This time there’s no gentleness, no careful restraint. It’s all heat and need and months of pent-up frustration and desperate want. Noah’s tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming me with a possessiveness that makes my whole body sing. His hand tightens in my hair, angling my head exactly where he wants me, and I surrender to it completely.
“Need these off,” he growls against my lips, tugging at my panties with his free hand. “Need to feel you.”
I lift up slightly, helping him slide them down my legs, and kick them off somewhere into the darkness of my tiny apartment. When I settle back down, we both gasp at the contact—skin against skin, and nothing between us anymore.
“Jesus,” Noah breathes, his hands gripping my hips hard enough that I’ll probably have bruises tomorrow. I hope I will. I need the reminder that this night was not a dream.
“You’re so wet,” he rasps, running his hand between my thighs.
Heat floods my cheeks at his blunt observation, but I can’t deny it. I’ve been aching for him since he kissed me, since before that. Since I saw him in that ring, all controlled violence and raw power.
“Noah,” I whisper, rocking against him, feeling him hard and hot against me. “Please.”
“Tell me what you want,” he demands, his voice rough and barely controlled. “Say it.”
“You,” I gasp as his hand slides between us to find exactly where I need him. “I want you inside me.”
He groans at my words, his fingers circling and teasing until I’m trembling above him. “Once we do this, there’s no going back. We can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
“I don’t want to pretend,” I say, my voice stronger than I feel. All the reasons I’ve been holding back are pounding on the windows of my mind, but I ignore them. “I want this. I want you.”
The last wall behind his eyes crumbles, and he grips my hips and lifts me slightly, positioning himself at my entrance. Our eyes lock, and for a moment everything else fades away—the tiny apartment, his injuries, the complicated mess we’re making of our professional relationship.
“Last chance to run,” he murmurs, but I’m already sliding down, slow and careful.
“I don’t want to run,” I tell him, meaning every word.
He takes one hand to guide himself into me, slowly. Because sliding down doesn’t work very well with how much of him there is. That Amanda sure was wrong about Noah’s features. There is, in fact, a lot to write home about.
He cups my face with the other hand. “Look at me,” he commands softly. “I need to see you.”
I lock eyes with him as I slowly sink down, taking him inch by inch. The stretch is intense, almost too much, and I have to pause halfway to adjust. Noah’s jaw clenches, every muscle in his body taut with the effort of holding still.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grits out, his control visibly fraying. “Take your time.”
I appreciate his patience even as I can see what it’s costing him. A bead of sweat trails down his temple, and his breathingis ragged. I lean forward, bracing my hands on either side of his head, and capture his lips in a kiss as I take him deeper. It’s much easier to adjust to his size while his tongue distracts me.
When I finally take all of him, we both freeze, overwhelmed by the sensation. I feel impossibly full, stretched in the most delicious way, and from the look on Noah’s face—eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched—he’s fighting for control.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands gripping my hips with bruising force. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”
I experiment with a small roll of my hips, and we both moan. The sound he makes—desperate and wrecked—sends power thrumming through my veins. I’ve reduced Noah King, my impossible boss, to something out of my wildest fantasies: a man coming undone beneath me.
“Bea,” he warns, but I’m already moving, lifting up slightly before sinking back down. The drag of him inside me is exquisite torture, hitting spots I didn’t know existed.
“Oh god,” I gasp, finding a rhythm that has us both panting. His hands guide my movements, helping me ride him despite the obvious pain it must be causing his ribs.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice comes out strained and rough. “Just like that. Fuck, you feel incredible.”
I do as I’m told: keep rocking my hips and hitting that spot that feels oh so good.
“Wait, slow down for a second,” Noah grits out, his hands clamping down on my hips like I’m about to launch him into orbit. There’s a note of desperate panic in his voice that makes me freeze mid-motion, my body still humming with the oncoming waves of near-orgasmic bliss. I’m suddenly terrified I’ve actually managed to damage him, that this entire night will end in a call to nine-one-one and a deeply awkward explanation to the EMTs.
I go statue-still, hovering above him, feeling bare skin prickling as adrenaline tangles with mortification.
“What? Why? Are you hurting?” The words tumble out, half panic, half guilt. For a split second I’m picturing his ribs caving in because I pushed on them too hard with my enthusiasm.
“No. Yes.” Noah’s face is tight with concentration or pain, I can never tell the difference. He looks like someone who’s just bitten into a mouthful of wasabi, and I’m not sure if I want to laugh or slap myself for being so clueless. Before I can scramble away, his fingers dig in even tighter, keeping me glued to him.
