I place my palm in Noah’s, accepting his help out of the truck and getting that fresh-from-the-rollercoaster feeling as the momentum sends me into his body. Then my feet are off the ground, those impressive forearms of his banded around my middle as he gives me a spin. Not that I’m complaining, but safety first, so I wind my legs around his waist.
He groans, and I lower my mouth to his for a kiss, more brazen in my affection than I’ve ever been.
With a firm hand planted on my ass and his mouth moving so enticingly against mine, he carries me up the sidewalk and to the front door. He fumbles with the doorknob as I fumble with his shirt—it’s not easy to remove it while still in his arms and working against myself. Giving up on yanking it off, I slip a hand beneath the thin fabric to get them onhim, my pulse beating wilder and more uneven with each muscular dip and groove I find.
Air scented faintly of cedar and musk wraps around us as he steps inside, still carrying me like I weigh nothing. He kicks the front door closed behind us, the reverberations joining the throb of blood in my veins.
In the next instant, I’m pinned against a wall, his mouth on mine. My fingers drive into his hair, tugging at the ends as his erection notches perfectly against my center. Somehow, Noah manages to pour at least a week’s worth of longing into a kiss that takes me apart and puts me back together.
We come up for air, foreheads rested together, and I can feel how hard he is through the dampness of my panties, the promise of him inside me stealing every coherent thought.
Our eyes lock, any oxygen I sucked up gone in awhooshat the passion inside his baby blues. So steady and intent, like he knows exactly what he wants and exactly how he plans to have it.
And it’s me.
Through my desirous haze, I begin to worry I’m getting heavy. “You could put me down, you know.”
“Mmm,” he hums. “The thing is, I’m enjoying having you right where you are.” He dips his head, gliding his tongue and the tip of his nose across my collarbone, and it’s a good thing he didn’t set me on my feet—I no longer have use of my limbs.
At my whimper, our sparking chemistry flares hotter, flipping some kind of urgency switch within him. Keeping me pinned in place with his hips, he hooks his fingers in the hem of my blouse, tugging up, up, up until the fabric’s somewhere behind us, forgotten on the floor.
“Damn, sugar,” he says, his voice quiet with awe, tingly heat following his gaze like a brand.
Then his whiskers are abrading my sensitive skin as he lavishes kisses on the column of my neck and swell of my breasts. Until both of us are panting, and I’m as deliriously dizzy as I can be, everything within me screamingmore.
“You mentioned we don’t have a lot of time?” His fingers press into my ass cheeks on reflex, as if he’s not planning on letting me go.
“Yeah, but if you want to pause and give me the grand tour,” I tease, rolling my hips against the unyielding length of his arousal, “feel free.”
A groan spills from his lips and rumbles through me. “If you wanted to see my bedroom, Mia, all you have to do is ask.”
I place a palm on the side of his face and conjure the vixen unearthed through boudoir photography, finger-splint be damned. “Noah. Take me to bed already.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rather than answer with words, Noah strides across the room and up a flight of stairs. I catch a lot of greenery, though the walls are fairly bare, not giving me nearly enough insight into Noah.
Not that it’s all that important, what with this being a live-in-the-moment-and-not-think-about-the-future thing, and I really don’t appreciate the twinge in my chest that accompanies the idea of Noah not being there.
Stop thinking, Mia. Be fully present. Carpe the fucking diem.
We’ve arrived at the perfect place to do that—his bedroom. Masculine and simple with clean lines, rich wood tones, and a giant skylight above the bed. A tall bookshelf stands against one wall, crammed with worn paperbacks and field guides and books about ecosystems and wildlife. An entire wall of plants takes up one side of his room, rich and lush, then there’s the king-size bed, with dark navy bedding made up like he intends to bounce a quarter off it.
Wrong, I realize, as he tosses me onto its springy softness—he’s bouncingmeoff it tonight. I prop myself up on my elbows, watching as he carefully removes my shoes. One hand slips them off while the other rubs circles on my ankles and shins.
My breath hitches as he runs his palms up my thighs, the aching spot between my thighs screaming for his touch.
Once he reaches the waistband of my black skirt, he finds the tab of the side zipper faster than I ever can. Rather than tugging, he looks up at me. “Just checking in. If you ever want to stop, you just say the word.”
“I don’t think stopping is on my agenda for tonight, but I appreciate it.”
The undoing of the zipper sounds loud in the crackling silence, not even the rapid beats of my heart enough to drown it out. Noah removes the skirt with a sharp tug, his pants quickly joining it on the floor.
His big hands span my hips as he climbs over me, thumbs grazing bare skin where my shirt used to be. “Whatever time we have, I plan on making every second count.”
“Ooh,” I say, a shiver coursing up my spine at the sublime weight of his body as he drapes more of it over more of me, “Lucky for you, I’m a weirdo who’s turned on by planning.”
I want to capture his soft laugh and listen to it forever.
