Chapter 10 #2
Noah stands beneath the porch light in a tailored, midnight-black tuxedo that makes every inch of him look carved from sin and moonlight.
The jacket clings to his broad chest and the lean, powerful lines of his torso, the pants falling perfectly over his strong legs.
His dark hair is styled back, a few rebellious strands curling at his temple, and those molasses colored eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that steals breath from my lungs.
Fuck.
He’s beautiful. Devastatingly so. I’ve always known Noah was attractive—objectively, the kind of man who turns heads—but now it’s different.
The realization I came to with Kat the other night, and seeing him now…
He is a gut-punch of raw want that leaves me gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Heat floods my veins as I take him in, my eyes raking over every tawdry inch, the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his white shirt stretches across his chest with each breath.
I want to fist my hands in that lapel and drag him inside.
I want to taste the cologne I know is dusted along his throat, and around his wrists.
Curve my tongue along the ink beneath his watch, and close my eyes while I do.
I want things I’ve never let myself name before.
“Cade.” His voice is low, rough around the edges, gravelly and raw.
His eyes drag over me slowly, deliberately, and I feel every inch of his focus like a physical touch—down my throat, across my shoulders, lingering at the open collar of my shirt where I left the top button undone.
A muscle tics in his jaw. “You look… Damn.”
The air between us crackles.
Chemistry. That’s chemistry. This is what it feels like.
Everything inside me buzzes, light and heady, exciting and new. My toes curl in my silk socks, inside my dress shoes.
I step back to let him in, hyperaware of how close he passes, the brush of his sleeve against mine sending sparks straight to my groin. I’m already half-hard just from the sight of him and from the realization slamming into me like a stack of books: I want Noah.
Not as a friend, not as a colleague. I want him under me, over me, around me.
I want to peel that perfect tux off him with my teeth and map out every inch of skin beneath.
I want to see where else he hides ink, what his face looks like when he feels really good, I want to feel his breath in places I’ve never felt before.
“Come in,” I manage, my voice made husky from my secret desires. “Drink before we go?”
Noah nods, eyes still devouring me as he steps into the living room.
I pour two fingers of whiskey into crystal glasses gifted to me by my father, my hands steadier than I feel.
When I hand him his, our fingers brush. Electricity.
His pupils dilate, dark and hungry, and for a second I think he might close the distance.
I want him to.
God, I want him to shove me against the wall, make my Charles Wysocki print crash to the floor, and ruin this perfectly pressed tux before we even leave my place.
We stand close—too close—sipping in charged silence.
The whiskey burns down my throat, but it’s nothing compared to the fire licking through my veins.
I watch the way his throat works as he swallows, the subtle flex of muscle, and imagine pressing my mouth there, feeling his pulse race under my tongue.
Noah’s gaze drops to my lips, then lower, tracing the lines of my body like he’s memorizing them for later.
The tension coils tighter, thick enough to choke on.
My cock strains against the fine fabric of my pants, aching with every heartbeat.
I clear my throat. “You clean up better than I expected,” I say, aiming for casual but falling short, because it comes out thick, husky, laced with all of the things I’m clearly not saying.
Noah’s mouth curves into a slow and dangerous smile. “Same goes for you.”
The words hang between us, heavy with promise.
I step closer, close enough that I can smell his shampoo and his cologne, too.
Close enough to see the faint flush creeping up his neck.
My realization settles deep in my bones: this attraction to him isn’t new, it’s just been waiting for the right moment to ignite.
And tonight, in these tuxes, it’s a goddamn wildfire.
But this is Kat’s wedding, and Kat is my best friend. Tonight is about her. As she deserves.
I finish my drink, the glass clinking against the table when I set it down. “We should go.”
Noah drains his own, eyes never leaving mine above the heavy rim of crystal.
“Yeah. Before I do something about how fucking good you look in that tux.” He wipes his mouth and pats my shoulder, breezing past me like he didn’t just scramble my brain with that casual line he dropped. “Gotta piss first, then we go.”
I wait at the door and a moment later he joins me.
The walk to the car is torture—every step beside him is vibrant and electric, the night air doing nothing to cool the heat between us, with a sky littered with gorgeous stars and a breeze that urges us closer, arms brushing.
I slide into the passenger seat, a heady realization settling.
Now that I know who I am, I can no longer deny who I want.
And I want him with a hunger that’s only just beginning to roar.