“Set them up as soon as she’s able to make it happen.”
Despite us not having a second alone, I’ve felt the anxiety rolling off his shoulders all day. I’m tempted to ask him about how he’s feeling, or if he’s reached out to his dad at all, but I don’t want to pile on. If he thought going to his dad was an option he would have done it.
“I’ll email her right now.”
“How was your reunion with Kara?”
“After she got over the fact we didn’t hook up, it was fine. I’m going to dissolve the bet, though. I feel too guilty letting her pay, given . . .” I trail off, looking down at his hand and he squeezes my thigh in response. “And she was all too happy to not haveto pay my half. Although she surprised me by having Nan at the house when I got back andshesaw right through my lies.”
Noah laughs. “I think I’d like to meet Nan one of these days. I have a feeling we’d get along.”
I’m reminded of the party I’m supposed to be inviting him too, and for a moment consider asking him now. I’m almost certain he’d say yes, and that’s what stops me. I want to be sure Nan was right about him not running away in a week’s time.
Noah has pizza waiting for us at the front desk of his building when we get back to his apartment, but it is abandoned on the counter as soon as we step through his door. The thrill of this early evening rendezvous, a secret we’re keeping from everyone else, pools in heated want between my legs.
We waste no time slipping back into the potent cloud of sex, stumbling towards his bedroom as our hands roam and we’re attached by the mouth. We’re half naked by the time we get there and I press myself against his chest, already familiar with the firm warmth I find. His tongue dances along my lower lip before probing further and brushing with mine while I tug the unbuttoned shirt down and off his arms. I’m lost to the feeling of it, trying desperately to focus on getting naked, but also wanting to take my time and enjoy his touch.
He unclasps my bra, letting it fall to the floor before he traces a hand down from my jaw and cups the underside of my breast, his thumb running light against my nipple and teasing it hard. Those damn fingers. I want them everywhere all at once, tickling and tracing, carving his own sort of invisible mark into my skin; a secret trail known only by the two of us.
Needing to feel him as he explores, my hands are in his hair and then smoothing the goose bumps on his neck, down his shoulder and then back up. We fall onto the bed, groping each other like we’re afraid of the other disappearing, like we’re discovering and memorizing all at once.
Too soon, and yet not fast enough, his hand trails down further, his fingers brushing the top of my thong and then ever so lightly between my legs. I’m already damp with arousal, but it blooms deeper and warmer, almost aching, as his fingers tread light brush strokes.
“Somebody’s eager, and alreadyvery wet,” he muses, his lips falling to my chest, his tongue carving another kind of trail. “Have you missed our olympic games?”
“It’s been a long day.”
I press myself harder against his hand, desperate to have him inside me. He chuckles, his finger slipping around the silk and pressing into me just enough to send a shock of electric need into my toes. It disappears too soon, a swell of vexation at his tease rising in my chest.
“The opening ceremony sets the stage, Lottie. Besides, we’ve got nowhere to be for hours.”
The oddity of our continued metaphor lasts only as long as it takes me to inhale and meet his hungry kiss, his hand slipping back up and into my hair, where he tugs lightly, the pinch of it tickling another kind of arousal and reminding me of the dominant hand he played on the plane. I shiver in response and he grows harder against my thigh.
Up until now, everything with Noah has been a balance between toe curling desire and trepidation as we figure our way through this muddle of our own making. But now, emboldened by the set expectation of taking it one step at a time, I want more and I’m not about to let him win this game of give and take.
I track back up his neck and curl my own fingers into his locks, tugging harder than he did and pulling a sharp gasp from him. He pauses his barrage on my neck and nips at the skin lightly, testing my challenge. I answer with a quick kiss and a sharp bite on the tender skin beneath his earlobe.
For not having actually fucked yet, this is bursting with more heat than any of our other encounters. The unspoken exchange of testing boundaries with each other, wrapped in the cocoon of our new agreement, is intoxicating.
Aiming to pool everything I can’t seem to form words around into this moment, I trace my teeth along his neck, my tongue licking back up to soothe the sharpness. This time he shivers, his hand dropping to my nipple again where he twists it briskly before pressing down with his palm, heat exploding across my chest. The instant switch from pain to pressure arches my back and he smiles.
His cock is against me now, the tip teasing the line of my now drenched silk thong. His hips roll to press a little closer and I pull back, enjoying the game too much.
“There’s the spirit,” he says, shifting and pulling himself lower, his face now even with my chest, his breath hot on my skin.
I open my mouth to throw back some line about being quick to learn, but his teeth sink into my breast—scraping before his mouth presses closed, his tongue swirling soft and warm around the nipple.
“Fuck,” I breathe, the edge of discomfort making everything else far more enjoyable.
I’ve been with a handful of people who enjoyed the occasional kinky, pain meets pleasure romp—the last was a bartender I met shortly after Axel. Our affair was short lived; her desire to see me subdued and controlled, even if it was only in the confines of the bedroom, didn’t align particularly well with my newfound freedom. But here with Noah I know this boundary isn’t about control. Not really. It’s about pleasure and pushing the edge of how much we can elicit from each other. The teasing and restraint leading to something even more freeing.
Noah’s slow descent is settling lower and lower, his tongue following the light back and forth of his teeth. He snags the edge of my thong with his mouth and I lift my hips to help him peel it off. But, just when I think I’m going to get some relief, he pauses. He has my heel cradled in one hand, his fingertips trailing along the lines of my serpent tattoo; up my foot, along my calf and then back down again.
“Tell me about this one,” he says.
It’s not a question, so much as a demand and I quirk my head, confused at his change in course. Without breaking my gaze, he leans down and kisses the top of my foot and then my ankle, before stopping. “Tell me about them and I’ll keep going.”
Oh.Oh.
