Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cal
She’s trying so damn hard to keep her walls up.
But I see through every single one. And I see the moment she relents and lets a piece of herself go.
I step closer, slow and steady. Close enough to catch the scent of coffee and her skin.
Close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin in waves.
And close enough that the throb in my chest turns sharp—tight and raw and hungry in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with her.
“Noelle.”
She glances up, lashes still clumped from sleep. Her eyes are shadowed but clear. Wary, but not closed off.
Her lips part like she’s waiting for something. For me to say the thing she won’t let herself say first.
“I want to take care of you,” I say. My voice comes out low and gritty. Like it’s been scraped against every truth I’ve been trying not to say since the second she walked into my life.
Before the Christmas party. Back when I first saw her in the locker room when Sloane introduced her to the team.
She goes still. Not like she’s bracing, but like she’s listening. Like she wants to believe me.
“You already are taking care of me,” she says after a beat, soft and tentative.
I shake my head, jaw working. “Not what I mean.”
Something cracks in her expression.
Her breath shudders on the way out, like she needs to be taken care of even if it scares the shit out of her.
My hands are wrapped around hers—mine rough, hers soft and warm. The contact lights a fuse under my skin. Heat pulses through my fingers, up my forearm, settling like a weight behind my ribs.
“You don’t have to be strong right now,” I murmur. “You don’t have to keep holding it all together.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. That fight-or-flight energy simmers just beneath the surface, but she doesn’t bolt. Doesn’t pull away.
And that wrecks me.
I bring her knuckles to my lips again, brushing them with a kiss that’s more reverent than possessive. Her skin is warm against my mouth, trembling slightly as if her nerves are short-circuiting under the surface.
Maybe mine are too.
“Come with me,” I say, backing away just enough to tug her hand gently.
She hesitates for half a heartbeat before she nods and lets me tug her along with me.
We walk down the hall without a word, the floors creaking under our steps. Her fingers stay curled around mine, small and certain, like she’s holding on for more than just balance.
My heart beats harder with every step. Not fast, but hard. Like it’s working overtime to keep the rest of me from unraveling.
The bedroom still smells like last night. Like sweat and skin and my shampoo lingering in the sheets. My gut tightens as I let go of her hand and turn to face her.
“You sure?” I ask.
She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t waver. Her gaze is steady and so goddamn brave it guts me.
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
I nod once, then reach for the hem of the shirt she’s still wearing—my shirt.
Her breath catches as I lift it slowly, revealing inch after inch of bare skin. My hands shake the slightest bit, but I don’t stop. I need to see her.
All of her.
I need to remember this moment when everything else feels too fucking dark to breathe.
She raises her arms, letting me strip the shirt over her head. Her nipples pebble instantly from the cool air—or maybe from the way I stare at her like she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Because she is.
I drag my knuckles down the side of her ribcage. Her stomach clenches, her breath hitching.
“Lie back,” I say, voice hoarse now. “Let me take care of you right.”
She hesitates just long enough to kill me. Then she climbs into the bed, slow and silent, like she’s giving me something she doesn’t give to anyone else.
I kneel between her legs, heart pounding so hard it echoes in my ears.
My hands slide to her thighs.
And I bow my head like I’m about to pray.
Because I’m at the altar of Noelle Jenkins, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh.
Her breath stutters.
Another kiss, higher. Then another, just beside where she’s already wet and trembling.
Her scent curls around me—salt, heat, something that makes my head go fuzzy and my cock press harder against the front of my boxers.
But I don’t rush. I can’t rush this.
Because if this is all I ever get again, I want to memorize every second of it.
I drag my mouth across the seam of her skin, teasing, tasting, letting her feel the heat of my breath before I touch her.
She moans, low, quiet, and helpless.
I slide my palms beneath her thighs and tilt her hips, lifting her just enough. Then I close my mouth over her clit.
She arches like I’ve lit a fuse under her spine.
“Cal—oh my God—”
I groan into her, gripping harder when she tries to move. Not to hold her down, but to hold her here. In this moment.
With me.
I’ve never wanted anything the way I want to make her come undone. Not a championship. Not a goal. Not a single thing in my entire life.
Just this.
Just her.
Her hands tangle in my hair. Her hips jerk. She’s close—too close already—and I ease back just enough to give her space to breathe.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she pants, her voice hoarse.
