Chapter 28 #3
His fingers curled in my hair.
“Don’t stop.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
I gave him what he asked for.
Pleasure overtook him in a shuddering wave. His hand closed around my shoulder, and my name broke from him as he lost the last of his control.
I stayed close until the tension left his body.
When I rose, he looked dazed and luminous.
“Color?” I asked.
A breathless laugh escaped him. “We may need something beyond green.”
I kissed his cheek.
His arms came around me before he mentioned my pleasure or his ability to reciprocate. He simply held me, his face against my chest, letting the tremors pass.
The embrace mattered more than anything he might have offered afterward.
Eventually, his hand drifted down my stomach.
“My turn.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I know.”
“You’re tired.”
“I don’t feel tired.”
“You will in approximately ten minutes.”
He kissed me.
“Let this be my choice.”
So I did.
The worktable was too high for him to kneel safely, and the floor was out of the question. Noah surveyed the loft with the concentration of an engineer solving a structural problem.
Then he pointed toward the adjustable shop chair.
“Sit.”
I obeyed.
He rolled the chair near the table, stretched his healing leg forward to avoid bending it too deeply, and positioned himself sideways on the padded edge.
The arrangement brought him close enough to touch me without placing weight on the injured hip.
My pulse thundered.
“You have thought this through.”
“I consulted a medical professional.”
“Maeve is going to resign.”
“She considered it.”
I laughed as he reached for my belt.
His confidence held until he opened my clothes and saw me.
Then he went still.
His gaze moved over me slowly.
I resisted the urge to fill the silence. This was new for him—not because his body had never known mine, but because his conscious memory could not supply the history.
He touched me first with one tentative finger.
My breath caught.
His eyes lifted immediately.
“Is that good?”
“Yes.”
His hand closed around me more fully.
I shut my eyes.
“No,” he said, amusement warming his voice. “You made me look at you.”
I opened them.
He moved his hand once and watched my body respond before I could hide it.
A smile appeared.
“You really do like this.”
“I really like you.”
“Diplomatic.”
“I’m attempting to retain a shred of control.”
He laughed, then leaned closer.
The first warm brush of his mouth stripped away every coherent thought.
“Noah.”
He did it again, slower this time, watching my face as he learned exactly what affected me.
When his mouth closed around me, my hands gripped the chair.
The sound I made lacked all dignity.
Noah drew back just enough to look satisfied.
“That was convincing.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been imagining this.”
“Since when?”
“Since we began discussing condoms upstairs.”
A laugh escaped me and turned into a groan when he returned to what he had been doing.
His touch was exploratory rather than practiced, and that made the intimacy almost unbearable. He learned from each breath and involuntary movement. He adjusted the pressure of his hand, the warmth of his mouth, the rhythm that steadily stripped thought from me.
I touched his hair.
“Still comfortable?”
He made a soft sound of agreement.
The vibration nearly pushed me over the edge.
I caught his shoulder.
“I’m close.”
He pulled back, lips damp, eyes dark.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No.”
“Do you want to finish?”
“Yes.”
He leaned in again.
I tried to warn him when I reached the edge, but he looked up at me and did not retreat.
Release struck hard and fast.
My body locked, his name tearing from my throat as pleasure overwhelmed every attempt at restraint. He stayed with me, one hand steady against my hip, until the last shudder passed.
I collapsed against the chair.
The ceiling of the workshop seemed impossibly distant.
Noah wiped his mouth with his thumb and smiled.
“Are you alive?”
“Barely. I have also forfeited all professional authority.”
“You locked the door.”
“A rare display of foresight.”
He stood with care.
I rose to meet him, and our arms went around each other.
For a moment, I could not tell which of us was supporting the other.
Perhaps neither of us needed to.
Perhaps the point was that we could lean at the same time.
Noah buried his face against my neck.
“I wasn’t scared.”
I tightened my arms.
“Not at all?”
“No.”
“Any regret?”
“None.”
His voice softened.
“I thought fear would always be hiding behind pleasure. Waiting to punish me for relaxing.”
“It might return sometimes.”
“I know.”
“But it wasn’t here today.”
“No.” His lips touched the side of my throat. “Not today.”
We stood in silence until his breathing settled.
“I asked Maeve which positions would protect my hip,” he confessed.
I laughed into his hair.
“She mentioned that.”
He lifted his head. “You spoke to her?”
“She gave me a warning.”
“What kind?”
“She told me not to assume that because your body wants something, the rest of you is ready.”
Noah considered it.
“I think they’re nearly in the same place.”
“Nearly.”
“I want you.”
“I know.”
“Not only what we did today.”
Desire sharpened through me, but I kept my voice even.
“The clinic comes first.”
“Yes.”
“When we have the results, we discuss everything again.”
“Yes.”
He looked into my face.
“I don’t think I’m afraid anymore.”
“You may feel afraid when the moment is actually here.”
“Would that disappoint you?”
“Never.”
“What if I ask you to stop?”
“I stop.”
“Even if we’ve already started?”
“Always.”
His eyes searched mine with painful intensity.
“I’ve spent months hurting,” he said. “Sometimes it feels like pain is the only thing my body knows how to do now.”
I brushed my thumb over his cheek.
“I know.”
“I want it to know something else.”
“You deserve that.”
“I want pleasure. I want closeness. I want you to show me what my body remembered before my mind could reach it.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise to listen to you. Everything else, we discover together.”
His mouth tilted.
“That wasn’t especially seductive.”
I leaned closer, letting my breath touch his lips.
“When you’re ready, I’ll take my time until every part of you understands who is touching you and why.”
His breath caught.
“I’ll make certain you feel wanted without ever making you feel cornered.”
His body pressed nearer.
“And when you ask me for more, I’ll trust that you know what you want.”
Noah swallowed.
“Toast for dinner.”
I laughed. “You proposed meatloaf.”
“Meatloaf takes an hour.”
“Toast it is.”
He kissed me again.
We did eat eventually.
Not toast.
At nearly nine, we reheated the leftover stew while Noah sat at the kitchen counter wrapped in a blanket, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Later, he fell asleep against me before the first television episode reached its final scene.
I stayed where I was, one arm around him, listening to the deepening rhythm of his breath.
For the first time in months, the future did not feel like an approaching threat.
It felt like a door.
And Noah had begun to reach for the handle.