her hair back. My fingers tremble from the come-down, from what she just gave me.
From how bad I still want her.
She kisses me again—open, slow, no games this time. Just need. Her mouth is warm and insistent, her tongue teasing mine with just enough pressure to stir something low in my spine.
The mattress dips under my knees as I climb over her, bracing one hand beside her head, the other smoothing up her thigh, over the swell of her hip.
Her skin’s still damp from the kitchen heat, and when I trail my fingers over her ribs, she arches, chasing the touch.
“You sure?” I ask, because I have to.
She nods. “I’ve never been this sure.”
That does something to me. A click in my chest, deep and final.
I strip off what’s left between us—her shirt, my shirt and pants—and change out the condom before laying down beside her, my hand still roaming.
I trace slow lines over her stomach, her thighs, letting the moment breathe. Letting her catch her breath and giving myself one second to memorize the way she looks like this: sated but still restless.
Wanting more.
She rolls toward me, slides her leg over mine, and straddles my hips like she’s done it a thousand times.
She hasn’t. But she moves like she knows exactly what she wants.
“What do you need?” I rasp, hands finding her waist.
She leans down, her hair brushing my face. Her breath hits my lips. “I need to ride your cock and feel you fill me up.”
I groan. Hard. “Jesus, Noelle.”
She reaches between us, sinks down on me in one smooth, perfect slide, and I lose my breath completely.
She gasps, biting her lip. “Still okay?”
“I’m…trying to hold on.”
“Don’t.”
Her hands brace on my chest, and she starts to move—slow at first, a teasing grind that drags friction and pleasure across every inch of me. I grip her hips, digging in to keep control, but she’s not having it.
“No,” she says, pushing my hands away. “Let me.”
I do. I give her everything.
She rides me with steady, hungry rhythm, her head tilted back, her thighs shaking against mine. Her eyes flutter closed, but I can’t look away. Not when she’s like this—undone and strong and beautiful as hell.
Every roll of her hips knocks something loose in me. Every moan pulls another thread.
I sit up, chest to chest, arms around her back. She buries her face in my neck, breath hot against my skin, her body gripping mine tighter with every stroke.
I feel her start to tremble. Her rhythm falters. Her hands fist in my hair.
“Cal—”
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “Let go.”
She breaks apart in my arms, hips stuttering, breath hitched, my name breaking from her lips like a prayer. The second she falls, I follow, groaning her name against her shoulder as I shatter with her.
For a long beat, we stay tangled—her breath slowing against my neck, my hands still roaming her back, anchoring us both.
Eventually, she lifts her head and brushes her mouth over mine in a kiss that’s quieter than the rest. Almost shy.
I don’t ask what this means.
I just hold her.
Because for the first time in a long damn time—I don’t feel alone.