The truth is, every second she hesitates makes me want to move.
Makes me want todosomething like reach across the space separating us and slide my hand along the curve of her neck and pull her back into me like I did under that damn mistletoe and kiss her again.
She breathes out slowly.
Her eyes sweep over each of us—first me, then Cal, then Grant. There’s a flicker of something vulnerable there before her gaze settles fully back on Grant.
“Right now… I don’t want to choose,” she finally says.
My eyes widen.
Her words don’t knock the air out of me so much aschangeit, warping it into something else entirely.
The atmosphere in the room shifts, charged with a current I can feel humming beneath my skin.
It’s no longer just tension, it’sinvitation.
“Okay. Then we don’t make you,” Cal responds.
My eyes snap to him immediately.
Cal’s posture shifts as he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. He tips his chin toward Noelle, not in challenge but in a way that feels almost like an offering. “Ground rules: we’re all adults but you’re in charge here. One word ends it. Nobody’s crossing any lines you don’t want us to.”
Noelle’s lips part slightly, her eyes searching his face for something. Her breathing is a little shallow, but she doesn’t look scared.
In fact, she looks almost ready to pounce.
I nod in agreement. “You say ‘enough,’ and it’s over. No questions asked.”
Her gaze flicks toward me then.
For a heartbeat, it’s just the two of us. She swallows hard, her throat bobbing as the weight of what we’re offering settles in.
The silence that follows hums, and when she does finally nod, the gesture feels monumental.
“Okay.”
She rises to her feet without taking her eyes off Grant.
The shift is so subtle I almost miss it—the faint tremor in her fingers, the flicker of decision that crosses her face before she starts to move. His eyes follow her every step as she closes the space between them.
Then, she sinks slowly to her knees between his legs, and Jesus Christ the image alone is enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
He looks down at her, the muscle in his jaw flexing as his hand rises halfway to her face before pausing midair, so close to touching her that it hurts to watch.
“You sure?” he asks.
She nods. “Truth or dare, Grant?”
He leans back in a silent surrender.
His broad shoulders relax just a bit as a small exhale leaves him.
The tension bleeds out of his frame like he’s made his peace with whatever comes next. “Dare.”
Her tongue flicks out, wetting her bottom lip, and I swear Grant’s eyes darken at the sight. “I dare you to let me touch you.”
His throat bobs when he swallows.
