“Did this really mean nothing to you?”
I grit my teeth against the answer that nearly falls out without prompting. Of course this didn’t mean nothing. But I can’t tell him that now. What good would it do?
“I don’t owe you anything,” I say, unclicking my seatbelt. “We had an agreement, and if you want to pout like a child because I’m trying to honor it, that’s not on me.”
I stand and move towards the back of the plane, aiming to hide in the bathroom until I can compose myself, maybe until we land. But before I reach it, Noah is at my back, prompting me into the bedroom I’d noticed on our first flight. The door clicks shut and he spins me around, pinning me against it. I should fight him, but I’m frozen by the way his eyes are burning and his jaw works against the unsaid. My words are barely more than breath between us, my heart pounding against my chest.
“What are you doing?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I can’t.”
He reaches to brush some hair off my cheek, his voice more tender than ever. “Can’t or won’t?”
I pinch my eyes closed and reach up to shove him back.
“Let me in.Please.”
It’s the ‘please’ that does it. Every stitch of my self control comes unraveled and before I even open my eyes, I’m leaning in to kiss him. His hands find my face and he holds me, tender and kind. I nearly bite him in my pursuit of the kiss but he doesn’t let it deter him. If anything, it makes him more aggressive, his tongue pushing deeper into my mouth, like he’s trying to catch the words I won’t say—to taste them before I pull back again.
Knowing this might be the last time we do this, I do my best to memorize every second. The way he presses against me, as if he wants to melt into my essence; the contrast between his stubbled jaw and his buttery lips against mine; his hands formedto my body as if they belong there. All of it beautiful and reckless and threatening to break my heart.
I push back against his chest, and as if he knows it’s a test, he presses into me further, his knee sliding in between my legs.
“I’ll stop, but you have to say it. Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”
I know he means it and for a split second I consider pushing him harder—breaking this like I know I should. He’s too good and wants too much. But right now, with his body wrapped around me as he forces me to face each of the feelings he’s digging up, I don’t care. His hands are sliding under the edge of my t-shirt, his fingers pressing into my skin like he’s trying to brand me with them.
My back arches, and I match his hunger, ready to end this—whatever it is—on a high.
“Don’t stop.”
He slides his hands down and makes quick work of dropping my leggings off my hips before tugging me further into the room. Pushing me towards the bed, he doesn’t stop until the edge of it hits the top of my pelvis. Wordless, Noah palms my back and presses down. It’s a test, a grab for dominance, and as much as my old wounds want to win, I lower until I’m bent over completely, supported only by forearms and vulnerable to his touch. My desire to fight him on anything is crumbling, and even more frightening is the reality that I don’t want to. I’m tired of fighting and reaching for this place with Noah, even if only a heated goodbye to our dalliance seems right.
His hand traces down my spine and cups my ass cheek.
“I told you I liked your ass all the time,” he murmurs.
“This is still being propped up for show.”
The sound of his zipper and the quiet rip of the condom wrapper is the only answer to my breathless quip, and anticipation curls low in my belly.
In the next moment, Noah steps up, one hand guiding my hips into position, the other sliding up and curling into my hair. He tugs the fist full and I gasp, my scalp tingling as arousal shoots through me. This primal dominance is new from him, and I find comfort in his taking what he wants. It’s exhilarating and I wonder, in the split second before he enters me, if this is what I’ve been looking for.
As he pushes in, slow and steady, he’s the epitome of control. I try to drop my head, to use the mattress to muffle the moan my body is begging to let loose, but his fist stays tight in my hair, keeping me in a constant state of tension. The hand holding my hip curls forward, wedged between my pelvis and the edge of the mattress, a finger feathering deeper and adding another impossible layer of pleasure.
His speed increases, but not enough—as if he’s claiming every ounce of control. I’m doing everything I can to adjust my hips, to press back into the feeling, but he continues to tread the impossible line of apprehension, savoring each gratifying second.
“Faster.Please.”
He tugs on my hair again and I yelp, forgetting for a moment where we are and who is on the other side of the door. The lapse accomplishes what I need it to though, for the next thrust is harder and faster. Dropping his hand from my hair, both of them now holding my hips, he uses his fingertips to press delicious divots of pain into the soft flesh. I moan into the mattress, and his voice ripples out—strained and desperate.
“Fuck.”
It’s pure depravity, the thrusting and fighting to be both closer together and at a distance. Every hardened emotion I’ve been carrying rises and falls as he fucks me, his efforts breaking my wall down further and further. His hand slips to my front again, teasing and tickling as everything builds.
For the first time, we come together. My fingers curl into the thin blanket as my knees buckle and Noah holds tight against me as he pulses; our breath is jagged, but somehow in tandem. He collapses against my back, and I make to move out from under him, but he rolls off me, keeping his arm looped around my middle.
