Chapter 23
REID
I woke to Noah breathing my name into the dark.
Not with fear.
With urgency.
“Reid.”
My eyes opened.
Dawn had only begun to gather at the edges of the curtains, turning the fabric a dim, cold blue. Marlowe slept near our feet in a warm, unmoving heap.
Noah lay flat on his back beside me.
His right fist had twisted the blanket at his hip. Color burned high in his cheeks, and his expression held the startled confusion of someone who had awakened inside a body already several steps ahead of him.
“What happened?”
“I dreamed about you.”
I understood at once.
“Was it a nightmare?”
“No.”
His gaze dropped toward his waist.
Understanding arrived.
“Are you in pain?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
“No.”
“Do you need space?”
“No.”
He answered immediately.
I pushed myself onto one elbow, careful not to crowd him.
“What do you need?”
“I don’t know.”
He squeezed his eye shut.
“My body seems very certain. My brain is standing somewhere across the room observing the situation.”
I kept still.
Noah drew a shaky breath.
“I woke up hard.”
“All right.”
“It isn’t going away.”
“You can leave it alone.”
“I tried.”
“You can take care of it yourself.”
“I know.”
The color in his face deepened.
“I don’t want to.”
The room fell silent except for Marlowe’s slow breathing and the faint complaint of rigging outside.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No.”
“Stay without touching you?”
“No.”
My pulse kicked harder.
Noah looked at me.
“I want you to help.”
Desire moved through me so quickly that it bordered on fear.
I did not reach for him.
“What kind of help?”
He swallowed.
“I don’t know how to ask without sounding absurd.”
“You won’t.”
“Your hand.”
“Where do you want it?”
His eyes flicked toward his hips.
“On me.”
I let out a slow breath.
“Over your clothes first?”
“Yes.”
“Green?”
“Green.”
The word steadied us.
I shifted closer.
Noah wore thin sleep pants. The hard shape of him pressed visibly against the fabric, and the sight brought back every memory I had been keeping under control.
I placed my palm over him.
His breath broke sharply.
I froze.
“Color?”
“Green.”
“Pain?”
“No.”
“Fear?”
“A little.”
“Do you want me to hold still?”
“No.”
I moved my hand slowly.
Not a full stroke.
Only gentle pressure along the length of him through the cloth.
Noah’s hips rose instinctively before he caught himself.
His face changed.
Pleasure.
Surprise.
A flicker of panic that eased the instant his gaze found mine.
“Again,” he whispered.
I repeated the motion.
A shudder passed through him.
I bent and kissed his forehead.
His right hand closed around my shoulder.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
Our mouths met while my hand continued moving over the fabric.
At first, Noah kissed with no rhythm at all, too distracted by sensation to decide what to do with his mouth. Then his breathing began to settle into the movement, and his lips softened beneath mine.
His body grew more urgent.
He pressed upward into my palm.
I stopped.
“Amber?” he asked.
“No. I’m checking.”
His eye opened.
“Do you want direct contact?”
His breath caught.
“I think I do.”
“Think, or know?”
He closed his eye again.
I waited.
“Yes.”
“Tell me clearly.”
“I want your hand on my skin.”
The words came rough but certain.
I moved the blanket aside.
My fingers found the waistband of his sleep pants and stopped there.
“May I?”
“Yes.”
I lowered the fabric only far enough to free him.
The sight nearly undid me.
I had known Noah in every possible state of desire before the accident. I had seen him flushed and impatient, laughing, demanding, vulnerable. I had watched pleasure take him apart in rooms, boats, hallways, and beds.
This was not a return to any of those moments.
This was Noah opening a door he had been afraid to approach and trusting me to stand beside him while he crossed it.
I wrapped my hand around him.
His breath fractured.
“Green?”
“Yes.”
I stroked once.
His head pressed back against the pillow.
“Still green?”
“Yes.”
His fingers tightened on my shoulder.
I kept the pace unhurried.
Noah watched my face more than my hand. Every time pleasure sharpened, his eye returned to me, checking that I had not changed into someone else.
I kissed him.
His mouth opened immediately beneath mine.
His hips began to follow my rhythm.
I adjusted to him.
No goal, I reminded myself.
No destination required.
His body had begun moving toward one anyway.
His breathing quickened.
“Reid.”
“I’m here.”
“I need—”
“What do you need?”
He struggled for the words.
I slowed.
“No. Don’t stop.”
“Tell me.”
“More.”
I tightened my grip slightly and increased the pace.
Noah groaned into my mouth.
The sound went through every part of me.
His right hand slid into my hair.
“Good?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Pain?”
“No.”
“Fear?”
“No.”
The answer released something in him.
No fear.
Only sensation.
Only trust.
His body tightened beneath my hand.
I recognized the signs even if he did not.
“Do you want to finish?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
His eye opened with exhausted exasperation.
“Reid.”
