He inhales sharply, then kisses the corner of my mouth, my cheek, the hollow beneath my ear. Each touch more indulgent than the last—a promise written into my skin. When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse against my ear.
“Take my clothes off, baby.”
My hands are shaking. I keep telling myself to breathe normally, but the sound still comes out uneven. Noah stands in front of me, close enough that the warmth of his body seeps through the scant space between us.
I reach for the hem of his top first. My fingers graze his stomach—soft skin, hard muscle—and he exhales shakily, abs flexing under my touch. I look up at him, his eyes hold so many emotions, some I can’t name, but I hope for anyway.
“Go on,” he whispers.
I bunch the fabric in my fists and lift, my knuckles brushing the faint line of hair that disappears beneath his jeans, over his ribs, his chest. The shirt catches on his chin before he takes it from me, pulling it the rest of the way off and tossing it aside.
My fingers drift to the waistband of his jeans next, fumbling with the button. It pops open under my clumsy hands. We exhale at the same time. His zipper lowers in one slow drag, the noise loud between us, and when I brush the base of him through his briefs, his whole body jolts.
“Gabe,” he begs quietly.
I push his jeans and briefs down his hips, watching as the denim slides over his thick thighs, pooling at his feet. He’s breathtaking. His skin glows in the low light, golden and warm. I want to touch everywhere, but I don’t move, not until he steps out of the jeans, tosses his socks, and closes the distance between us, totally bared to me.
“Your turn,” he murmurs.
His hands are steadier than mine, but not by much. He starts with my shirt buttons, undoing them one by one. His fingers brush my chest with each pass. By the time he reaches the last one, I’m shaking all over.
He pushes the shirt off my shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. The air hits my skin, cool against how I’m burning. My nipplespebble. His eyes roam over me, tracing every inch like he wants to devour me.
“So beautiful,” he whispers, almost to himself.
Then his hands find my belt. He doesn’t rush—he takes his time, tugging the leather loose with a soft slide. The sound of the buckle makes my stomach twist with heat. He unbuttons my pants, lowers the zipper, and drags the fabric down, briefs and all, with careful hands until I’m standing in front of him naked. He kneels before me, lifts each foot to remove my socks, and the sweetness of it is almost too much for my heart to take.
When he stands, for a heartbeat, we just stare at each other, both of us breathing hard, the air thick between us.
Noah lifts his hand and cups my jaw, thumb brushing over the corner of my mouth. “You really are so beautiful, Gabe. I’ve always thought so,” he says, and I know he’s not just trying to flatter me, he truly means it.
“Always?”
There’s a subtle vulnerability to his smile. “Fifteen,” he whispers.
I tilt my head in confusion, before I can ask what he means, he continues, “You had just given meThe Wayfarer’s Staras my birthday present, when I looked at you to say thanks…” He shakes his head, smiling. “It was your eyes. They looked so green in the light, I thought… wow, they’re so beautiful. Like every part of you.”
With that confession, I’m captured by the blue depths of his eyes. There’s a longing in the pit of my stomach for what might have been. It’s outmatched only by the lightness flowing through me at the possibility of what might be. I don’t know what to do with all the feelings that rush through me, they’re all-consuming, so I lean forward, pressing my forehead against his.
We stand there, two people stripped bare in every possible way, letting the gravity between us pull tighter and tighter until there’s no space left.
His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair. I can feel his pulse where our chests touch—racing, matching mine.
Two hearts in sync.
Every beat echoes through bone and skin until I can’t tell where I end and he begins, making me feel like we’re one.
“Come here,” he whispers.
It’s ridiculous, because we’re already pressed together, but I understand what he means. So I close the distance in the only way that’s left. I kiss him. The moment our mouths meet, the hesitation breaks. His lips part under mine, a low sound escaping him.
His hands trace up my sides, over my ribs, down my back until he finds the curve of my hips. I can feel his fingertips trembling against me, the same electric tremor running through both of us.
The back of my knees hit the bed, and Noah goes with me, guiding rather than pushing. We fall together, the mattress dipping beneath our combined weight. I end up half on my back, half turned toward him, our legs tangled. He isn’t putting his weight on me, but I feel his presence.
He kisses me deeper, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other splayed over my chest where my heart won’t slow down. I cover his hand with mine, pressing it there firmly—needing him to feel it, needing him to know that it’s for him. It beats for him.
“This okay?” he murmurs against my mouth.
