20. Noah
Chapter twenty
Noah
I should be tired by now, considering I haven’t taken my hands off her for hours—but I’m not. And neither is she.
Kate lies beneath me, flushed and glowing, her fingers tangled around my neck like she’s afraid to let go. Her body is soft and warm, her legs curled around my waist, anchoring me to her in a way that feels more powerful than any promise.
I trail kisses across her skin—her ribs, the soft swell of her breast, the curve of her neck—drinking in every gasp, every shiver. Her breath hitches as I take her nipple into my mouth, teasing her with my tongue until she arches into me, a low moan breaking free from her throat.
"God, Noah," she whispers, voice breathless and wrecked.
I lift my head to look at her. Her eyes are wide and glassy, lips kiss-swollen, her hair a halo around her face on the pillow. She looks like a dream I don’t want to wake from.
I cup her cheek with one hand, brushing my thumb across her bottom lip. “I can’t stop looking at you. Like I still don’t believe you’re real.”
“Every time I touch you,” I say, my voice low and rough, “it feels like I’m coming back to life.”
Her eyes soften, glistening a little, and she exhales like I’ve cracked something open in her.“Then don’t stop,” she whispers. “Stay right here with me.”
Her hand slides up my arm, over my shoulder, and into my hair.
She tugs me down into a kiss that’s slow and deep, molten and lingering.
We’ve kissed before—hungry, wild, desperate—but this is different.
This is raw. Honest. Her lips move against mine like she’s giving me something, and I take it like a man starving.
I shift over her, letting my weight settle, and feel the press of her body under mine. My length is hard again, thick and pulsing, trapped between us. She feels it too—arches her hips enough to tease me with the friction.
“Are you trying to kill me?” I murmur into her mouth.
“I’m just keeping up,” she breathes, lifting her hips again, deliberately this time.
I groan and reach down to guide myself against her. She’s still slick and warm, and when I push inside her, the sensation knocks the air out of my lungs. She gasps too, her fingers tightening in my hair.
We find a rhythm—slow at first, deep and aching. The heat between us builds with each stroke, her legs tightening around my hips, pulling me closer, deeper.
I kiss her like I’m making up for all the words I haven’t said. Like I’m telling her everything I don’t know how to say with my mouth full of fear and grief and want.
She whimpers into my neck, her body trembling around mine. “Don’t stop,” she whispers.
“I couldn’t if I tried.”
I brace on one forearm and reach between us with my other hand, my fingers finding the spot where she’s aching for more. She gasps when I touch her, and I don’t let up—circling, pressing, matching the rhythm of my hips.
Her nails drag down my back. Her breath comes in broken moans. And then her body tightens, and she cries out, falling apart beneath me again.
I lose it—buried deep in her, muscles clenching, pleasure burning hot and fierce as I follow her over the edge. I groan her name, holding her tight, grounding myself in the way she feels wrapped around me.
When the last tremor fades, I collapse onto my elbows, still inside her, our bodies slick and tangled. She cradles my face between her hands, and I look into her eyes.
“What are we doing?” she asks softly.
“Falling,” I whisper. “Hard.”
She smiles, slow, but it reaches her eyes. “Feels like it.”
I ease down beside her, pulling her into my chest. Her leg slides over mine, and she settles against me like she belongs there.
“I didn’t know it could feel like this,” she murmurs.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m home.”
I close my eyes, those words hitting me square in the chest. I press a kiss into her hair and hold her tighter.
Me too, I think.
But for now, I let her breathe against me, knowing the words will come.
And when they do, I won’t be afraid to say them.
She’s asleep now, curled into me, breath warm against my chest. I watch the slow rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her fingers twitch softly, still resting over my heart like they know the truth I haven’t said aloud.
The truth is, I love her.
Not in some slow-building, maybe-someday kind of way. It hit me like lightning the second I felt her fall asleep in my arms. Fierce. Immediate. Irrevocable.
It should scare me—and it does—but not enough to deny it.
I ease away carefully, slipping from the bed without waking her. The floor is cool beneath my feet as I move to the little desk by the door.
The sky outside the window is starting to lighten into that pale, watery blue that comes before sunrise. It spills a soft glow across the hardwood floors as I move quietly around the room, gathering my clothes. Every step feels heavy; my feet don't really want to leave.
I find a notepad on the little desk near the door; it’s thick and creamy, and I see she always scribbles her art ideas on it. I tear off a page, grab a pen, and force myself to keep it simple.
Had to run to the firehouse. Lots to prep for the next fundraiser.
I’ll call you later. - Noah
I place the note beside her glasses. But what I really want to write is: You’re everything.
Maybe one day I will.
For now, I press a kiss to her forehead, drink in the scent of vanilla and sleep, and slip out the door before the weight of how much I love her keeps me from ever leaving again.