19. What’s Your Favorite Color?
Chapter 19
What’s Your Favorite Color?
I think I have an addiction. An actual, gives-me-the-fidgets addiction.
And the name of that addiction is Noah Rogers.
I’m tapping my fingers on my arm as I wait outside the shop for him to pick me up, my body itching for the electric buzz. It’s that moment after being shocked, the loss of sensation after being overwhelmed.
I really should try to figure out what the hell that’s about. That and the eye drawing. There’s something going on, and I’ve been too focused on Noah to figure out what that is.
Grandma knows about him now. Maybe it’s finally time to ask her.
I gnaw at my bottom lip, a cool fall breeze raising goosebumps on my skin despite my thick sweater. If I could live somewhere where it’s perpetually fall, I would be a happy lady.
Give me all the pumpkin spice. In my face. All the time.
Speak of the sunshine devil himself, Noah’s car pulls up right in front of me in a repeat of last night. Before he can get out I bounce over and jump in the passenger’s side.
No words are spoken as I soak up the fact that he’s here , and I wrap my arms around his neck. It’s an awkward angle since he hasn’t had time to take off his seatbelt, but we make it work.
His lips are just as soft and full as I remember as they softly caress mine. The fidgeting is gone, replaced by the soft comfort of being in Noah’s presence.
“Hey,” I whisper, breaking the kiss but keeping the contact. It may be difficult for him to drive with me wrapped around him like a jellyfish, but I may just have to let him figure it out.
“Hey.” He chuckles, pressing one last quick peck to my mouth. “How are you?”
Mmm, how I love that electric buzz. “Really good now. How about you? Did you get any writing done?”
“If you mean scrolling social media, doing a bunch of research, cleaning my apartment, and doing literally anything other than writing—then yes. I got a lot of writing done.”
A giggle escapes my mouth. It’s a high-pitched noise that makes my cheeks flush in embarrassment. I don’t giggle. Laura giggles, I guffaw like a chicken.
“Where are we going?” I ask, momentarily distracted by how he drives. One hand is confidently draped over the steering wheel and his forearm is on the armrest in the middle. He’s fascinating.
And hot. Did I mention hot?
“I owe you that picnic. Plus it allows us time to really get to know each other without the distractions of a restaurant.”
I don’t know if anyone has ever put this much effort into getting to know me. When I’m with Laura, we talk about Laura. When I’m with Grandma, we talk about magic. When I was around Mom, we didn’t talk at all. I don’t think any of them could tell you my favorite color.
My chest aches a little at the knowledge that he wants to know me.
We pull up to a secluded section of the Metroparks just as the sun is setting. The reds, yellows, and oranges of the sky blend with the matching colors on the trees.
A babbling brook can be heard to my right, just out of sight. I instinctively turn toward it. Maybe I’m having a witchy nature moment, but I’d like to sit by it. If I start chanting and dancing around in a circle, I hope Noah doesn’t film it before he runs away.
He takes my hand and thankfully leads me straight to the little river, spreading a red plaid blanket on the grass.
“Did Nonna Ricci help you again?” I ask, sitting on the blanket. It’s surprisingly plushy.
Noah sports a guilty smile as he pulls takeout boxes out of the picnic basket. “I told you I can’t cook!”
I laugh as he hands me a white plastic fork. “I just don’t want her to think I’m dating you to get to her food. It’s a perk, but not the sole reason.”
“Not the sole reason?” A cocky smirk ticks up the side of his mouth. “What are the other reasons?”
I could mess with him. Use the opportunity to razz him. But there’s something in his eyes, a quick moment of doubt that tells me I shouldn’t. Tells me that he needs reassurance and is hiding it behind a smile.
“You’re kind, funny, handsome, and...you make me feel seen. You make me feel like me.”
Oof. Way to lay it on thick there, Hazel. My cheeks burn at my admission, eyes downcast toward the food. Maybe if I don’t make eye contact with him, he won’t address how I’ve laid myself bare before him.
He clears his throat, the sound jarring in the silence that has fallen. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve...Hazel, look at me?”
His hand gently covers mine so I’m unable to fidget with a stray thread. Rude.
With a deep breath, I finally meet his gaze to find those brown-black eyes kindly regarding me.
“You make me feel like me, too.”
Oh. My heart pitter-patters at his words.
“I want to know more about you,” I say, spearing a piece of steamed broccoli from one of the takeout containers. “I like learning more about you.”
Please take the spotlight off me, thank you.
He sighs, spearing his own piece of—what is that? Chicken parmesan? Thank the Lord above for Nonna Ricci. “What would you like to know?”
Do I detect some reluctance? Here I was thinking I was the only one with skeletons in my closet.
“Whatever you want to share. I don’t mean to be all up in your business, I just want to know more.”
“No, no, I know.” He sighs again, chewing his food slowly. “I just hate pity, and my life tends to get me pity.”
