Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Caroline
That night, I barely had time to change before Noah texted: “Dinner at my place?”
I took a stupid amount of time picking out what to wear, then settled on a sundress and a denim jacket, which made me feel more like myself than anything had in years.
He greeted me at the elevator, barefoot and in a button-down that looked slept in, and pulled me into the kitchen without a second thought.
We made pizza—real dough, hand-stretched, sauce from scratch. He showed me how to throw the crust, and when mine tore, he just laughed and patched it together with a kiss to my cheek.
We drank wine while the pizza baked, arguing over toppings and who was a bigger nerd for alphabetizing their books.
After dinner, we danced in the kitchen, slow and easy, swaying to a playlist of old jazz and Motown.
For a while, it felt like nothing else in the world existed.
He spun me once, twice, then stopped, holding me close.
He kissed me, sweet at first, then deeper, more desperate. I felt every ounce of loneliness in my bones start to dissolve.
We moved to the couch, then to the bedroom, neither of us wanting to wait.
He kissed me everywhere, took his time, made me feel like I was the only thing he wanted in the world.
When his hands slid up my thighs, I shivered—not from nerves, but from wanting him so badly it hurt.
He undressed me slowly, never breaking eye contact. His touch was gentle, but his lips teased my skin in slow delicate moves.
Holy freaking heck—
He explored every inch of me, pausing whenever I gasped or moaned. He listened to my body in a way nobody ever had.
When he slid inside me, he held me tight, like he was afraid I’d disappear. I wrapped my arms around him, needing to feel him everywhere.
He lifted the dress with purpose, dragging the rough hem over my ribs, up to the bare under curve of my breast. I did not wear a bra for him, a conscious choice that I hoped was subtle, but when the air met my nipple it was impossible not to gasp.
He watched my reaction, lips parted, breath warm as he waited.
“I want only you, you want it,” he said, but it was not a question.
“Yes,” I said, desperate for more.
He circled his thumb, first around, then over, the tight bud of my nipple. He pinched, gently. The sensation was a lightning strike, so sudden it left a phantom throb in its wake. I squirmed, wanting both to escape and to have more, and the way he held my neck made it clear I could do neither.
I reached for him, running my hands under his shirt, palming the hard stretch of his chest, the crisp trail of hair down his belly.
He flinched when I grazed his sides—a ticklish weakness I adored—and for a moment his hand tensed at my throat.
“Don’t,” he said, half-growling. I did it again, just to feel him react.
He rewarded me with teeth, this time at my jawline, biting a mark into the skin beneath my ear. His mouth was hot. He knew how much I liked it when he left evidence.
I shifted, wrapping my legs around his waist, and pulled him down onto me.
He slotted his hips between mine, pinning me to the mattress.
Through our clothes, the thickness of his erection pressed against my wet underwear.
We both froze, a standoff, the only movement his pulse beneath my fingertips and mine beneath his.
“Take it off,” I said, pushing at his shirt, then at his jeans. He did not hurry. He liked the tease, the build, the sense that every inch of him I uncovered was being earned.
He knew I liked to look at his thickness, and so he waited, arms braced on either side of my head, letting me see the way it curved up from his body, heavy with want. I ran my hand down the length, feeling the heat, the soft skin stretched over its impossible girth.
He watched me, eyes dark, then slid my panties off with one hand, shoving them to my knees before yanking them the rest of the way. My wetness left a trail over my thigh, but I didn’t care; I wanted him to see.
He pressed the head of his cock against my entrance, moving just enough to coat himself with the slick at my opening. “Slow?” he said.
“No.” I’d waited long enough.
He pushed in, thickness spreading me in a way that felt impossible every time, no matter how often we did this. I clawed his back, needing to anchor myself to something solid, as the pressure became pleasure, became hunger, became the certainty that I could not, would not, let him stop.
He moved, not fast but deep, every thrust deliberate, grinding his pelvis into my clit at the end of each stroke.
The sensation was overwhelming, so I shut my eyes, letting my other senses ramp up, letting the slap of skin and the wet sounds and the thick smell of sweat and want drown out everything else.
He said my name—low, guttural, like it hurt him to say it. He said it again, and again, each time like a summons. I could feel his chest trembling above mine, the strain of self-control, the effort it took to keep from fucking me into the mattress until I broke.
When I opened my eyes, his were locked on my face. “Come for me,” he said, and I did.
It was intense. I sobbed, loud and helpless, the contractions ripping through me in rolling, relentless waves. I didn’t care if the neighbors heard. I didn’t care if I was ugly, red-faced, or wild. I wanted him to see me unravel.
He followed, losing the rhythm, grinding out his own pleasure in a series of rough, desperate thrusts. When he came, he made a sound I’d never heard before—almost a whimper, almost a prayer.
We moved together, no rush, just the steady build of heat and need. He whispered my name, over and over, until I finally let go.
He collapsed onto me, his weight delicious, grounding. For a moment we just breathed, heartbeats hammering in sync.
He nuzzled my throat, kissed the sweat from my collarbone. “I love you,” he said, so quietly I could have pretended I hadn’t heard. But I did, and for a long, suspended moment, the words hung between us—terrifying, beautiful, as thick and present as the cock that had been inside me seconds before.
I reached up, brushing hair from his eyes. “I know,” I said, and for once, I let myself believe in love.
When it was over, he didn’t pull away. He kissed my forehead, brushed my hair back, and just…held me.
Panting from our release, we lay tangled in the sheets, the city lights glowing through the window.
He traced circles on my shoulder, voice quiet. “You’re amazing.”
I didn’t know what to say.
He kissed me again, softer this time. “You know that, right?”
I shook my head, overwhelmed.
He cupped my face in both hands, making me look at him. “Nobody gets to decide what you’re worth. Not Richard, not your past. Only you.”
The words shattered something in me. I tried not to cry, but I couldn’t help it.
He held me tighter, rocking me like I was breakable.
I wanted to stay like that forever.
Eventually, we drifted off, his breath warm on the back of my neck, my hand tucked over his heart.
I slept so soundly that, for a moment, I forgot I’d ever been lonely.
And when morning came, and he pressed a kiss to my shoulder, I believed every word he’d said.
Maybe, just maybe, I was enough.