ChapterTwelve
Noah
Admitting that was way more difficult than it should have been.I feel Taylor here, in this house.This was our home together.She's gone, and I know it.I'm trying to move on, trying to let someone else in, like she made me promise I would.But I still can't help feeling conflicted, like I'm betraying her somehow by doing these things with another woman, at all, let alonehere.
But my god, Morgan makes me feel…it's hard to put into words, even in my own head.Like a kid again—a horny teenager with a crush.Alive like I haven't felt in so, so long.
The months of Taylor's illness, decline, and passing were brutal beyond comprehension.Hours felt like days, days felt like weeks, and the whole process from diagnosis to death felt like a lifetime.It sapped my spirit.Sucked me dry.Left me a husk, withered and wrecked.
I've felt empty inside for years.Icanhide it, and did so pretty well, I think.I doubt anyone but Noel really knew how depressed I was and for how long.There was a period of two or three weeks around six months after Taylor’s death where I was terrified of the darkness inside me, of the horrible thoughts and ideations I had infecting my mind and soul…that was when I threw myself into work like a man possessed, running eighteen-hour shifts, sleeping at the station for days on end…
I'm much better now, but there's still this gnawing emptiness at the core of me.Yes, it's missing Taylor, my best friend, my life partner, my wife, my lover.But it's more than that, and that's what's hard to wrap my head around.
I miss more than just Taylor.
I miss companionship.I miss laughing with someone, sharing things—a meal, a joke, a random thought, a bad day, a good day.
I miss touching and being touched.
I miss soft skin and hot curves.I miss the slide of a silky thigh over mine.I miss gasping breaths.I miss soft screams in the darkness.
I had all that.
It's gone.
She's gone, but the need is still there.
I'm still here, but she's gone.
I couldn't save her, not with all the fire engines, hose attacks, Halligans, firefighters, and knowledge in the world.
She's gone, and I'm here—and my needs and desires are still here, too.
The sounds Morgan made when I touched her?Indelibly erotic.The way she arched against me, the way she clutched me, rode me, begged me to talk to her?
Fuck.
For all the heat and intensity of my sex life with Taylor, we were never vocal during it.A gasp, a grunt, a 'yes' or an 'oh god', sure.But dirty talk?I tried that once, and she just laughed.She thought it was funny rather than erotic.I didn't mind—I loved laughing with Taylor more than just about anything, even and especially during sex.She was an easy laugh and always made me feel funny.But dirty talk was just comical to her, so we left it out of our relationship.
I truly don't know what came over me when Morgan asked me to talk to her.She needed to get out of her head, and I knew it.I could feel it.Instinct took over and my mouth just ran away from me.
She seemed to like it, though.
A lot.
Shit, so did I.
But now, letting Morgan touch me?It’s a whole new thing.A new fear to face: how do I stop my brain from comparing?From going to Taylor, to the things we did together, the way she did them?
"Hey."Her voice is soft, breathy."Noah?"
“Yeah.”I'm facing the glass, struggling with myself.
I want this.I want to feel good.I want her touch.I want to get out of my head.I want to be present.Here, with Morgan.
She applies pressure to my shoulders, gently urging me to turn around.I pivot in place, put my back to the glass—it's bitterly cold, the shock of it sending a shiver through me.
The shiver becomes something else when I see the look in her eyes—glittering arousal, heated need.Raw female appreciation.sexual satiety—the lazy, incandescent satisfaction of a well-pleased woman.