I cock my head in confusion without thought. I would’ve never imagined the word pity would be associated with him. “But you’re always so happy, so sunny.”
“I’ve learned some tough life lessons, and one of them is that life is short. Enjoying every moment is important to me.”
“That’s an incredibly healthy way to deal with trauma. I just drown myself in anger and regret.” I nervously giggle. It’s true, though.
He chuckles—a low rumble that vibrates through my body. “That happens, too.”
“That’s a good start. Tell me something else.” I nudge his knee with mine. “Even if it’s just your favorite color.”
“My favorite color is blue.”
“How utterly basic of you.”
“My brother killed himself five years ago.” His hand ruffles his hair, shaking slightly before he drops his eyes to the food in front of us.
That stops me cold. My fork hovers mid-air, noodles of some sort dangling precariously. I’m grinding my teeth in an attempt at holding my mouth shut for fear of gaping at him like a fish.
Get it together, Hazel. You can’t act like a dumbass.
I bring the food to my mouth, chew, swallow. Take the few moments to calm the fuck down.
“I’m sorry. Losing him must have been awful.” Normal response achieved.
I hated pity when my Dad died. Granted, I only had a handful of friends from middle school at the time, and they got bored of my grieving process very quickly. But still, the pity was the worst. The false understanding. The look on their faces.
Like I was a broken thing with no hope of ever becoming a whole human again.
Although, in their defense, I never did.
He smiles. It’s a sad thing that looks so foreign on his face. “There’s...there’s a lot of feelings I have about losing him the way I did. The way he did things. How I could’ve changed things. But, that’s a very long conversation.”
“I don’t want to be that person who says they get it. Because that person sucks and sometimes you just want to be allowed to feel like shit. And I’ve never lost someone that way. But my dad died when I was twelve, so I get losing family.”
Instead of responding, he holds his arms open to me. Maybe he knows that saying sorry only goes so far, maybe he has no words at all. But this is better.
I snuggle into his chest, receiving his warmth—his electric current—like a balm on a topic I’ve never been able to discuss.
Maybe being in a relationship isn’t about finding someone who completes you. Maybe it’s about finding someone who’s broken in the same ways you are. Finding someone who knows what you need because they know how you feel. How you’ve felt in your darkest moments because they’re their darkest moments, too.
“I love fall,” I whisper into Noah’s flannel shirt. “It’s my favorite season.”
“I love summer. I like the heat.”
“That’s because you’re hot.”
He snickers into my hair, pressing a kiss to the very top of my head. “And you’re perfect.”
“Not perfect,” I insist. “I’m pretty weird, honestly.”
“Exactly. I don’t like you in spite of you being weird, I like you because you’re weird. It’s my favorite thing about you.” He pauses. “That, and how you never make me feel like I need to be anyone but myself.”
“Because I want you, Noah. I don’t want anyone else.”
Once the food is gone—eaten mostly by me, because Nonna Ricci is a goddess—Noah leans back, pulling me with him as we watch the sun dip below the trees. We lie like that, quiet and calm, as the stars twinkle awake on their midnight-blue pillow.
I am safe.
The electric current has other ideas, however. Noah’s fingers travel a path up and down my spine and with each sweep, the electricity crackles against my skin. Being this close to him, with his scent in my nose and his warmth underneath my cheek, I can’t help but want more.
More closeness, more heat, more Noah .
I pull myself up so I’m hovering above him. His eyebrows draw together slightly, confused by my sudden movement. His shaggy curls are off his face, highlighting his eyes. He must have shaved a few days ago, as there’s a light stubble on his cheeks. I take a moment to appreciate him in this moment. Appreciate how vulnerable we both were, and how safe we both are.
He opens his mouth to speak and I descend. Instead of surprise, Noah adapts immediately, wrapping his fingers in my hair. Pulling me closer until I can barely breathe.
I don’t need air, I just need Noah.
“Maybe—” I gasp as Noah pulls my earlobe between his teeth. “Maybe we should continue this elsewhere.”
Blown-out pupils search my face with a lazy smile. “I’d follow you anywhere.”
The door smacks against the wall with a thwack as Noah and I stumble into my apartment, glued to each other. As soon as it’s closed again, my back is against it as Noah tears at my clothes.
Too much fabric. There are too many barriers between us. I want skin.
I need skin.
My fingers steal under his t-shirt, bunching the fabric underneath his arms until it won’t go any higher without his assistance.
He breaks away to rip the shirt off and pull mine off with his, just to return moments later.
A moment of insecurity at being exposed like this threatens to overwhelm me, but he grounds me. “You’re beautiful. So beautiful, Hazel.”
Then he nuzzles his nose against mine and takes my lips again.
