“Norah,” I murmur, voice rough from everything we didn’t do, “this isn’t nothing.”
She nods, leaning into my touch like she’s not sure she’s allowed to.
I swallow and brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “I haven’t felt like this in a long time.”
Her eyes soften. “Jude…”
I force myself to ease back, even though my body wants her closer. The movie’s still playing in the background, but everything feels different now—charged, warm, shaped around the fact that we just crossed a line we can’t un-cross.
I squeeze her hand once before letting go. “Stay for the rest of the movie.”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I’d like that.”
She settles against my side, head beneath my arm, her breathing slow but unsteady enough that I know she’s replaying the same moments I am. I rest a hand on her hip, light but there, a promise I’m not running from this.
Not anymore.
As the credits roll, I lean back against the sofa, letting out a slow exhale through my nose, just taking in the moment.
Norah shifts beside me, yawning, and offers to help with the dishes. I shake my head with a small smile.
I reach over and touch her hair as she moves, just letting my fingers skim through the strands. They spring up in little coils, catching the lamplight, and I can’t help but tell her.
“You’ve got really pretty hair,” I say, just like that, not trying to make a move. She tilts her head at me, eyes bright, a small smile curling her lips.
“Thanks,” she says, like it’s nothing, but I can feel it in the way she’s looking at me.
I swallow and tug her closer gently. “Mind if I try braiding it?” I ask, feeling the nerve in my chest coil.
She laughs softly, a little teasing, but warm. “I know you’re nervous about Maisie’s hair, but I promise, you’ll be okay.”
I grin, leaning my forehead against hers briefly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But actually… I want to braid your hair for more selfish reasons.”
Her breath hitches in the softest way, and I feel the reaction in my chest. She lifts a brow, tilting her head. “Selfish reasons?”
I can’t tell her half the filthy things running through my head, the imagining of dragging my fingers through her hair as I kissher, feeling the curve of her neck pressed into me. I can’t say it. So I keep it clean.
“Can I please just do your hair?”
Her smile softens, eyes glinting. “If you insist,” she says, settling herself in front of me on the sofa. I move a pillow under her for support, arranging her just right.
Her hair is long and thick, the strands brushing my wrists as I work, and I take my time. The braids twist neatly, my fingers running through her hair slowly, massaging her scalp with light, teasing pressure whenever she shifts or sighs. I catch every small intake of breath.
She leans back just slightly against me, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, and the quiet intimacy of it makes my chest thrum. Every little tug, every small shift of her, sets my thoughts spinning, but I’m careful, patient.
I’m here to braid her hair, to massage her scalp, not to cross any lines. But that doesn’t mean I’m not aware of how impossibly beautiful she is, or how her presence makes the heat coil low and urgent in me.
The door opens with a soft creak, and I glance up to see Ryker standing there, one eyebrow raised, a beer in hand.
“Hey. What’s happening here?” His grin is amused, laced with that sharp undertone that always sets a tension in the air.
Norah straightens just slightly, smiling at him. “He’s working on my hair,” she says, casual, like this is a normal occurrence, but there’s a sparkle in her eyes.
Ryker strides over and perches on the chair across from us, beer in hand, leaning casually. “Where’s Maisie?”
“She’s asleep,” I say. He nods, taking a slow sip.
“Am I okay to sit and watch? I love to watch,” he says, and the words carry a teasing undertone.
