Chapter 14 — Green （Beck）
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I ducked under Nora's doorway with the paper bag of cinnamon tea wrinkling in my fist, and she caught my wristband and pulled me inside before I'd even cleared the frame.
I had counted every stair to Nora's apartment and pictured her door the whole way. None of it helped when she grinned like I was the best thing she'd seen all day.
Rain clung to our jackets and the hall had smelled like wet concrete, and then her door clicked locked behind us and the whole world went small and warm, with nothing left but her fridge humming low from the kitchen.
“You're soaked,” she said, laughing, and there it was, that laugh-snort she hates, and my chest went tight in the best way. “Give me that jacket before you drip all over my rug.”
I shrugged out of my jacket and she took it, and she hung it where I could still see the door past her shoulder, leaving me the sightline like she'd already mapped where I'd breathe easiest.
“Priya texted,” she said, tossing my jacket over the chair. “She's staying out. It's just us tonight.”
My two fingers found my left wrist and tapped once against the paracord and the green thread knotted there, and then her hand covered mine and the tapping settled like she'd switched it off with one touch.
“Hey,” she said softly, stepping in close. “I'm right here. We've got all night.”
I held up the bag, and it crackled loud in the quiet room. “I brought tea. Cinnamon. The little shop was still open.”
Something flickered across her face, quick and warm. “You remembered what I like.”
“I remember everything about you,” I said, and it came out rougher than I meant, and she laced our fingers together and squeezed.
We ended up at the kitchen counter with two mugs steaming, and her cold hands tucked under my palms, and I rubbed slow circles into her knuckles until the chill melted out of them.
Cinnamon rose off the tea, and her clean sheets smelled sweet from the bedroom doorway, and rain still hung on our sleeves, and one lamp burned low through the crooked blinds, striping everything gold.
Past the bedroom door, my black grid notebook lay face-down on her dresser. We both knew it was there, and neither of us touched it. Tonight wasn't about the offense or the people hunting it.
Our phones sat face-down by the microwave, and when one of them buzzed once, muted and dull, we both ignored it like we'd rehearsed it.
“That's probably Priya making sure we locked up,” she said, not even glancing over. “She worries. I told her we've got it handled.”
“We locked up,” I said, nodding toward the hallway where the deadbolt sat thrown. “Door's locked. Phones are down. Nobody gets in but us tonight.”
She studied my face for a long second, soft around the eyes. “You said that like a promise.”
“It is one,” I told her. “You leave me the sightline, I keep the door locked. That's our deal. Always.”
Her smile went crooked and fond. “When did you get so good at this? At saying exactly the right thing?”
“Around the time you started listening like every word matters,” I said, and her cheeks went pink, and she hid it by reaching for her mug.
“Smooth,” she accused, laughing into her tea. “Really smooth for a guy holding grocery-store tea like contraband.”
“Hey,” I protested, grinning despite myself. “I picked the good kind. The lady at the counter said this one's the best. Cinnamon, extra strong.”
“Quiet hours start at ten,” she whispered, setting her mug down. “I don't care about a single rule tonight except honesty.”
I looked at her hands inside mine. “Color?”
“Green.” She rose onto her toes and caught my shirt in both fists. “If that changes, I'll tell you. Until then, stop making me repeat myself and kiss me.”
The directness hit me low and hard. “Yes, ma'am.”
Her laugh-snort broke against my mouth when I kissed her, and I swallowed the sound like it belonged there. She tasted like cinnamon tea and the last thing I had been waiting for.
We made it to the couch because it was closer than the bed. Her knees bracketed my hips, her cold hands pushed under my shirt, and I covered them with mine against my chest.
“Warm them here,” I said. “Use all of me.”
“Bossy furnace,” she breathed, but her fingers spread over my ribs and stayed. My heart knocked against her palm hard enough to give me away.
“You're shaking,” she said.
“Because it's you.”
The teasing left her face. She kissed me again, slower, and every picture in my head emptied until there was only her weight, her breath, and the small sound she made when I pulled her closer.
I worked her sweater over her head. Her hair caught in the collar, and she laughed into the fabric while I freed it carefully.
“Elegant,” she said when her head came through.
“Perfect,” I corrected.
Her bra was deep green. The sight of it stopped me.
“What?” she asked, suddenly shy.
“You wore my word.”
Color climbed her throat. “Maybe I planned ahead.”
I traced one finger along the strap, then looked at her until she stopped trying to fold inward. “Don't hide from me. I want every part you think is too much.”
Her mouth trembled. “Then take your time.”
I did. I kissed the freckles across her shoulder, the soft place beneath her ear, the pulse that jumped when my mouth found it. I unhooked her bra and let it fall, then held her breasts in both hands like I had been trusted with something holy.
“Beck.”
“I know.” My voice came rough. “You're beautiful. Let me look.”
I rolled one nipple beneath my thumb until it tightened, then closed my mouth over it. She arched into me with a broken little cry, fingers diving into my hair.
I sucked deeper, changed sides, learned which pressure made her hips rock and which made her say my name like she was losing it.
