Chapter 22
Chiara
I can’t get enough of this man.
The way he treats me.
The way he talks to me.
The way he looks at me like I’m the most fascinating thing in any room we walk into.
It’s addictive.
And when he playfully suggests I give him some hands on treatment in the shower after that match?
Oh.
Yeah.
I am very here for that.
I strip out of my clothes quickly, tossing them onto the counter before stepping beneath the warm spray of water.
The heat is instant, washing away the sweat and tension from the game.
For a moment I just stand there letting it run over my shoulders.
Then I glance over my shoulder at him.
“Well?” I ask, lifting a brow. “Are you coming?”
His gaze drags slowly down my body, and something dark and amused flickers in those brilliant blue eyes.
“Not yet,” he says roughly. “But I hope to be.”
I snort.
“You really are subtle, but I guess that’s par for the course for a hooker.”
“Smartass,” he laughs and starts pulling off his clothes.
Except he’s moving a little too fast, and when he steps into the shower—he’s still wearing his socks.
I blink. And snort—because that’s the new sexy. Don’t be jealous.
“Um, Noah?”
I point down.
Noah follows my finger and groans.
“Bollocks!”
He spins around and bends over to yank them off, muttering under his breath as he struggles with the wet fabric.
And for some reason, the sight of his muscular ass bent over—his balls hanging between his legs—is incredibly distracting.
He stands, and my gaze shifts to those broad shoulders and sculpted muscles, flexing as he moves to toss the soaked socks into the sink.
Even the dark ink of his tattoos swirling across tan skin is something to behold.
Meanwhile, I know exactly what I look like next to him.
Pale.
Soft.
Curvy in ways the fashion world never quite approves of.
But when Noah straightens and turns back toward me, the look in his eyes erases every insecure thought before it can even form.
I’ve been scared. Hell, the truth is I’ve been punishing us.
Punishing me—and all because of some ex-butthead who never deserved me.
But I don’t want to be the girl who gives up on love because of one wrong man.
It’s time for me to woman up. To put on my big girl panties and grab life by the hand—or by something else that appears equally ready and willing.
God, he’s so hot. Beyond a doubt the hottest man I’ve ever seen.
“You’re the hot one, Love. So fucking sexy,” he growls.
Noah steps forward and pulls me against him like he can’t help himself.
My back presses against the warm tile wall as he cages me there, one hand cradling the back of my head while he kisses me like he’s been waiting hours to do it.
The kiss is deep and hungry and somehow still gentle at the same time.
Like he’s savoring me.
Like I’m something precious.
And suddenly the differences between us—the size, the strength, the softness—don’t feel strange at all.
They feel perfect.
Like we fit.
His mouth brushes my ear as he murmurs softly against my skin.
“That’s because you’re mine, Chiara.”
My breath catches.
“You were always meant to be mine.”
Then he kisses me again.
And this time when I melt into him, the sound that escapes me is half laugh, half moan.
We make a mess out of washing each other with soap and shampoo, making sure to rinse off all the grit and grime of the game.
Noah seems to enjoy every moment, especially when I drop to my knees and pay extra special attention to a very special part of him.
“Jesus, woman, enough,” he growls and pulls out of my mouth before I’m finished.
“Hey!”
“Hey nothing, I’ll be coming inside this sweet pussy, Chiara. Hear me? I want it. I need it,” he growls and proceeds to lift me up and carry me out of the shower with one hand between my legs and his other arm wrapped around my waist.
By now, I’m soaked in more places than one.
And all because my strong as fuck boyfriend just carried my plus size ass across the hotel room.
“Glad you like my strength, Love. And I’m really fucking glad you see me as your boyfriend,” he begins, and heat pools in my belly, soaking my sex and dripping down my thighs, “But the only adjective I’ll hear about your size is perfect.
Now, roll onto your belly and lift that perfect size ass so I can see what’s mine,” he commands.
And I practically fall off the bed in my haste to listen.
“I’m okay!” I say as I right myself.
I feel him moving in behind me.
I hear the sound of the condom wrapper opening, and of him sliding the rubber onto his long, hard cock.
But instead of sliding it where I need him most, I feel his breath against my cheek right before his tongue slides across my slit, to my asshole, then back to my clit.
“Oh, God!”
A hand comes down on my cheek.
“Noah, Love. You say Noah when I fuck you.”
Then he does it again. He licks me, burying his face between my cheeks and lips proceeds to eat me out in a way I’ve never experienced—and it’s fucking divine.
“Noah! Oh God! I-I’m coming.”
His fingers dig into my hips as he raises his head and fits his cock to my slick entrance.
“Christ, Love, you’re so fucking good,” he growls and pushes inside.
I know I’m already wet. But with every thrust and withdrawal more liquid gushes from my pussy.
“Chiara! Fuck, Love, you feel so damn good.”
He cages me in, kissing my shoulders, my neck, and I moan, loving it—loving him.
Then I feel it. My whole body starts to tighten.
“Oh G—Noah! I’m gonna come again,” I gasp and whimper because this is so not my norm.
Multiple orgasms? That’s just something I thought men made up to keep women guessing.
Truly, I suspected it was just a myth.
Well, until Noah Walker came crashing into my life.
But here I am, coming a second time, and he’s not done yet.
He flips me over, and raises my legs to his shoulders, ramming that thick cock back inside of me.
He holds it there. Not moving.
Then he leans forward, takes one of my hands and drags it down my body.
My eyes go wide.
“I want you to rub this clit for me, Love. Rub it good and come again.”
‘I-I can’t,” I whine because by now I’m shaking—he’s brought me to a level of pleasure I’ve never even visited before.
“You can. I want you to make yourself come with my dick inside of you. Go on, Chiara. Rub it. Now.”
He leans back.
And all I see in his eyes is heat. Lust. Desire. And something else.
Something more.
I see passion. Emotion.
Love?
God, I want that. I want him. And I want this. Right now.
I start to rub my clit, and Noah starts pumping his hips.
Everything between us tightens.
His grip on my hips.
The air between us crackling with something hot and unstoppable.
A few breathless movements.
A few desperate sounds neither of us even tries to hide.
And suddenly we’re both tipping over the edge.
My whole body tightens as the pleasure hits—stronger than I expect, almost startling in its intensity.
For a split second, panic flashes through me.
Because my body reacts in a way it never has before.
Liquid rushes from my body—I squirt.
And I freeze. Heat floods my face.
“Oh my God—” I gasp.
My first instinct is embarrassment.
Mortification.
But Noah?
Noah looks like he just discovered the meaning of life.
His head tips back, eyes dark with awe and satisfaction as the last tremors of his own release roll through him.
Then he hums softly—low and rough—and grabs my wrist before I can pull away.
Tingles run down my arm as he lifts my hand.
Before I can protest, he presses my fingers—still wet with my slick—to his mouth.
His tongue drags slowly across them, his eyes locked on mine the whole time.
The gesture is shameless.
Unapologetic.
And somehow deeply reverent all at once.
The look on his face makes my breath catch again.
Like this moment—messy and real and completely unfiltered—is the most incredible thing he’s ever experienced.
And instead of embarrassment?
Something warm and fierce blooms inside my chest.
Because the way Noah looks at me right now?
It’s like I’m not something to hide.
I’m something to celebrate.
For the first time in my life, I really feel like it, too.
And it’s all because of him.
The team hooker.
The only man I have ever been in love with.
Noah.