I smiled against his mouth.
Then I gave him what he had asked for.
His hips lifted.
Soft, helpless sounds broke from him as pleasure built. He clung to me, forehead pressed to mine, his fingers tight in my hair.
When he climaxed, surprise crossed his face first.
Then his body went rigid.
A strained cry escaped him.
He shuddered beneath my hand and came across his stomach.
I held him through it.
Not restraining him.
Containing the moment.
His breath came hard.
His eye remained closed.
I removed my hand and reached for the cloth I kept in the bedside drawer.
Noah caught my wrist.
“Wait.”
I stopped.
He opened his eye.
A slow, astonished smile spread across his face.
“That was me.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted it.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t panic.”
“No.”
His expression shifted.
Tears gathered suddenly.
I bent and kissed his temple.
“You’re all right.”
“I know.”
A shaky laugh escaped him.
“I’m significantly better than all right.”
I cleaned him up gently.
He watched every movement without turning away or covering himself.
When I finished, his gaze dropped toward me.
“You’re hard.”
“Predictably.”
“Do you need a cold shower?”
“Eventually.”
His fingers touched my waist.
“Can I touch you?”
My pulse jumped.
“Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
“For yourself, or because I helped you?”
He considered the question.
“For me.”
I held his gaze.
“What do you want?”
“To use my hand.”
“Over my clothes first?”
“No.”
The certainty in his answer sent a hard pulse through me.
“You can change your mind at any point.”
“I know.”
I pushed the blanket lower.
Noah watched as I loosened the drawstring of my sleep pants and freed myself.
His breathing changed.
He had seen me before.
He had touched me through clothing and watched my body respond.
Direct contact still seemed to surprise him.
“That was inside me?” he asked quietly.
The question carried wonder and memory, not fear.
“Yes.”
His cheeks flushed.
“Not today.”
“No.”
His hand hovered.
“Show me.”
I wrapped my fingers around his and guided him.
My eyes closed at the first contact.
Noah stopped instantly.
“Bad?”
“No.”
I opened my eyes again.
“Very green.”
His mouth curved.
I guided him through one stroke.
Then another.
His grip was cautious, almost analytical.
Then he saw what each movement did to me.
Curiosity gave way to desire.
He adjusted his hand without instruction.
I breathed his name.
“Noah.”
His attention sharpened.
“You like that.”
“Yes.”
He repeated the movement.
My hips shifted.
Noah’s lips parted.
The concentration on his face nearly finished me before he had truly begun.
I caught his wrist.
“Slower.”
“Why?”
“I would prefer this to last longer than ten seconds.”
“Would ten seconds be humiliating?”
“Only to my reputation.”
He laughed.
His laughter mingled with desire until the intimacy became almost unbearable.
I guided him once more, then released his hand.
Noah continued.
He watched my face.
Not the mechanics.
Me.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“I will.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
He leaned over and kissed my chest through my shirt.
My body tightened.
I placed one hand behind his neck.
“Green?”
“Yes.”
His strokes grew surer.
I tried to control my breathing.
Failed.
He noticed every failure and seemed to enjoy them.
“Did I do this before?” he asked.
“Often.”
“Did I know how much you liked it?”
“Yes.”
“I like knowing now.”
His thumb moved over the most sensitive part of me.
Pleasure hit hard enough to tear a groan from my throat.
Noah smiled.
There he was.
Not the exact man he had been.
But the same delight in discovering that he could make me lose control.
“I’m close,” I warned.
“Good.”
“You don’t have to continue.”
“I want to.”
His pace increased.
I held his gaze until pleasure broke it.
My body arched.
Release hit me hard enough to drag a rough sound from my chest. I came across his hand and my stomach, every muscle tightening before the tension gave way.
Noah watched, transfixed.
When the last wave passed, I fell back against the pillow and laughed once at the ceiling.
His hand remained loosely around me.
“Color?” he asked.
“Blindingly green.”
He laughed.
Then his humor faded.
He looked down at his hand.
Then at me.
“You’re all right?”
“More than all right.”
“No regret?”
“None.”
He settled against the pillows.
“I thought it would feel like another test.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
“What did it feel like?”
He considered.
“Private.”
The word fit.
“Like something that belonged only to us.”
“It does.”
I cleaned us both.
Noah watched dawn brighten the curtains.
After a while, he said, “I’m hungry.”
I turned toward him.
“Actually hungry?”
“Yes.”
“That may be the most medically encouraging event of the morning.”
He struck my shoulder weakly.
We showered together.
Not for sexual reasons.
Mostly.
The stall was narrow enough that avoiding contact became impossible. Noah stood beneath the warm water while I washed his hair. His eye closed, and he leaned into my fingers.
When I soaped his back, I asked before touching each scar.
He offered me the same care.
His fingers moved over my chest and traced the old pale line beneath my ribs. Then they passed over the abstract black compass rose tattooed there.