“Nobody has ever paid attention like this,” she whispered.
I lifted my head. “Nobody else gets to learn you.”
Her eyes went bright. Then she pulled me up by the hair and kissed me hard enough to erase every careful thought I had left.
She opened my jeans with impatient fingers. I helped, and when she wrapped her hand around my cock, my forehead dropped to her shoulder.
“That good?” she asked, wonder and mischief tangled together.
“Your hand is going to end me.”
“Not yet.” She stroked me slowly, watching my face the way I watched film. “I want to see what makes you lose the pattern.”
“You do. All of you.”
She slid to her knees between mine and took me into her mouth. Heat closed around the head of my cock, then deeper, and every muscle in my body locked.
“Nora.” Her name tore out of me. I caught her ponytail in one hand, not guiding, just holding on. “Look at me.”
She did, eyes dark and wicked, and sucked me once more before easing back with a smile that nearly finished me.
“Bedroom,” I said. “Now, before I embarrass myself on your couch.”
“You could never,” she said, but she took my hand and led me down the hall.
The lamp through the crooked blinds striped the bed gold. She left me the side with the door in view without a word. The small kindness hit as hard as the sight of her naked on the sheets.
I knelt between her thighs and kissed down her stomach. Her hands tightened in the quilt when I spread her legs and saw how wet she was.
“All this from diagrams?” I asked.
“Mostly your terrible jokes.”
I laughed against her inner thigh. Then I licked her pussy from bottom to top, slow enough to feel her whole body lift toward me.
She cried out and covered her mouth. I pulled her hand away and laced our fingers on the mattress.
“That sound too,” I said. “Keep it.”
I circled her clit with my tongue, then sucked gently until her thighs shook around my shoulders. Two fingers slid inside her, curling into the place that made her gasp my name and drag her heel down my back.
“Right there. Beck, don't you dare change it.”
I didn't. I held the rhythm exactly, pressure and pace locked in, until she came hard against my mouth with our fingers knotted together and her laugh breaking into a sob.
I stayed with her through every pulse. When she finally loosened around my fingers, I kissed the inside of her knee and looked up.
She stared at me like I had drawn a new sky. “Come here. I need you closer.”
I reached for the nightstand drawer. The condom wrapper crackled too loud in the quiet, and my hands shook opening it.
She sat up, took it from me, and rolled the condom down my cock herself, never looking away. “There. Let me help with one pattern.”
I settled over her, braced on my forearms, and she wrapped her legs around my waist. Her body opened beneath the head of my cock, hot and slick and waiting.
“Mine?” I asked, the word coming out more vulnerable than possessive.
She cupped my jaw. “Yours because I choose you. Now come inside me.”
I pushed in slowly. Her pussy stretched around me, tight heat taking me inch by inch, and we both stopped when I was buried deep.
“God,” she breathed. “Stay there one second.”
I held still. Forehead to hers. Her cold hands warmed at the back of my neck while her body fluttered around my cock.
Then she rolled her hips. “Move.”
I did. Slow, deep strokes at first, learning the line of her body the way I learned a route—where she tightened, where she opened, where my name broke loose from her.
“You feel so good,” I told her. “Nothing in my head has ever been this clear.”
“Harder,” she begged. “I don't want careful now. I want you.”
I gave her more. My hips drove deeper, the bed knocking softly against the wall while she met every thrust and clawed at my shoulders.
I slid a hand between us and rubbed her clit in tight circles. Her pussy clenched around my cock so hard my vision flashed white.
“That's it,” I said against her mouth. “Come for me. Let me feel you choose me.”
“I choose you,” she gasped. “Beck, I'm—”
She came around me, shaking and loud, and I followed with her name in my throat, the condom catching my release while I held her through every aftershock.
For a long minute we stayed tangled together, foreheads touching, hearts running the same impossible pace.
I eased out carefully, tied off the condom, and came back with a warm washcloth before the cold could find her again.
“You planned the cloth?” she asked, eyes shining.
“I plan around you.”
I cleaned her gently, pulled the blankets over us, then brought the cinnamon tea to bed. She curled into my side with both hands around the mug, and I folded mine over hers to hold the heat in.
“You make me feel safe and wanted at the same time,” she said. “I didn't know those could be the same thing.”
My throat closed. “That's all I ever want to make you feel.”
She set the mug down and tugged me until my head rested over her heartbeat. “Then stay. I want to wake up and find you still here.”
“Try and make me leave.”
My black grid notebook stayed face-down on the dresser, forgotten and safe. The blinds laid gold lines across the blankets while her breathing slowed under my cheek.
When we finally stretched out, I took the chair-side of the bed, facing nothing but the wall, so she could keep the side facing the door, and she smiled like she knew exactly what I'd done.
“Same seat, always,” I told her, pulling her against my chest. “Yours. Always.”
Her breathing went steady and sure against me, and I held her tighter, and the whole season, the whole noise outside, fell away to nothing.
Her breathing slowed against my chest, and I knew I'd never feel this known again.