27. Georgie #4
"Yes?" I say with a wobble in my voice, feeling his weight shift the bed.
His hand trails down my spine, and I know he's seeing the scars on my back and on my shoulders.
It pulls me out of the moment for only a second, because the moment he senses my panic or worry over the scars, his hand reaches between my legs and reminds me of where he wants my attention.
His finger teases me once, twice, then dips inside and makes me shiver, sighing and falling forward to balance on my hands.
"Beautiful," Noah murmurs against my skin, kissing my shoulder.
"Thank you," I say, hearing him gasp when I clench around the finger inside me. I smile, hearing him chuckle.
"Naughty girl."
"I never promised to be good," I tease back.
He pulls the finger inside me out and then back in, hard. "Doesn't mean I can't fuck the attitude out of you."
Oh god.
Instantly clenching, feeling his finger, fingers?
When had that happened? They press deep and hard and rub against my g-spot and make me fall forward, fully at his mercy and head resting against my forearms, biting down to keep from screaming.
It's too much, too intense, his fingers are long and know exactly where they need to be and if I could form a sentence, I'd be saying every curse in the book. "Please. I need you."
"As you wish."
It's so quick; a quick pop of a lube bottle lid, a rip of a wrapper and then he's pressing into me fully, and my face is still hiding in the pillows.
Future Georgie might regret this exertion and the flares that follow, but present Georgie doesn't even care.
It's exactly what I want. It's rough, it's hard, it's going to leave me sore and aching and wanting him even more.
He hits that right angle and I'm soaring.
He's whispering sweet nothings in my ear as he does these wicked things to me and it's everything.
His hand reaches around so he can rub and tease my clit as he pounds deeper into me over and over until I'm letting him know by way of the needy noises and a hitch in my breath that I'm close, so fucking close, oh god—
"Good girl."
Those two words. Those two damn words send me over the edge.
I come with a choked-out cry and Noah's name like a chant on my lips.
It's the only word I know how to say. Noah thrusts right through it, our skin sticking together in every place we meet and slapping in time with his hips bucking into me.
He comes a moment later, after I clench around him again and thrust back against him just to feel him more, even though I'm absolutely spent.
I can't form the words, my head is spacey, my tongue heavy, my body trembling in aftershocks of a thorough fuck and it only calms when Noah slips out of me and pulls me into his arms. It's only then that I realize I'm crying.
"Are you okay?" Noah sounds concerned until he hears the bubble of a giggle from me.
"I'm so happy," I say with a wet laugh, sobbing into his chest.
"You're so beautiful, Georgie," he murmurs into my hair.
"I don't know why I'm crying—" I sniffle. He kisses my forehead, brushing my hair off my face and smiling at me.
His tone is amused. "Welcome to my world. This is the high you give me, every damn time."
Sighing and nuzzling into his chest, I close my eyes and let my body work itself out. It knows what it needs to do, and I can just relish in the feeling of Noah's arms around me. "I like it here."
"I love... this. I love everything about this," Noah says and I nod in agreement. I love you too.
I don't know how much time passes when he tells me we should clean up, I almost think to argue and protest, but then my brain yells at me that if I don't, it's only going to get worse.
So, I let him help me, absolutely boneless and begging for sleep as he lowers me into the bath, the hot water surrounding me and relaxing every aching muscle.
I didn't realize he'd drawn a bath, but he used the Epsom salts and the bath bomb he knows makes my skin feel better, and I love that he joins me, my back to his chest. His fingers draw the water over my chest, my sides, he keeps me warm with his body and the water and it's easy to just take this all in. It's a whole new world.
We stay like this until we're properly pruned, and only then do we slip under the sheets of the bed. I look and see a notification on my phone.
Franny
keeping the babies for the night. enjoy xxx
That's all I need to be able to snuggle into Noah and let everything else fade away.
Pure bliss.
In the late hours of the night, or maybe the morning, we find ourselves awake and hungry.
The snacks he brings in from the kitchen are just the right thing, crackers and a cheese ball that we absolutely inhale.
It's just enough, and when we fall back into bed, we talk about whatever comes to mind.
These conversations in the dark are some of my favourites because it tells me more about him than I ever thought I'd know. It makes me love him even more.
"Tell me something good?" I ask him softly. I can feel his smile as he kisses my bare shoulder. He thinks about it for a minute, a long humming sound rumbling in his chest.
“I like lists,” he tells me, and though he can't see it, I roll my eyes.
“Ok, why do you like lists?” I ask.
He hums like he’s thinking again. “I think I like having a set number of things laid out so I don’t forget them.
It could be a grocery list, it could be things I have to do, it could be things I just want to remember.
But I like that these things are all in one place, and it’s really gratifying and makes me feel good to cross something off once it’s finished. ”
"Is that what those papers lying around your apartment were?"
"Guilty."
I want to snort out a laugh, but he's being honest and real, and I don't want him to think that I think his admission is anything other than what it is: adorable and sweet. “What’s your favourite kind of list?”
“Check lists. No, favourite lists.”
“Wait. Favourite lists are your favourite kind of list? Do you hear how that sounds?”
He laughs at this, his chest rising and falling with each intake. “I do. But it’s true. A list of my favourite things makes me happy.”
“Because they’re your… favourite?” I supply.
He kisses my neck as a reward. “Exactly. But check lists are a close second. Don’t you like seeing things on a list being crossed off, showing what you’ve accomplished?”
“Half the time, my lists go uncrossed off, or they get lost before I even finish anything… so what does that tell you?”
He tuts, shaking his head in admonishment. “Tragic. Truly tragic.”
I smile. “Tell me, what’s on your favourites list right now?”
“Well, it depends on the list itself, I guess. Do you mean music, movies, foods—” He continues to list possibilities for lists, and I groan.
“Oh man, you’ve really thought this through! You’re such a nerd!” I tease.
He scoffs again, this time in mock-defense, “That’s a listophile to you.”
“Is that even a real word?”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen it used in Facebook list-making groups—”
“You’re in Facebook list-making groups. Oh god.” I groan, covering my face to keep my laughter at bay.
He nuzzles into me, "Hey, I might be a nerd but guess what?"
"What?" I echo back.
"I'm your nerd."
Be still. My Beating Heart.
"That you are," I say with a dreamy sigh and pull him impossibly closer.
I never want to let this go.