"Noah…"
The sound is soft at first. Then I do it again, breathier, needier. Putting all my horniness into it.
"Noah."
Footsteps. A thud. A remote part of my mind registers it, but the flood of sensations coming from my clit overshadows it.
My bedroom door, which I forgot to fully close, pushes open a few inches.
"Noah," I call again, because I'm not thinking. I'm not thinking at all.
And then his voice answers, right outside my room, confused and close.
"Rika?" There's a pause, like he's adjusting his grip on something. "You called?"
My eyes fly open. My heart forgets to beat.
Noah stands in my doorway with a laundry basket in his arms, a stack of neatly folded towels perched on top like he's trying to keep his hands busy.
His gaze locks on mine.
Then it drops.
To my flushed skin. To my parted thighs. To the vibrator in my hand.
His entire body goes still, like someone hit pause.
"Oh, shit," I whisper, because there is no other sentence in the English language that fits this moment.
For a long, suspended second, neither of us moves.
I should be mortified. Should grab the towel, should cover myself, should demand he leave.
But I don't.
Instead, I watch as Noah's throat works when he swallows hard. His knuckles go white around the laundry basket handle. His hazel eyes lift back to mine, and they're dark and heated.
"Tell me to leave," Noah says, voice rough and strained. "Rika, if you want me to go, tell me now. Because if I stay—"
He doesn't finish the sentence.
He doesn't have to.
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat, in my fingertips, in every nerve ending in my body.
"I don't want you to leave."
For a heartbeat, he remains frozen in the doorway.
Then he's crossing the room in three long strides, dropping the laundry basket to the ground.
And then there's no uncrossing that line.
Chapter 12
Noah
Theworldnarrowstothis: Rika on her bed, naked and flushed, her pale-blue wings spread beneath her like flower petals, her blue eyes dark with desire and locked on mine.
