Scaroused?
Panic isn't fear, but close enough in this context.
"Morgan?"
I pull back—I'm shaking all over."Jokes are a coping mechanism," I manage.
"I know."
"You make me feel a lot of things, Noah," I say."Some of them are scary.Well…allof them are, honestly.They’re scary and make my brain run in overthinking hyper-drive."
"You're an overthinker?"
"God yes.So bad."
"Then we gotta get you out of your head."
"Easier said than done, I'm afraid."
He turns toward me—before I can react, he's lifted me onto his lap, facing him…straddling him.My exposed cleavage is in his face, and my heart is pounding, and my core is soaked, and my hands are shaking, and I can't breathe.
His hands are hot and rough on my back, on my skin under my T-shirt, skating up and raking down from my shoulders to the waist of my jeans and back up, roaming in circles over my bra strap.Part of me wants him to unhook it, but the rest is terrified of exactly that.
He doesn't.
He cups my face in both hands and brings my face to his.He doesn't kiss me, yet."Morgan…" his lips brush mine."You're beautiful."
It's a simple statement.Two words.But for some reason, it hits me so hard my breath catches in a silent sob."Noah," I whimper."Stop."
That's when he kisses me.When my throat is tight and hot, my eyes are wet, and my heart is breaking and confused and hopeful, he kisses me."Never."It's a breath; a promise.
I can't help but kiss him back, can't help but bury my fingers in his hair and shift closer to him, feeling the hard bunch of his powerful thighs under mine.His hands find skin again, my back under my shirt, my shoulders, my waist…my belly.
I squirm when his hands touch the bunched and wrinkled skin there, whining in my throat in aversion.Instead of rushing past and continuing upward, he pulls away from the kiss.Covers my belly with his hands.
"You're beautiful, Morgan.Everywhere.Every inch.All of you.You're fucking beautiful."
"Noah," I bite out."Not there.Please.”
His mouth touches my jawline."You created a life there, Morgan.A whole human being.A wonderful, talented person."
"It looks gross."
"To who?"he demands.He drives his hips up against my backside, and I feel something hard and thick and long crush against me."Does it feel like I think it's gross?"
"Maybe you're just a freak with a weird fetish," I say."Not judging, if so."
"I'm pretty damn vanilla, actually.It's not a fetish, it's attraction.No part of you is gross."He slides my braid through his fist, searching me."You're beautiful, Morgan."
"Been a very, very,verylong time since I felt that way."
"Which is a goddamn tragedy.You're an incredible person inside and out.That bastard didn't deserve to even look at you."
"Not disagreeing with you there."I sit back, upright and away from him, resting my hands on his shoulders.I swallow hard, look away.“When I'm with you, I…I think I could feel beautiful again.The way you look at me, the way you touch me, the things you say."
"I don't want to rush you—I don't want to rush myself.But I do want to spend more time with you.Let me show you how beautiful you are to me, Morgan."
"Not here, though," I say."I'mwaytoo self-conscious to get my freak on for the first time in twenty years outside on a public hiking path."
