ChapterNine
Morgan
Ihear him swallow, feel the emotional turmoil radiating off of him like heat waves from blacktop.
"I feel her here, Morgan."He half-turns, a twist of his torso, gesturing at the home at large."Everywhere.The couch.The art.Everything."A long pause, a sigh, a sip, and a swallow."It's not like I feel her watching as if she were a ghost or something, I just…"
I sidle closer, cheek to the outside of his burly bicep that stretches the sleeve of his green-and-blue flannel shirt."I hadn't considered that aspect."
"Me either.It's one thing to sit and talk with you, share a meal.But I think about kissing you, which, to be clear, I haven'tstoppedthinking about kissing you since I saw you last…and I just…" his gaze flicks unconsciously to the mantle above the fireplace.
There's a framed photo of Taylor there with several other framed photos of Noah, Taylor, and Noel throughout the years.The spacing is off, though.As a perfectionist who can't sit in my living room if a frame is tilted or a vase is off-center, I can tell exactly how Taylor had those frames arranged, spaced just so.The one photo of Taylor is out of place—the rest are family photos.
My guess?He moved it from the bedroom to the mantle; it's a hopeful move, and one I understand.
He notices that I've followed his gaze.Adorably, he blushes."It's obviously out of place there.Feel like a fool, now.I don't know what I was thinking."
I squeeze his arm."No, Noah.Not at all.I get it."
He frowns, looks away."It was a moment of impulse.Stupid."
I put myself between his body and the glass door."You have no reason to feel that way."
His dark blue eyes fix on mine."It was in my bedroom."
"I know."
"But I can't even—" he trails off, shaking his head.“I guess I'm not as ready as I thought I was."
“Mallory is at home studying, or I'd say we could go there."
H shakes his head again."I'm sorry."
"You havenothingto apologize for, Noah.There's no rulebook or guidebook for things like this.I'm not upset.I really, truly do understand.I mean, I get it.At least I know I can't really fully know how you're feeling, but—"
His mouth suddenly nuzzles mine, and my heart lifts, pounds, flips.His lips are soft and wet and firm all at once, pressing against mine.It's a gentle kiss, an offer of a kiss; I accept.
Kiss him back.Lift on my toes, let my hands roam his broad, hard shoulders, the solid wall of his powerful chest.He growls quietly, and his hands come up to my face.I can't help but sigh into his mouth at the way his rough, paw-like hands so gently frame my face, as if I'm delicate and he's afraid of his own strength.
We break apart a couple of inches, gazes locked and searching.For a fraught moment, I think he's going to push me away, tell me he can't.I'd understand, but it's not what I want, even though my own heart is crashing crazily in my chest and my fears are boiling inside me, my insecurities chanting in my brain.
Instead, his thumb caresses my lower lip, and his mouth follows.He tucks my hair behind my ears; I've left it loose today, brushed but wild.Noah cups the back of my head with one hand and pulls me in for another kiss, his other resting on my waist.I open my mouth to him and arch against him, feeling my pulse go wild at the heat of his hand through my sweater, at the searching, delving of his mouth on mine, his tongue teasing and tasting.
I hear myself let out a small sound of desire—our mouths part, a sliver of daylight between our lips, and I gasp, almost a whimper.God, his kisses are a drug.Intoxicating.Heady and dizzying.I curl my fingers into his shirtfront, clutching with shaky hands, pull him closer while pressing my chest against his, rubbing my hard, aching nipples against his firm frame.His hand slides from my waist to my hip, pauses, hesitating, and then, with a low rumble, he palms my ass.
Oh god.
My core aches at his touch, and I tip my hips against his—I feel his erection pressing against me, a thick ridge behind his zipper.I lift my hands from his shirt to his jawline, caressing his short, neatly-groomed beard as we come back together for another long, wet, tonguing kiss.He presses my shoulder blades harder against the glass even as his hands, both of them now, grasp my bottom and pull me against his hips.
I trail my hands down his jaw, rest them on his shoulders; discontent, eager, aroused, lost to his kiss and alive with incandescent desire, I need more.I find a button, open it.Another.A third, down to his diaphragm.Seeking the warmth of his skin, I'm frustrated to find a white T-shirt in the way.I free more buttons until his flannel is hanging open.Un-tuck his tee, lift on my toes to deepen the kiss, opening my mouth wide and sliding my tongue against his; I finally find hot skin and hard muscle.
He rumbles again at my touch.Cups my backside in both hands, squeezing, exploring, petting.I writhe against him, pushing my core against his, my zipper scraping against his, trying to undulate against him while pushing my bottom into his touch at the same time.He finds the gap between sweater and jeans, and a gasp leaves my lips at the rough scrape of his hard hands over my soft skin at the small of my back.
I explore his torso, his hard abs beneath a thin layer of padding, his heavy chest.He has a dusting of body hair.He's not some hairless, shredded fitness model; he's my personal ideal of male beauty—hard, strong, and fit, butreal.He lives life.Eats well and enjoys his food, but takes excellent care of his body.I know some fire captains do a lot of their work behind the desk and from the sidelines, but not Noah.He’s in the thick of it with his men, training with them, leading by example and never asking them to do anything he hasn't done and wouldn't do himself.
I push his flannel off, and it falls to the floor, and I caress his thick, hard arms, up under the tight sleeves of his tee, down his triceps, up his biceps.More—I need more.I'm discontent with fabric when there's skin and muscle on offer—I push the hem of his tee up, up.He lifts his arms and I rip the garment off, raking my fingernails down his chest and abs.
His hands skate up my back, caressing in wide circles from shoulders to waist."No bra," he murmurs.