I rest my cheek against her thigh, heart jackhammering behind my ribs.
“I won’t.” I press another kiss to her skin. “But if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna lose it before I even get inside you.”
She grabs my jaw and makes me look up at her. Her eyes are wild. Hair a mess. Lips swollen. And somehow still the most in control I’ve ever seen her.
“I don’t need soft right now,” she says, voice shaking. “I need you.”
I swallow hard. “How do you want me?”
She exhales slowly, like she’s choosing her words with the same precision she uses to guard every part of herself.
“I want to taste you first.”
Jesus fuck.
“Yeah?” My voice comes out rough, half gone. “You want to be in charge now?”
“I want to be the one who wrecks you.”
My cock twitches—hard. I push to my feet, and she sits up, dragging me closer by the waistband of my boxers before pushing them down past my hips.
Her eyes darken as she slides her hand up and down my dick, her touch somehow firm yet soft.
And then she nearly knocks me on my knees.
Because the first brush of her mouth against me steals my breath clean.
My head drops back. My fingers thread into her hair as she takes me deeper, slow but sure. There’s no teasing, just intensity and need.
“God, Noelle…” I pant, legs starting to shake. “You don’t even know what you do to me…”
She hums around me, hands gripping my hips like she wants the control—like taking me apart is the only way to feel steady again.
I’m shaking by the time I pull her off with a groan, barely hanging on. Her lips are wet, eyes dark.
“You want to give me what I want, Cal?”
“Always.”
“I want you to come down my throat, and then I want you to fuck me from behind. With nothing between us.”
Fuck me, this woman is going to be the death of me, and I’m far too young to die.
But I wouldn’t complain if this is the way I went out.
“You mean…”
She nods. “Until yesterday it had been…a long time. And no one since my last physical.”
“Same for me.”
Her lips curve into a sexy smile that has me aching.
I tighten my grip in her hair. “You want me to fuck your mouth, don’t you?”
She nods, her hands busy working me over, her gaze hot on mine. “Yes, please.”
“Well, since you said please.”
I gather all of that glorious auburn hair in my hands, so I can see her clearly while I fuck that sassy mouth.
“Ready, baby?”
She hums her consent around my length, and that’s all I need to let loose on her.
I snap my hips against her face, hitting the back of her throat. She gags slightly and I start to pull out, but she clamps her hands onto my ass, driving me forward.
Her eyes are so dark I can barely see the green. In those depths, I see she wants more, wants to push those boundaries.
Boundaries that for some reason I feel like she’s never pushed before.
But she’s doing it with me.
And that lets loose something possessive in me.
“Oh you take me so well, Noelle. Your mouth was made for my cock.”
She moans around me again as I pump into her, my orgasm bearing down on me fast.
“Are you ready? I’m going to come.”
I try to warn her but barely get it out before the tingle in my spine becomes full blown, and I’m spilling down her throat.
“Fuck, shit, fuck, that feels so good.”
I can’t feel my toes, and I’ve lost all rhythm. My heart pounds so hard, I fear I might have a heart attack.
She licks up every last drop of me and sits back on her haunches, a feline smile on her lips.
“Damn, woman, you’re phenomenal at that. Are you okay?”
“Thank you. And yes. I’m perfect.”
And fuck if her answer and the smugly satisfied look on her face doesn’t give me new life.
“Lie down,” I rasp. “Now.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but then sees the look on my face.
She stretches back across the sheets, lazy and lethal, like a goddess on her throne, her pussy glistening with need.
“Now, it’s time to take care of you properly.”
She tilts her head, her eyes quizzical. “Don’t you need a break?”
I stroke my hardening cock and grin. “Not when you have the view I have at this moment.”
A faint pink stains her cheeks, but she’s still my sassy Noelle. “You gonna make good on that worship now?”
“Oh, I’m gonna make you forget your name.”
I crawl over her, hands planted beside her head.
“Turn over like a good girl, Noelle.”
Her gaze scorches me. “Yes, sir.”
The look in her eyes almost undoes me. It’s like she’s baring more than her body. Like the permission costs her something.
A piece of herself she doesn’t give away lightly.
She flips over and gets on her knees. As much as I want to bury myself inside her in one quick move, I take my time.
I pull her hips back with reverent hands. Her ass arches, back curving in a way that makes my whole body ache.
I grip her waist, lean down to whisper against her spine.
“You’re fucking perfect.”