I suck on his bottom lip, pulling the kiss-swollen flesh into my mouth as my hands roam over new territory. His chest is dusted with dark brown hair that tapers as it travels down his chest to his toned abdomen, to disappear into his jeans.
Obviously they have to go, too, if I’m going to follow that trail.
I should feel inexperienced. I shouldn’t know what to do. But Noah guides me in an effortless way, allows me to explore and find what feels good.
His hands haven’t been idle. He’s grasping at whatever part of my body he can reach. One moment he’s tangling his fingers in my hair, the next he’s bruising my hips with his grip.
I want to press against those sore spots tomorrow, loving the reminder of his desperation. How much he wants me. I want to leave my own marks.
“You’re delicious,” he murmurs against my lips. “Up.”
He grasps the back of my thighs as I jump into his arms.
A fresh wave of heat floods my body at the action. That was hot. He drags me deeper into the apartment and deposits me on the kitchen island. The height makes it so much easier to get my hands all over him.
My legs wrap tightly around his waist, pulling him closer. Chest to chest, I heave for every breath. The air is thick and my head is fuzzy.
Big hands drag up my back until they reach my bra. With a deftness I’m bowled over by, he flicks my bra open and drags it down my shoulders.
The entire world is still in this moment—the moment Noah sees me for the first time. The moment anyone sees me for the first time. I attempt to lift my arms to cover myself, but he shakes his head. Puts my arms back around him.
With the same awe and reverence he always has for me, he runs the tip of his finger along my collarbone and down the middle of my chest.
“Hazel, you are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen.” He says it so obviously, as if there was never another option. As if there never will be another option.
And I believe him.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I reply. I have to force some levity into the situation, force away the stinging in my eyes from his sincerity.
If I don’t, I’ll fall in love.
He cups my breast suddenly, squeezing just right. My head falls back as his dips forward to take my nipple in his mouth. I gasp as his teeth graze the very tip.
I’m a liquid puddle of need.
“ Noah ,” I beg.
Two black eyes meet mine. The sight of him with his lips wrapped around me stops whatever train of thought I had.
A smirk is his only response. Cheeky son of a bitch.
His fingers pluck at the button of my jeans, but he stops before unzipping. Why has he stopped?
I lift my hips to encourage him, practically ripping my jeans off for him. He pulls them off my legs and kisses my ankle, slowly traveling up my skin.
Each kiss is an electric shock to my core. I’m shuddering by the time he reaches the top of my thigh.
“You’re sure? You want this?” he asks, lifting his head a fraction of an inch.
He asks me this now ? When I have no words left to let him know just how much I want this? The audacity of this man!
I nod ferociously instead, lifting my hips again in what I hope is an obvious desire for more . Whatever more is. I may never have personally experienced more, but I know I want it.
Seemingly appeased by my body’s response, he pulls off my underwear and buries his head between my thighs.
The squeal I emit makes me happy there’s a brick wall between me and the neighbors.
My body falls back on the kitchen island, the marble cool against my overheated, sweaty skin.
Noah throws my thighs over his shoulders as he eats me within an inch of my life. His tongue dips inside and my back arches at the breach. My hands bury themselves in his bushy curls. The answering groan vibrates through my entire body, making me clench around his tongue.
“ Noah .”
“Fuck, I love how you say my name,” he says, nipping my inner thigh.
“Love how you taste.” He bites my inner thigh. “Love how you move.”
I’m only able to whine in response to his praise, pulling his head from my legs and back to my cunt. I’m so close. So, so close. I just need a little bit more and I’ll be right there.
He chuckles but obeys my request, lapping at my clit. His fingers have a bruising hold around my thigh and I want more. More marks. More proof of his passion on my skin.
“That’s it, baby. Take what you need. Take it.”
Holy hell .
One finger enters me, and my body explodes like a firework. The orgasm is sudden and overpowering. My back arches almost painfully as my shoulders lift off the island. It’s as if I’ve been electrocuted. The current has made my nerves almost raw. My whole body is floating as magic and sex and electricity course through me.
I am powerful.
I’ve had little moments of exploration on my own before, but it never felt like this.
It’s only as I come back down I realize that I really was floating. Levitating. Channeling magic in the most intense way I ever have, and I hope to God he didn’t notice.
He rises, hungry gaze roaming my naked body, and adjusts himself in his pants. The obvious sign of his continued arousal is threatening to tear his jeans in two.
I’d rather it tear me in two.
“Help me up?” I ask, comforted by the fact that he isn’t asking about the floating.
He takes my hands and pulls me to sit up, a smug smile breaking over his face.
“Bed?” I ask, wrapping my legs around him once more.
He’s proven he can carry me and there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to walk anywhere. Not with the mind-blowing orgasm having turned my brain into goo, and the stubble burn already aching between my legs.
“Anything you want. I’m yours, Hazel.” He lifts me gently. A moment of connection in the middle of the passion. It’s so uniquely us.
