GABE
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but black briefs and a massive smile. I need to get dressed soon, we’re all meeting at Velour tonight. But I can’t stop staring at the engagement ring. It’s only been on my hand for a few days, but I can’t imagine ever being without it. I turn my hand side to side, watching it glimmer.
My eyes catch on the special edition ofThe Wayfarer’s Staron the shelf, lush plants framing where it proudly lives. I got it for Noah for his birthday last month. Apparently, we’re never to read it, avoid touching it, and only look lovingly at it. I chuckle remembering him saying that.
Then my eyes cut to the collage Noah made me for my birthday in November. So many pictures of us and our friends, Post-it notes, and hand-drawn Oreos. The colors are… truly hideous. It’s a monstrosity, really. And somehow, it’s the best thing anyone has ever given me. Well… after the ring.
I hear the bathroom door open, and my head snaps up. Noah’s bare-chested, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, skin flushed from the shower. Grey sweatpants hang low on hiships, leaving little to the imagination, the sharp V of muscle dipping beneath the waistband like an invitation. His body is all effortless power and heat, and my mouth goes dry instantly.
And—of course—he notices. He always does.
The corner of his mouth lifts as his gaze sweeps over me. “You’re looking at me like you’restarving,” he says, deep voice laced with amusement.
I try to sound casual, failing miserably. “Maybe.”
He stalks across the room, every muscle in his body shifting under his skin. When he stops, he’s standing right between my spread thighs, all I can see is the sharp line of his stomach, the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, and the smooth rise of his chest.
He brushes his knuckles lightly along my cheekbone, tracing the curve of my scar. My skin tingles under the touch. Then he leans down, his breath hot against my ear.
“Can I kiss you?”
He asks most nights, like a little bedtime ritual. I love him for it—the patience, the sweetness—but tonight, something inside me is on fire.
I want to play.
I hum low in my throat, pretending to think about it. “Hmm. I dunno.”
He stills, pulling back to look at me. One eyebrow lifts, that crooked smile threatening at the corner of his mouth. Then he dips his head, letting the tip of his nose graze along my neck, beneath my jaw.
“Do I need tobeg?” he murmurs, voice dark and velvety against my skin.
I wasn’t expecting that. And I shouldn’t like the sound of it as much as I do. But suddenly, my mind is flooded with the image of Noah on his knees, pleading, his mouth open and soft, and my cock twitches hard against my briefs.
“That depends,” I say, gaze locking with his. “Will you be on your knees when you do?”
Something flashes in his eyes—sharp, hungry, heat sparking under the blue. He straightens for a moment, eyes locked on mine, then, without a word, he sinks down onto his knees between my legs.
My breath catches.
Noah kneels between my legs like it’s where he belongs, hands resting on my upper thighs, thumbs stroking idle circles through the thin cotton of my briefs. His face is tipped up, watching me, and that look—I’ll never get over the way he looks at me.
He leans forward, lips brushing my right knee, not quite kissing. “Can I kiss my fiancé here?” He rasps.Fiancé. I feel like I could combust from that word alone.
“Yeah.”
The softest kiss. A press of lips, fleeting and electric. Then he shifts to the other knee, hovering, breath skating over bare skin.
“Please,” he whispers.
The word raises goosebumps along my skin. “Yes,” I manage breathlessly.
He presses another light kiss, hands sliding higher on my thighs, heat bleeding through my skin, making every inch of me ache. It’s slow. Torturous. He alternates between knees, up along the inside of my thighs, pausing before each new kiss, begging softly each time, waiting for me to give him permission. By the fifth or sixth kiss, I’m trembling with need, hands twisted into the sheets.
Then his hands move, brushing the edge of my briefs. I can feel his breath when he leans in, hovering over where I’m straining against damp fabric.
“Can I kiss you here?” he murmurs, voice so low I almost miss it.
I swallow hard, wanting to say yes instantly, but something wicked sparks inside me, and I hold back. “I don’t know,” I breathe, just to see what he’ll do.
