The swirling ink on my legs, four pieces on the one he’s holding, stretches from ankle to hip bone, an illustrated map for him to follow.
“A birthday gift to myself when I turned twenty-one. Artist out of Denver.”
His fingers trace up a little higher, his lips coming down to border along the floral piece just above the snake. “And this one?”
I gasp, my back arching. His hand trails higher, up around my knee and then stops cold. He’s not kidding. I have to focus long enough to recall and explain the details or he’s going to leave me writhing. I narrow my eyes at him.
“Three years ago, the tattoo convention at the Portland Expo. I won a raffle.”
He nods and leans back down to bite my inner thigh, his hand trailing along the spine of the snarling tiger that wraps most of my upper leg. My mind goes blank, as his fingers trace each stripe—back and forth up the spine. “I’m waiting, Lottie.”
The anticipation is agonizing, the lack of stimulation somehow harder to endure than direct contact.
“Uh.” I hesitate, licking my lips. My brain is a puddle. “Um.”
“It would be a shame to stop here,” he says, letting his hand brush along the apex of my thigh—so soft it’s almost not even a touch. My nipples tingle, a direct line of energy titillating up from my pelvis.Fuck.
“Two years ago. Kara and I flew to Vegas for her birthday. I waited months to get in with the guy.”
He drops my foot and settles in between my legs, his stubbled chin scraping along the last piece of art. A delicate lady fern frond that curls from my lower back and along my hip and then inward the tip of it right under Noah’s lips. His breath is enough to set me over, whispering between my legs as he speaks. “Last one.”
“Some asshole out in Gresham,” I practically moan. “Charged me double his shop minimum.”
“Very good,” he says, his tongue tracing the already very wet seam. “Mmmm. Very good.”
I can’t take it anymore. I lift my hips and cry out as Noah plunges his face in and drives his tongue up and down, swirling and sucking. Less like the gentleman who savored me before, and more like the firm hand he was on the plane. Overcome with lust, his movements sharp and direct.
He involves his teeth this time, letting them scrape and carve just as they had everywhere else. My body is on fire beneath him, his arms reaching up and around my hips as I buck away from the pleasure; not because it isn’t good, but because it’stoogood.
“Fuck, Noah.”
The sounds I’m making are little more than desperate pleas, my body building towards that all consuming arch. And then, just when I think he’s pulled out all the stops, when I think it can’t get any better, his arms curl around to my front, his hands crushing my breasts in brutal fists. The softness of him drinking me in below combined with the bruise inflicting curl of hisfingertips twisting my nipples and scratching at the soft skin sets me over.
My muscles clench and release as every ounce of energy that’s been building rattles out. I can’t contain the almost scream as I fall into the beautiful, frantic expanse of bliss. I’m floating, the weight of my body settling in slow as Noah lifts his face and lets out a soft puff of air. Everything chills, from the top of my head through my toes, the sensation sublime.
Pleased with himself, Noah rolls up to put on a condom and then nuzzles into my neck. I hum my approval and turn so we are face to face. Swinging my leg over his hip, I press close and he pushes inside, leaning over to cover my mouth with his own.
The kiss turns fevered as he rolls his hips, never leaving me completely, but pushing in deeper and deeper. We’re hot and impatient, silently consuming each other with barely a breath between us.
Determined, and aching for a lick of control as I reel with too many unfamiliar emotions, I push him on his back and roll up on top. His hands find my breasts and I lean down as I rock my hips so he can suck them as we move. A few more fevered thrusts and his head falls back as his orgasm pulses through me, a deep, guttural moan crawling up from his chest.
I fall limp and slip to his side, keeping my arm wrapped around his torso, my cheek pressed against him as we pant together.
“Gold medals all around,” I say, caught up in the moment and nuzzling tighter against him.
He chuckles and squeezes me tight. “Gold medals, indeed.”
We lie here, wrapped around each other and, for the first time in far too long, I let myself give into the comfort of having someone to hold.
The first two weeks after our shared afternoon at Noah’s apartment flash by in a blur—faster than the entirety of our trip to Pala. Between helping Nan pack and scouring real estate listings, as well as tagging along for the occasional property tour, I barely have time to wrap my head around the fact that Noah and I are dating.
Since it’s still a secret, life is pretty normal, except for the occasional dirty text or late night phone call—or the made up property viewings that are actually just us getting hot and heavy at his apartment. I’ve yet to spend the night, and Noah keeps his promise to keep things professional while we are in the office, but I’m starting to see what he means by taking things day by day.
But outside of us, everything is disastrous. We’re two weeks into our search for a new storefront and his anxiety is growing at a rate not even our afternoon rendezvous can temper.
We are on our way back from an actual property tour that involved some unwelcome rodent friends and at least three outbreaks of suspicious looking mold. Per usual, Noah’s hand is on my thigh as he drives, and I’m pouring over some of the other listings I found this morning .
“God, these really are terrible.”