“I’m yours, too, Noah.” Because I am.
He kisses me once more, allowing me to taste my release on his tongue. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, and yet I’m practically rubbing myself against him like a cat by the time we make it to the bedroom.
I’ve completely surrendered to this dynamic. The inherent knowledge that he’s going to take care of me. He can do with me as he pleases because I trust him to make me feel good. To protect me.
I bounce twice on the bed before he crawls up my body, reconnecting our lips. My nails dig into his shoulder blades, leaving little crescent moons on his skin.
It satisfies a primal urge inside me. I want to know he’s marked. To know if anyone were to see his back, they’d see that he’s taken. That he’s mine.
Apparently I have a possessive streak—who knew?
The button on his jeans presses painfully into my bare skin, which is raw from his stubble. I hiss into his mouth at the unwanted friction.
“Shit, yeah, let me take care of this.” In a moment he’s standing at the foot of the bed and he’s pulling his shoes and socks off.
An improvement to be sure, but not what I wanted. My bottom lip sticks out at his reduced speed.
“Something you want?” he asks with a quirked, bushy brow.
Okay, Hazel, you need to turn the tables because this man has way too much damn confidence right now.
I stretch on the bed, wiggling my naked hips a little more than necessary. He catalogs the movement, licking his lips.
“I don’t know, Noah. Is there something you want?”
Nailed it.
His eyes hold mine as he pulls off his jeans and boxer-briefs in one go.
Every part of Noah is long.
Every. Part.
I make grabby hands until he comes back, enveloping me in his warmth, his scent, his comforting buzz. Every point of contact sends a little electric shock, until I’m practically vibrating with the desire to cement our connection.
To get my brains fucked out.
“You’ll tell me if you don’t like something?” The words leave his mouth in heavy gasps. He’s at the edge of his patience, and frankly so am I.
I nod, sinking my nails into his ass. “Now, please.”
Should I have told him that I’m a virgin before this moment? Probably. Am I going to tell him? Later. Possibly.
“Wait. Shit. Condom?”
“Birth control.”
He lines up and, with a deep breath, pushes in. I whimper at the pinch, biting his lower lip.
My mind expands.
I can feel what he feels. My walls clamped around him, my skin against his, the sting of my fingernails digging into his sides. It’s as if it’s happening to me—at the same time I’m feeling everything that’s actually happening to me.
It’s overwhelming. It’s intense.
It’s hot .
My entire body is like an exposed nerve and I need him to move. I want him to move. Move .
The first drag of him as he pulls out punches the air from my lungs. I’m only able to wheeze when he buries himself to the hilt. His pace is slow, controlled, and it only serves to jack the electric current up to an all-encompassing buzz.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he says, grasping one of my hands above my head. He buries his face in my neck, biting and sucking the skin there.
I refrain from telling him I know, because I know . I know exactly how I feel and I know how he feels and I just... shit.
“Harder!” I manage to exclaim. I don’t know who wants it—if he wants it, I want it, or both of us do.
The scent of sex fills my nose, the taste of it fills my mouth.
The build-up can only go for so long, the waves can only crash for so long before they break. And I’m going to break in two.
“Suck,” he says, pressing his thumb to my lips. I hollow my cheeks around the digit before he quickly withdraws it.
His spit-soaked thumb finds where we’re joined and rubs in gentle circles just as he hitches my leg over his elbow. The new angle causes him to hit a spot that Laura told me definitely exists , and my consciousness shatters.
Waves of electricity and satisfaction roll over my skin in a delicious mix as my back bows as much as Noah’s grip allows. I feel him, too.
I feel how my orgasms trigger his, which triggers more of mine. How I milk him dry.
I lose consciousness.
My eyes flutter and everything has changed. I’m on my side and Noah faces me, running his fingers over my cheeks.
“Hey, there you are,” he says, a relieved exhale escapes his kiss-bruised lips. “Kinda lost you there for a second.”
A dopey smile breaks my face. I may be a little cock-drunk. “How long was I out?”
“Maybe a minute. Long enough for me to worry, but not long enough for me to call an ambulance.”
I nuzzle into the perfect chest before me, an arm instantly wrapping around my back. “You’re just that good, I guess.”
“ Me? How about you?”
“Beginner’s luck.” I smirk, snuggling further.
He pulls back with a confused head tilt. “Beginner’s what now?”
Right. I didn’t tell him about that. Well, no going back now.
“You were my first.” I can’t help but cringe, looking up at him from under my lashes.
“Shit, Hazel!” His hands are soft, caressing me, looking me over. “Did I hurt you? If I knew...I could’ve been softer, slower. I should have prepped you.”
I hush him with a finger on his lips. “It was perfect.”
“But—”
“It was perfect. Now hold me and tell me you enjoyed it, so I don’t get a complex.”
He chuckles, bringing me back into his chest. Into his safety.