“I hate him,” Noah whispers. “For making me think I was too much. For making you disappear.”
“I know,” I say into his hair. “But you’re not too much—you never were. You were just surrounded by people who didn’t know how to love you right.”
He stays in my arms for a long moment, breathing evening out, anger settling into something quieter and more manageable.
“I should’ve told you,” I murmur. “I should’ve trusted you with the truth instead of deciding for you. I thought I was protecting you, but I hurt you instead. And I’m so fucking sorry for that.”
“You should have,” he says and laughs weakly through the tears. “God, you’re such an idiot.”
I huff out a breath that’s half a laugh, half a sob. “Yeah. I know.”
When he pulls back again, his eyes are still bright with tears, but there’s resolve there now, too. “You don’t get to leave again,” he says firmly.
“I won’t,” I say immediately. “I swear, I’m not leaving again.”
He studies my face as if committing it to memory, then nods once. “Okay,” he says, his voice steady despite everything, “Okay.”
I kiss him again, this time greedier, my lips parting against his, and he makes a soft, needy sound that just about ruins me. His hands are in my hoodie, dragging me closer, and suddenly, patience is a dead language.
I want all of him at once, four years of hunger turning into something clumsy and desperate as I press kisses down his cheek, along his jaw, back to his mouth. I slip my hands to his hips, bend my knees, and in one smooth, practiced motion, lift him clean off the floor.
He lets out a startled squeak, his arms wrapping around my neck as instinct takes over and he wraps his legs around my waist. The trust is instant, muscle memory. He’s lighter than I remember but just as solid, and all I can do is hold him there, gripping the backs of his thighs, our mouths slotting together in a kiss that’s half apology, half benediction.
Noah’s hands tangle in my hair, his lips feverish, and the sound he makes when I squeeze his hips sets my skin on fire. He nips at my lower lip, bossier now, demanding more, and I give it to him gladly, stumbling toward his bedroom. I bump us into the wall and can’t even find it in myself to apologize.
I walk him through the little hallway, trailing kisses down his neck. He digs his fingers into my hair, tugging hard enough to make me groan against his jaw. I nuzzle under his ear, bite gently at his skin, and he squeezes my waist with his thighs, pressing his chest closer to mine.
“Mien…” he whispers, voice so small and awed I feel it in my chest. “Are you sure—?”
I cut him off with another kiss, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. If you want me to stop, say it now, Blue.”
He shakes his head, arms winding tighter around me. “Don’t stop. Please.”
God, I want him. All of him. Every inch. Every laugh. Every scar. Every breathless plea. I want every late-night conversation, every photo, every stupid inside joke that only we get. I want to give him every part of me I never thought I’d be allowed to share again. And right now, with his legs locked around my waist, Iwant nothing more than to carry him straight to his bedroom and never let go.
I walk us to his room and lay him down before settling in between his legs and kissing him again. Somewhere in the mess of hands and lips, I realize I’m crying a little, tears slipping out while I press my face to his neck and breathe him in. He notices—of course, he does—and he wipes them away with trembling fingers, no judgment in his eyes, only love.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, kissing the corner of my mouth, cheeks, eyelids. “I love you, too. I’m not going anywhere, either.”
I let out a shaky laugh, half relief, half pure joy. “I love you so fucking much, Noah.”
He pulls me down into another kiss, sweet and deep, and this time when I settle between his legs, he opens up for me without hesitation, trusting me to catch him, to hold him, to love him the way he’s always deserved.
Noah
I’mstillfloatingsomewherebetween disbelief and the shivering thrill of relief, blinking up at Damien in the low light of my bedroom, with his arms around me.
I can’t remember ever wanting anything the way I want this—not just the heat of him or the way he kisses me, but the feeling of finally being chosen. There’s a quiet that comes after years of wishing for something and believing you’ll never have it. I’m trapped in that quiet now, so full I could burst, terrified of ruining it and terrified of letting go.
My head is on his chest, ear pressed to his heartbeat, his hands curled in the back of my shirt. He keeps kissing the top of my head and brushing his thumb along the curve of my neck, every touch gentle, unhurried, as if we have all the time in the world. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
Every time I close my eyes, I see flashes of the pond—gold light, his bare shoulders, the hunger in his eyes, the way I nearly lost myself in the possibility of him. I want more, and that’s theproblem. The more I want, the more I realize I have no idea what comes next.
The thought sets my nerves on fire. I can’t quiet them, no matter how many times I tell myself this is Damien, he won’t hurt me, he’d never make me do anything I’m not ready for. But there’s still a script in my head I never learned, all the steps I never took, and the fear of disappointing him sits heavy in my chest.
He’s done this before. He knows what to do and what to say. I don’t… I never have.
I find myself pulling away a little, enough that the warmth between us becomes a gulf. His hand goes still, and he looks at me, brow furrowing, the open concern in his eyes making my heart beat harder.
