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I shake my head and he laughs.

“I was really hoping you’d say that. Lie on your back on the bed.”

Following his instructions, I lie down on the bed and he climbs on top of me before shoving my legs apart. Our eyes meet and his smile is downright devious as he slips two fingers inside me and groans.

“Thought you weren’t wet, baby,” he teases. I ignore him, too focused on the gentle pressure of his fingers slowly moving in and out of me as my body aches for more. Whimpering, I lift my hips, trying to get just that and he laughs.

Motherfucker.

“Had enough yet?” he whispers, adding his thumb to my clit and I cry out as I shove my fingers in my hair. When I don’t answer him, he picks up the pace and I moan as my hips lift off the bed. Just when I think I’m going to find my release again, he stops.

“Please!” I scream at him and he arches a brow.

“Is this you conceding?”

I think it over for a second before nodding and the relief on his face is evident.

“Thank fuck. I didn’t think I was going to last much longer,” he says as he rubs his cock over my clit and lines himself up with my entrance.

“You’re a real son of a bitch.”

“Isn’t that why you love me?” he asks but before I can tell that is absolutely not the reason I love him, he thrusts forward, burying himself inside me and we both moan.

This is one argument that can wait for later.

Chapter Fourteen

Noah

Opening my eyes, I release a heavy breath and squint up at the ceiling as bright morning sunlight streaks through the room and my mind sluggishly tries to wake up. I yawn as I rub my hand over my face and a soft snore next to me pulls my attention to the naked beauty next to me. I grin. She’s so goddamn cute when she sleeps, on her belly with one leg hanging out of the covers. Without wanting, she rolls over and I wrap my arm around her, pulling her into me as she sighs. Her back is pressed against my front and like she’s trying to torture me, she wiggles, rubbing her ass against my aching cock. I bite back a groan.

Fuck.

What I wouldn’t give to flip her over and sink into her but I can’t stand to wake her.

“Don’t even think about it, LeBlanc,” she mumbles, her voice still heavy with sleep and I glance up at her face as she cracks her eyes open.

“I wasn’t.”

She grins, rolling her hazel eyes as they shine with amusement. “Liar.”

“Liar, huh? I’ll teach you to call me a liar,” I growl playfully as I grab her hip and flip her to her back. She giggles and the sound hits me like a ton of bricks. Since I showed back up in her life, her laughter has been rare and as I stare down at her brilliant smile, struggling to breathe through the intense love I feel every time I look at her, I make it my mission to make her laugh every damn day of her life.

Leaning in, I press my lips to her neck, humming as the scent of oranges fills my nose. Every day that I was locked up, I would close my eyes and just imagine this right here - being in bed with her, the two of us in our own little bubble, and it’s the only thing that got me through the difficult days. She threads her fingers into my hair as I drag my lips down to her tit, goose bumps racing across my flesh. My hands and lips explore every inch of skin I can reach, drawing sighs and softs moans from her that spur me on, making me need more. As I start a path back up to her lips, my hand brushes over some raised skin by her hip and she tenses underneath me.

“Please, don’t.” Her voice is desperate and as much as I would like to respect her wishes, anything that puts that much pain in her voice, I need to know about. Pulling back, I glance down and suck in a breath at the prominent scar in the shape of a “B” just above her hipbone. It’s almost like someone carved it into her skin.

“Who did this to you, baby?” I ask as my head whips up and our eyes meet. Tears fill her gaze and she reaches down, shoving my hand out of the way before covering the mark with hers.

“It doesn’t matter.”

My brows knit together. “It sure as hell does matter. Tell me.”

She stares up at me for a moment, both of us standing our ground, before she sighs and wipes away a few tears as they fall down her cheeks. “Oliver did it to me.”

“How? Did he cut you?”

“I wish,” she scoffs. “It was probably about two months after he’d taken me and he brought in this metal poker thing that was shaped like a “B” at the end…”