Noah’s kissing slowed. His tongue withdrew. He placed one last kiss, right at the corner of Ramin’s mouth, and leaned up.
“So.” His smile was somewhere between cocky and shy. “How was that?”
thirty-five
Noah
Noah cuddled Ramin for as long as he could, but they were both hot and sweaty, and Ramin was scratching at his peeling tattoo. While Noah liked the way Ramin smelled, he had a feeling they didn’t want the bedding to absorb it.
So he dragged Ramin to the shower, kissing him over and over as he waited for the water to warm up. Which took a weirdly long time.
The shower was great, though: big enough for four, with a frosted glass door, blue LED lighting, and a waterfall head that felt like heaven as Noah held Ramin beneath it.
He knew he’d just had his mouth around Ramin’s member, his lips on as many parts of Ramin’s skin as he could reach, but gently scrubbing him felt even more intimate. Tender. With none of the breathtaking anticipation of sex, he had time to really admire Ramin’s skin. The way he curved in spots. The soft bits, the firm bits, the ones with sexy tufts of hair.
Ramin’s hands were on Noah too, soaping him up. Noah was worried Ramin would feel weird about showering together, or get self-conscious again, but Ramin seemed quite content, lingering on Noah’s chest, massaging his armpits with soap, lathering up his heavy penis.
“Careful,” Noah said. “I don’t want to get worked up before dinner.”
Ramin whined. Truth be told, Noah wouldn’t have minded a showerhandjob, but they had a reservation. When they were both clean, Noah stepped out and grabbed a fluffy white towel to wrap Ramin in. He knew he’d said it aloud, but he hoped Ramin could tell, from every one of Noah’s actions, just how beautiful he was. How precious. How irresistibly sexy.
“So,” Ramin said, once they were both dressed in fresh clothes. Ramin had pulled on a short-sleeved button-up—no more tank top, to Noah’s disappointment—and Noah himself had managed to scrub the ink off his arm, so he’d changed into a polo. “You said something about dinner?”
“I’ve already got us reservations.”
Ramin’s eyebrows shot up. His eyes sparkled. “Really?”
“Really-really.”
They didn’t have far to go—just the elevator to the rooftop. The doors opened onto an open-air restaurant lit with fairy lights hung from the trellises. The sun was nearly set, turning the sky above a rich velvety purple. The wind off the darkening sea had turned cool and crisp. The city was lighting up all around them, and in the distance, the Lanterna—Noah still couldn’t believe they’d climbed it—shone out to sea.
Ramin took it all in with wonder, the fairy lights reflecting in his eyes, and Noah’s heart squeezed so hard he nearly doubled over. How did he get to be so lucky, to be here, at this moment, in this place, with Ramin?
“Buonasera,” the host said. “Table for two?”
“We have a reservation,” Noah said. “Under Noah Bartlett?”
“Prego, Mr. Bartlett, this way.”
Their table was a small thing, covered by a white cloth, nestled up against the rail that hemmed in the rooftop. Noah held Ramin’s chair for him before taking his own seat.
“I picked the place, but you still have to pick the wine,” Noah said. “Nonna would never forgive me if I picked something bad.”
Ramin laughed. “That woman clearly loves you.”
“She loves you, too.”
Ramin blushed hard and hid behind the wine list.
He ended up ordering a rosé, but it was darker than any rosé Noah had ever seen before, almost ruby-colored. It smelled like candied cherries and children’s cough syrup, and it tasted tart and bright and perfect.
“Oh, wow,” Noah said. “This is good.”
He’d never tasted anything like it. It seemed like Ramin hadn’t, either, because he kept sniffing it, sipping it, taking photos of the bottle.
“Everything okay?” Maybe it wasn’t good. Maybe Ramin was thinking of sending it back. Maybe Noah’s palate was too pedestrian.
“Yeah, it’s amazing,” Ramin said. “I need to talk to David about it. He’s—”
