Chapter 22 #3
“You are not supposed to say anything.”
“I want to keep kissing you.”
“Then we can.”
“But I don’t want more.”
“We will not do more.”
His gaze searched my face for disappointment.
I let him see everything.
Want.
Tenderness.
Restraint.
No resentment.
No grievance.
Only the truth that I desired him and would not make that desire his burden.
Noah kissed me.
Relief softened the kiss.
His right hand left my neck and moved down my chest, stopping over my heart.
He pressed his palm there.
My heart pounded beneath his palm.
“You’re fast,” he whispered.
“You are kissing me.”
“Green?”
“Yes.”
His thumb moved over my shirt.
I tilted my head and kissed the corner of his mouth, then returned to his lips.
He answered immediately.
The kiss grew slower.
Deeper.
His body softened into mine without surrendering control.
I could feel the moment he stopped monitoring every breath and simply experienced it.
His fingers tightened over my heart.
My hand moved upward between his shoulder blades.
“Still green?”
“Yes.”
I kissed his lower lip.
He shivered.
“Still?”
“Yes.”
His voice had roughened.
I kept the pressure gentle. The rule said kissing and hands above the waist. It did not forbid desire, but I refused to let the intensity of my body rewrite what he had agreed to.
Noah leaned closer until his forehead nearly touched mine.
“I want your hand under the sweater.”
I held still.
“That changes a rule.”
“I know.”
“Is that what you want, or what you think should happen next?”
His gaze stayed on mine.
“I want to feel your hand on my skin.”
“Where?”
“My back.”
“Green?”
“Yes.”
I moved slowly enough that he could stop me at any point.
My fingers found the hem of his sweater and paused.
“Still?”
“Yes.”
I slid my hand beneath the wool.
His skin was warm.
The first contact made him inhale sharply.
I stopped.
“Amber?”
“No. Green.”
My palm settled against the center of his back.
Heat surged through both of us.
Noah’s eye closed.
He leaned into my hand as though the warmth there had unlocked something.
The skin beneath my palm was smoother than memory and exactly the same. The line of his spine, the strength returning around it, the faint tremor when my thumb moved once.
“Do that again,” he whispered.
I stroked my thumb slowly over his back.
His mouth found mine.
The kiss turned deeper.
Noah’s right hand caught in my shirt. He pulled me closer, and I followed only as far as his body invited. My palm remained steady beneath the sweater, supporting rather than roaming.
He kissed me with growing confidence.
Not because he remembered how.
Because he was learning what he wanted now.
His tongue met mine.
A low sound vibrated in his throat.
My body responded with a hard pulse of desire.
Noah felt it where our hips touched.
He stiffened.
I stopped moving.
“Amber?”
His breathing came fast.
“Maybe.”
“All right.”
I eased my hand from beneath the sweater but did not withdraw entirely.
“We can pause.”
“I don’t want to stop kissing.”
“We do not have to.”
“But I can feel how much you want more.”
“Yes.”
His expression tightened.
“I don’t want that to become my fault.”
“It isn’t.”
“What do you do with it?”
“Breathe.”
His mouth twitched despite the tension.
“That cannot be the full plan.”
“It has worked so far.”
“Barely.”
“Correct.”
He studied me.
“Can you want more and still be happy with this?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because wanting is not the same as lacking.”
His brow furrowed.
“I have you here. You chose this. You are touching me because you want to. That is not less because my body also wants something beyond the boundary.”
The tension eased slightly.
“You are uncomfortable.”
“Yes.”
“And still happy?”
“Yes.”
“That seems unreasonable.”
“Love rarely improves a man’s reason.”
His mouth curved.
I kissed him once.
Lightly.
He answered with a second kiss.
Then a third.
The alarm sounded while our mouths were still touching.
Noah startled and then laughed.
I reached for the phone.
“Ten minutes.”
“That was offensively brief.”
“Do you want to stop?”
He considered.
The answer took several seconds.
“Yes.”
The word did not break him.
I removed my hands and leaned back.
Noah remained close for another breath before settling into the cushions beside me.
His chest rose and fell quickly.
I gave him time.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“Good.”
“Pain?”
“No.”
“Fear?”
“A little.”
“Regret?”
He looked at me.
“No.”
Warmth filled my chest.
“Do you?”
“No.”
“You wanted more.”
“Yes.”
His mouth tightened.
I touched the back of his hand.
“Wanting more does not make stopping a failure.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“More than I did before.”
He retrieved the folded rules and uncapped the pen he had left on the side table.
Beneath the final line, he wrote:
STOPPED AT TEN. STILL GOOD.
He showed me.
“That is accurate.”
Noah leaned over and kissed my cheek.
“Next time, twelve minutes.”
“Reckless.”
“Medical progress.”
He stood carefully.
“Dishes?”
“Together.”
We washed them side by side.
Later, in bed, Noah curled against me with his palm over my heart.
The bedroom was dark except for the green light in the hallway. Rain had begun again, soft against the windows. Marlowe slept at our feet.
Noah’s breathing slowed.
Just before sleep claimed him, he said, “I liked wanting you.”
I pressed my face into his hair.
“I liked being wanted.”
His arm tightened around me.
“Green?”
I kissed his temple.
“Always.”