Noelle looks up at me with those big, round eyes. “Forget Greyson, the age difference, the baby, and your diabetes. Give us a chance.”
My chest tightens. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
She shakes her head. “You’re not.”
I study her face and realize she’s afraid. But she’s still standing here. Still choosing this moment.
“I don’t know what will happen next,” I say.
“This is when you take me to bed or lose me forever.”
“Top Gun. Were you even born then?” I chuckle as she playfully slaps my arm. When the laughter dies down, I take her hand in mine. Our relationship has shifted, and her fingers tremble just a little as they lace through mine.
Suddenly, my living room feels too large and exposed with the glow of all the city lights flickering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s a total bachelor pad. No warmth to this place at all.
My heart pounds, harder than it ever has. We’re choosing to take a leap of faith that it will work out. Even with the life growing inside her that’s not mine or the dialysis that will take four hours of my day three times a week. None of that matters now.
“Come with me,” I murmur, my voice low and rough, pulling her gently toward the hallway. She follows without hesitation.
We step into my bedroom, the door clicking shut behind us like a promise sealed. The room is simple—a king-sized bed with crisp white sheets, a few books on the nightstand, and the faint scent of my cologne lingering in the air. I turn to her, cupping her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing her cheeks. God, she's beautiful—her hair cascading over her shoulders, her skin glowing in the soft light from the lamp,her eyes wide and wanting. I want to protect her, worship her, show her that this is real.
"Noelle," I breathe, leaning in to kiss her softly at first, savoring the hint of strawberries on her lips from dinner. Holding her upright and close, our bodies meld together, and our mouths dance in a rhythm that's both urgent and tender.
“What?” she asks, her words wispy and breathless, almost without edges.
“I… I…” The feeling is there, but I’m not sure I want to say the words I’ve not said in so long. So instead of finishing my sentence, I slide my hands down her neck, over her shoulders, tracing the curve of her back until I reach the hem of her shirt. “I need you.” I lift the fabric slowly, exposing the smooth skin beneath. She raises her arms to help me, and when the fabric hits the floor, I step back enough to look at her.
To drink her in.
"You're incredible," I whisper, my voice cracking a little. I drop to my knees before her, pressing my lips to the taut skin just above her navel. She gasps, her fingers threading into my hair. I caress her stomach with both hands, palms flat and gentle, feeling the warmth and the faint shiver. "This… all of you… it's a miracle. And I want to be part of it. With you."
Noelle doesn’t respond verbally, but tears glisten in her eyes as she looks down at me, and I rise slowly, kissing my way up her body—her sternum, her collarbone, back to her mouth. We undress each other with careful hands, no rush, every touch a declaration. Her skin is silk under my fingers, and when she's bare before me, I guide her to the bed, laying her down like she's the most precious thing in my world.
I join her, my body covering hers but careful not to press too hard, mindful that her breasts may be tender. Honestly, Iknow nothing about babies other than holding them. And I’ve only heard about breasts getting sore.
Our kisses grow deeper, hungrier, my hands exploring—cupping her breasts, my thumbs teasing her nipples until she arches into me with a soft moan. "Matt," she whispers, her nails grazing my back, sending shivers down my spine. I trail kisses down her neck, over her shoulders, lingering on her chest before moving lower again, lavishing attention on her stomach once more.
“You know how to make a woman feel special,” she says.
“Only you. You’re the only woman I want to make feel special.”
I kiss every inch, my hands stroking her sides, feeling her breath hitch and her body respond.
When I finally settle between her thighs, it's with reverence. I taste her slowly, drawing out her pleasure, listening to her gasps and whimpers like they're music. She's wet and ready, her hips lifting to meet me, and I bring her to the edge with my mouth, my fingers, until she shatters, crying out my name. The sound of her coming undone is the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard—emotional, intimate, binding us closer.
I move up her body, positioning myself carefully, our eyes locked as I enter her inch by inch. It's exquisite agony, the way she envelops me, warm and tight. We move together, slowly at first, building a rhythm that's as much about connection as it is about release. My arms bracket her head, our foreheads touching, breaths mingling.
"I’m in love with you," I groan against her lips, the words spilling out like I’ve said them a thousand times.
Her eyes flutter open.
Herchest rises.
She sucks in a breath.
“You love me?”
“I didn’t want to admit it. I thought it was a betrayal to Greyson, but I do. I love you.”