Then I line up, slide into her slowly, inch by inch, her pussy tightening around me like a vise.
She gasps, moans, shoves her face into the pillow with a desperate sound.
“Cal…”
“I’ve got you,” I growl, hands gripping her waist tight. “Let go for me.”
I start to move.
And it’s like the world drops away.
The rhythm is hard, slow, deep—deliberate. Her body fits mine like we were made for this, like we’ve been waiting to get here our whole lives.
“God, you feel so good,” I breathe, one hand slipping to her hip. “You were made for me, weren’t you?”
She whimpers, fisting the sheets.
“You like being taken like this?” I lean in closer. “You like being mine?”
“Yes.” Her voice is broken. Honest. Raw.
I lose it.
My hand slides down, fingers circling her clit, stroking her while I keep thrusting deep. Her muscles clench tight, breath hitching.
“Come for me, Noelle. Right here with me.”
She lets go, squeezing me tight enough I can’t do anything but follow her over the edge, her name a vow on my lips as I fall.
Noelle’s curled up on the couch under one of the throw blankets she pulled from the basket in the corner. Legs tucked to one side, hair still messy, skin still flushed from the way I fucked her breathless just thirty minutes ago.
And she looks content.
It does something to my chest I’m not ready to name.
The TV flickers soft across her face as I hand her the mug of peppermint hot chocolate she didn’t ask for, but I made anyway.
She takes it with a smile so gentle, it punches the air from my lungs.
“This looks criminally good,” she says, blowing on the steam before taking a careful sip. “Where the hell did you even get marshmallows shaped like snowflakes?”
I sink down beside her, bumping her knee with mine. “I have a cousin who makes themed gift baskets. I think this one was ‘Single Guys Who Forget to Decorate.’ Came with lights and cocoa and a pine-scented candle I haven’t opened yet.”
She laughs, warm and unfiltered. “You really don’t like Christmas, huh?”
I shrug, sipping mine slower. “Didn’t used to.”
She hums like she wants to press, but doesn’t.
We sit in silence for a while as The Holiday plays in the background. She makes little comments here and there—how Jude Law’s glasses are the real MVP, how Kate Winslet deserves better, how Cameron Diaz clearly has unresolved trauma she should work out in therapy.
I listen more than I speak.
She’s funny when she’s relaxed. Sharp and a little chaotic and totally unfiltered in a way that feels earned, not careless. Like I’m getting pieces of her no one else sees.
I want more of those pieces.
“I meant to ask you something earlier,” I say when the next scene fades to black. “What’s the deal with mistletoe?”
She glances at me, amused. “What do you mean?”
“Why do people kiss under it? Like, what makes that weed so damn romantic?”
She grins over the rim of her mug. “You want the Hallmark version or the history teacher version?”
“Hit me with the facts, Teach.”
She scoots closer, blanket draped across her lap like a throne.
“Mistletoe’s been used for centuries. Ancient Celts thought it had healing powers. Norse mythology says it symbolizes peace and love; there’s this whole legend about Frigg, the goddess of love, crying tears that turned mistletoe white after her son died.”
“Jesus,” I murmur. “That took a turn.”
“Yeah, well, most holidays do when you look close enough.” She nudges me with her elbow. “But eventually, the story shifted. Mistletoe became a symbol of protection and renewal. So people started hanging it in doorways. If two people stood beneath it, it meant they were safe there. Together.”
The quiet stretches again. This time, it feels like it’s holding something sacred.
“That’s kind of beautiful,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t answer right away.
Then, softly—“It is.”
I glance up to find her watching me over the edge of her mug.
No teasing. No armor. Just a look that feels like a truth neither of us is ready to say out loud.
My pulse ticks up.
She notices. Of course she does.
But she just leans back into the cushions and pulls the blanket tighter around herself like she’s afraid if she doesn’t, she might reach for me again.
Hell, I might let her.
The thing is—I’ve never felt safer than I do with her right now. In this ridiculously expensive apartment, watching Christmas movies, drinking cocoa like a couple of kids playing grown-up.
But I also know safety like this doesn’t last.
And the more I let myself pretend it does, the harder it’s gonna be when it’s over.
Still, when her hand drifts over to rest lightly on my thigh, I don’t move it away.
I cover it with mine.
And we stay like that.
Together. Under no mistletoe.
But maybe under something that matters just as much.