I went on drying the dishes while Noah washed, setting each item on the island since he wouldn’t direct me to their proper homes. “This Harvest Festival sounds like a big deal.”
“You haven’t seen the signs?” he asked. “They’re all over town. I’m sure there’s one out front at the elementary school.”
“You’re probably right. I don’t know. It’s been so hot, I can’t get into a harvest-y mood.”
“That’s fair,” he murmured.
“I think I know where this one goes,” I said to myself, stepping toward the pantry with the cake platter. The leftovers were already packed up and ready for me to take home. Noah refused to keep any on account of his concern that Gennie would cram her pockets with cake and feed it to the farm animals.
I set the platter down and reached for one of the mixing bowls crammed on the countertop. The contents looked like chocolate pudding. I grabbed another. This one looked like dry, chocolatey paste. There were three others, each in various states of preparation though it was clear all of them were attempts at homemade frosting.
I’d assumed Noah outsourced the birthday cake as he had with the meal. And why wouldn’t he? He was terribly busy running this farm and raising a child. I didn’t expect him to make frosting from scratch.
My cheeks flushed as I stared at these bowls. Pressure built behind my sternum. He did this for me. He suffered through at least six batches of buttercream and didn’t bother to mention he’d whipped it up himself.
But it wasn’t about buttercream.
It was cow earrings and poison ivy and loaves of bread every time I turned around. It was picking me up and forcing me to eat french fries when I was drunk and sad and petulant and it was sending ice cream scoopers to set up my classroom. It was my friend, the one who had changed so much but not in any of the ways that mattered.
It was my husband.
“Where the hell did you wander off—oh.” He stood in the pantry doorway, staring at the bowl in my hands as he ran a hand over his jaw. “That’s nothing. Just—don’t worry about it.”
The pressure in my chest swelled so big that I had to put the bowl down, wrap my arms around his neck, and press my lips to his.
He smelled like dish soap and he tasted like cake and even if this was the worst idea I’d ever had, it felt completely right.
Seconds ticked by while he stood there, his arms at his sides and his body frozen against mine. Then, like a switch flipped inside him, a growl sounded in his throat and he locked his arms around my torso. He let loose, his teeth scraping over my lips, his tongue in my mouth, his beard rasping my chin as he slanted his lips over mine. It was a wild scramble to touch and taste and hold and it wasn’t enough. Nothing was nearly enough.
I dragged my fingers up the back of his neck and into his hair. He groaned into my shoulder, deep and loud, and it freed something inside me. “Come here,” I whispered, tightening my hold on his hair to bring him back to my mouth.
His laugh was quiet and dark. “I don’t think so, wife.”
“What—” Before I could finish that thought, he picked me up, set me on the edge of the counter, and stepped between my legs. He skated his hands over my thighs, pushing my dress up as he went. He drew circles on the inside of my thigh, just above my knee, and if asked, I’d have to say that was the singular source of all pleasure in my body. Stunned, I watched my legs shaking under his touch.
“That’s better,” he rumbled.
No one had ever handled me with such authority. With such audacity.
He kept one hand on my thigh and brought the other to my face, running it along my jaw and into my hair. He leaned in, nipped at my lips before sealing his mouth to mine. This felt new and wild but it also felt like we’d always done this.
I pried my hands off the edge of the countertop and ran them along his shoulders, up the corded slope of his neck. Again, he groaned but this time he matched it with a hard thrust between my legs and I saw stars. I dropped my head against the shelving as a breath shuddered out of me.
Noah dipped his face to my neck, raining kisses and licks and bites there. Pressing into the crook of my shoulder, tasting the spot behind my ear, inhaling as if he could swallow the scent from my skin. All the while, rocking steadily between my legs, everything about him hard.
There was no hiding it—he was aroused. Very aroused. He wanted this. He wantedme.
“Noah,” I whispered, my fingers in his hair and my eyes hazy. My heart was pounding, shaky breaths heaving out of me. I didn’t know what to say. The best I could manage was “You should’ve told me.”
He shook his head. “I’m not going to fuck this up by speaking.” He ran a thumb over my lips and stared into my eyes. For a second, it seemed like he was done, like we were finished here, but he brought his lips to mine once again and my thoughts faded away from me.
Everything I believed to be true shifted and rearranged as he trapped me between his body and those shelves. This strong, quiet man was not indifferent. He didn’t need time to warm up to me. And this wasn’t a performance.
I coasted my fingers along his neck because it made him growl into my skin like he was feral, and though I didn’t understand why, I wanted more of that sound. He palmed my breast, his hand moving in firm circles that didn’t do anything for me at first but then he swept a fingertip over my nipple and I nearly flew off the countertop.
I needed more. Something, anything. I wiggled until I could wrap my ankles around his thighs but Noah tore away from my lips with a ragged gasp. He dropped his head to my shoulder and kissed along the side of my neck. “I love your hair like this.”
“Short? Or slightly pink?”
