Although this is only our third kiss, it feels oddly like coming home.
I sigh against him as he slips his hands under my ass, lifting me off the floor with ease. On instinct, I wrap my legs around his waist, and I don’t know where he’s taking me, but it doesn’t matter. I’d follow him anywhere at this point.
The coolness of the countertop stings, but all is made better as he fits himself between my legs. He kisses down my chin and over my neck. His touch is light, leaving behind the sweetest burning sensation with each feathery-soft kiss.
“Odette ...” He says my name like it’s a curse all on its own. “What are you doing to me?”
“Kissing you.”
“Goddammit,” he mutters, and it’s the last thing he says before his mouth is on mine again.
He kisses me hard, and I kiss him back with just as much fervor. Sure, I’ve kissed him twice before, but it wasn’t enough.
I’m unsure if it ever will be.
That thought terrifies me. The curse has already ensured that no matter how badly I wanted Noah, I could never have him. Not really.
Yet here I am, giving myself to him anyway because I can’t help it. Because I want to.
Because damn the curse.
Damn the curse and all the heartbreak it’s brought. Why can’t this be different? Why can’t Noah be different? Why can’t I be happy too?
His hands find the hem of my nightshirt, and I nod against him, wanting him to remove it just as badly as he wants to.
He breaks our kiss to slide the material over my head and lets out a low hum of approval as he pulls back to look at me.
“Fuck,” he whispers, and I laugh.
“Is that a good fuck or bad fuck?”
He drags his gaze away from my simple black bra and up to my eyes. “A good fuck. Averygood fuck.”
My smile is covered by his lips in an instant, his tongue finding mine again as his hands roam over me. It’s almost like he’s mapping out every inch of my skin, and I swear I could sit here and do this for hours.
But another time. Not tonight.
Tonight, I want more. I wanthim.
“Noah,” I say when he kisses from my lips to my ear, grazing my earlobe with his teeth.
“Hmm?”
“Take me upstairs.”
He pulls back, and there’s no mistaking the apprehension in his gaze. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “More than sure.”
I don’t have to tell him twice. He drags me off the counter, and I groan when I rub against him in all the right places.
“You okay?”
“No,” I whine. “I’m not okay. I’m not okay because I’mdying.”
He laughs, then carries me up the stairs as if he does this daily. In the back of my mind, I know I should be worried we’ll topple over, but I’m not. I feel safe with Noah. I always have.
He doesn’t stop until we reach his room, pausing right at the threshold.
