I’m overthinking this. I don’t evenreallyknow if Noah is interested in me that way.
Then a softer memory surfaces. Noah lying on the sofa last week, head tipped back against the cushion, a faint crease between his brows. The quiet way he said he had a headache, the small nod when I offered to help. My hands in his hair, feeling him melt under my touch. Those dark blond strands between my fingers, so thick and soft.
And then, that moment when I’d called himBlue.
The way his lips had parted, the way he sighed, like I’d given him something meant only for us.
I think of this morning, how I fell on top of him. I was embarrassed, not panicked. I feel comfortable with Noah, safe.
The vise grip on my heart eases.
I look at my friends, but all I can say is, “Oh.”
Ciarán snorts, but his smile is tender. “My sweet demi baby.”
Sleep won’t come.
I keep thinking about Noah—about the way his voice sounds when he speaks to me, the light in his eyes when I say something he finds funny, the warm weight of his gaze earlier when he was with Rose. Every memory seems to slot together until he’s all I can think about.
Attraction doesn’t come easily for me. It has to grow with trust, rooted in moments that make me feel safe. And with Noah, it’s happened. Our friendship has been stitched together out of quiet moments, open laughter, and the kind of support that asks for nothing in return. Along the way, without meaning to, he’s started to feel like more to me.
It’s like now that I’ve acknowledged it, my mind is obsessing.
I lie there for a while, feeling restless as an ache gather low. My hand hovers over my stomach, not yet daring to drift, as I let the memories take over—the way his forearms flex when he carries heavy boxes into the store for me, the pull of his T-shirt across his back when he moves around the apartment, the faint scent of cedarwood and salt-warmed skin that lingers in the air when he passes close behind me—close enough that I feel the ghost of his heat at my back.
My cock is already hard when I finally slip my hand into my briefs and fist it. I can’t even remember the last time I did this.
I know I shouldn’t touch myself thinking about him, but the urge is too strong.
The first stroke is slow. I imagine his palm instead—rough from lifting weights. He wouldn’t rush. He’d take his time, working me up with patient touches until I’m shivering with need.
I tighten my grip, thumb brushing over the head, smearing the precum that’s gathered there. My breath hitches. In my mind, his voice is low against my ear.You’re beautiful like this.
The fantasy deepens. I imagine him kneeling between my legs, his hand sliding along my shaft, his eyes locked on mine. The heat of his breath against my skin as he strokes me with deliberate movements, reading every twitch of my hips, every gasp I make.
I spread my legs wider, fisting myself harder now, hips lifting into the rhythm. My free hand grips the sheet. I can almost feel the drag of his stubble against my thigh, the heat of his mouth leaving soft kisses along the inside of my knee.
A sound tries to escape me—needy and loud—and I bite it back, chest heaving.
My core tightens, the pleasure deep and hot. His hand speeds up in my mind, his other bracing on my hip gently, holding me as I buck against his touch. I’m panting now, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.
“Please,” I whimper, not sure what exactly I’m asking for—only that it’s him I want to give it to me.
The tension crests, overwhelming me, and I come with a shudder, Noah’s name on my tongue. I spill over my stomach and hand, my whole body trembling through the release.
I lie there, dazed. Sweat cooling on my skin. My heart thundering.
Then, footsteps, passing just outside my door.
My stomach drops.
Panic and pleasure tangle. I scrub a hand over my face, grab a tissue, and clean up quickly, shoving the evidence away. I can’t go out there to clean up in the bathroom,what if he sees me?Curling onto my side, I press my face into the pillow like I can hide from what I just did.
I just got off to the thought of my brother’s best friend. To the thought ofmyfriend.
I don’t even know if he’s actually attracted to me. What if he knew? Would he look at me differently? Would it ruin the friendship we’ve been building?
And Aiden, what would he think if he knew I wanted Noah at all? He loves Noah, I know that. And I know how much he loves me. A voice in my mind keeps telling me that doesn’t mean he wants me bringing all my darkness to him, though.
