57 #2
Noah sat, stiff-backed at first, towering among them. Claire leaned forward and began applying the mask to his cheek with careful strokes.
“I’ll get your dads robe!” Tania yelled and then ran to get another fluffy white robe with a gold monogrammed C.
“It’s cold,” he said, as the applicator brushed his face.
“It was for Toby too,” she replied. “He survived.”
Toby nodded sagely. “You grow from it. Made me a stronger man, actually.”
Noah closed his eyes, letting her work. The room softened around him.
“This is,” he said slowly, “the strangest night of my life.”
Claire smiled at him. “Really? This?”
“For me, it was when we were in Japan and Liam got so drunk from the sake ceremony that he tried to take on a sumo wrestler,” Toby said while painting his toenails with complete concentration.
Tania almost spit out her drink, “Oh my God, yeah, I remember that.”
“It was embarrassing,” Noah agreed.
“Are there pictures?” Claire asked.
“Oh, yeah there are,” Toby responded, taking out his phone. The group reminisced until curfew, sharing stories of times past, and Noah couldn’t help but feel that he was happy he stayed in that room with those people.
The room had gone quiet in the way only shared sleep makes it.
Cots and pull-out mattresses lined the floor like a battlefield of limbs and blankets.
Toby was already sprawled on his back, clean-haired and blissed out, softly snoring.
Tania had padded out of the en suite, had her hair wrapped in a towel and whispered goodnight before curling into her blankets on the cot.
Claire stood at the bathroom door with fresh pajamas in her hands.
“Your turn,” Tania murmured.
Claire nodded, easing the door closed behind her.
She hadn’t expected Noah to follow.
She heard the soft click of the latch. Felt his presence before she turned. The bathroom was warm from steam, the mirror already fogging, light from the vanity was diffused and golden. He stood there like he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands yet.
“You okay?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “You okay?”
She set her monogrammed bathrobe on the counter.
She couldn’t tell Noah about the email, about the decision she would have to make if, if, she was even offered a position doing clinical research.
She couldn’t ruin his chances of losing the championship, after all he has worked for. “Yeah. Just… anxious.”
He stepped closer. “You don’t have to be.”
The way he said it made her look up.
Their eyes met in the mirror first. Then in real life.
It was Claire who crossed the space between them. Or maybe he did. It happened in a breath. In a blink. One second there was air, the next there was him. His hands warm on her arms, her fingers gripping the front of his shirt like she needed something solid.
The kiss was not gentle.
It was everything they’d been holding back. Noah kissed her like he was afraid she might disappear. Claire kissed him like she finally believed she wouldn’t.
Steam curled around them as the shower began to run.
He rested his forehead against hers, breath uneven. “Tell me to stop.”
She shook her head and pulled her shirt off, breasts exposed, nipples perked. Then off came her jeans, panties with them. She stood there naked and vulnerable.
His mouth found hers again. She tasted wine and warmth and something achingly familiar. Her hands slid up into his hair, grounding herself in the reality of him. He made a low growl with his throat that she felt more than heard.
He cupped his hands under her ass and lifted her onto the sink counter, legs spread. She was ready for him, ready for him to take her right there on the cool quartz countertop.
In between kisses, he pulled his shirt off. Claire stroked the length of him from the outside of his jeans. He was already hard. His tongue was exploring her mouth then making its way, licking down to her neck and then collarbone. She unzipped his pants, erection springing free.
“Mmm,” Claire said, stroking his shaft.
Noah penetrated her opening with one deliberate thrust. The length of him pushing in and out.
He lifted her while still inside, moving them into the shower together, clothes forgotten on the tile.
Water cascaded over them, blurring edges, turning everything into heat and shadow. When he left the space between her legs, she felt the absence of him.
He washed her body with diligence and care. He washed her hair clean, placing kisses along her face and neck. His head bent down to take a breast into his mouth, his tongue swirling in circles over her nipple. His hand reached down to her ass, cupping it to move her tit deeper into his mouth.
Claire was swimming in ecstasy. Her clit was throbbing and she wanted more.
More of Noah. But he stopped suddenly to flip her around, placing her back into his hard dick.
He pushed her head into the glass door of the shower.
He thrusted into her, taking her from behind until they both finished.
And by the end, Claire was delirious and satisfied.
The water continued to fall around them in a steady, soothing rhythm, steam curling in the air as their breaths slowly evened out.
Noah rested his forehead against the back of her head, when Claire turned to face him.
Claire slid her hands over his shoulders, gentle now, grounding.
The world beyond the glass might as well have vanished.
There was only the warmth of the water, the quiet thrum of their hearts, and the tender afterglow that kept them close as the moment softened into something calm and intimate.
Noah stood beneath the spray, head bowed, dark hair slicked back as it curled at the nape of his neck.
The last match had left him scraped and bruised, muscles tight with exhaustion.
He looked carved from stone even at rest with broad shoulders tapering into a powerful back, every movement revealing the discipline of years of training.
Claire stepped closer, sponge in hand. “Tell me if it hurts,” she murmured.
He nodded, trusting, and that alone made her chest ache.
“You will never hurt me,” Noah replied softly.
She began at his shoulder, careful as she traced the contours of him.
His skin was warm beneath her fingers, firm with muscle, alive.
The water slid over him in silver ribbons, catching on the black lines of his tattoo that curved over his shoulder blade and down his arm.
The ink followed the shape of him as if it had always belonged there, emphasizing the breadth of his chest, the strength in his arms, the quiet power he carried even when standing still.
Her touch was gentle and reverent. She washed along the edge of one tattoo, following its path across his collarbone.
Noah inhaled slowly, eyes closing, not in pain, but in surrender.
It was here, under her hands, that he was unguarded.
Human. Not the captain, not the warrior on the pitch – just a man letting himself be cared for.
Claire tilted her head, watching water bead and roll over him. “You’re beautiful,” she said softly, the words escaping before she could second-guess them.
“I believe you called me graceful,” he teased.
“You can be both.”
Noah opened his eyes and met hers, something deep and steady there. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered to her as he reached for her wrist and placed a kiss on it.
Outside, the house slept. Inside the en suite, steam wrapped around them as Claire pressed her forehead to his and whispered his name like a promise.
“I love you, Claire.”
“I love you, Noah,” she whispered and kissed him for the last time that night, before he slipped back into his own room leaving her with the lingering warmth of him on her skin and the quiet certainty that nothing in her world would ever feel the same again.