The simple gratitude in his eyes makes something twist inside me. It’s been a long time since anyone looked at me like that, with that kind of quiet trust.
We reach the cottage first, climbing the porch steps with the slightly exaggerated care of drunk people trying very hard not to look drunk. Noah fumbles with the key, laughing under his breath when it takes him three tries to get it into the lock. I stay close behind him, my hand resting lightly on his lower back, enjoying the warmth of him through his shirt.
For a second, my mind slips somewhere dangerous: into a version of this where we’re not faking anything, where we’ve come back from a night out and I’m behind him like this because I’m about to crowd him through the doorway, get him inside, get my hands on him. The thought hits hard enough to make my breath catch. I try to kill it immediately, but my body’s already gone traitor on me, my pulse climbing as heat curls low in my belly.
Finally, the door swings open, and we step inside together, the soft lamplight making the place feel warm and suddenly intimate. We leave the door open behind us, both aware that Rick and Cassidy are catching up and will be inside soon. The thought of Rick seeing Noah like this—relaxed, smiling, his guard lowered because of me, not him—sends something possessive through my chest.
As we start up the stairs, I impulsively reach for Noah’s hand and thread my fingers through his. He looks back over his shoulder, surprise flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t sayanything or pull away. He just smiles at me again and keeps going, drawing me after him onto the second floor.
The second we step into our room, I hear footsteps downstairs and a muffled conversation drifting up the stairwell. Maybe it’s the wine, or the tension still crackling under my skin from all the touching, but whatever it is, I act before I can talk myself out of it.
The moment we step inside, I pull Noah back toward me and kiss him. He makes a small sound of surprise, and I swallow it down when he goes tense for the briefest moment. Then he softens against me, his lips parting under mine. The kiss isn’t soft. It’s an announcement, a claim staked out where Rick can see it.
Fuck. The taste of him—wine and something sweet, probably the chocolate cake from dessert—goes straight to my head. Maybe I’m just drunk, but this feels too good too fast, like my body recognizes something my brain hasn’t caught up to yet.
My hand slides to the back of Noah’s neck, my fingers threading into the soft curls at his nape. I tell myself this is still for show, that I’m doing it because I can hear Rick and Cassidy on the stairs now, close enough that they’ll be passing our door any second. But the warmth of Noah’s mouth against mine knocks that thought clean out of my head.
I kiss him deeper, angling my head until our mouths fit together better. It stops feeling like a performance almost immediately and turns into something hungrier. My thumb drags along the hinge of his jaw, tipping his face up toward mine. I want him to feel this. I want Rick to see it. More than that, I want Noah to forget him for one minute.
When his hands come up to grip my shoulders, I expect him to push me back, break the kiss, and ask me what the hell I’m doing. Instead, his fingers tighten, pulling me closer.
That does something dangerous to me.
Without breaking the kiss, I back Noah into the wall beside the door. It’s still open, and from the corner of my eye I catch movement out in the hallway.
My hands get bolder, sliding down his sides to his hips. His body is solid and warm under my palms, fitting too well between me and the wall. Then a sound slips out of him—half moan, half sigh—and it goes straight to my cock, making me hard against his thigh.
Shit. That was not part of the plan.
Then I hear a sharp intake of breath that isn’t Noah’s, followed by a woman’s giggle—Rick and Cassidy catching sight of us as they pass the open door. I don’t look. I keep kissing Noah, but I’m aware of them, aware of Rick seeing exactly what I wanted him to see: Noah in my arms, flushed and pliant under my mouth.
I slide one hand down and cup Noah’s ass, pulling his hips harder against mine. I’m fully hard now, and there’s no way he doesn’t feel it. I should be embarrassed. Instead I kiss him harder, bracing one hand against the wall beside his head as the footsteps move faster past our door.
A second later, I hear a door open and then shut. Mission accomplished.
The problem is, I don’t stop.
I keep kissing him, my tongue sliding against his as the last of my self-control starts to fray. His hands are under myshirt now, warm against the bare skin of my lower back, and the feel of them makes a shiver run through me. We’re not putting on a show anymore. Rick is gone. It’s just Noah’s mouth, Noah’s body, Noah breathing into me like he wants this as badly as I do.
It’s only when voices carry through the wall from the next room that Noah finally pulls back, breathing hard. He stares up at me, pupils blown wide, lips red and swollen from my kisses. His cheeks are flushed. His hair is mussed where my fingers tangled in it. He looks dazed in a way that hits me right in the chest.
I step back then, because I have to. Because if I don’t, I’m going to do something even stupider.
I reach past him and push our door shut, the soft click of the latch sounding absurdly loud between us.
“He saw,” I say, barely above a whisper, my voice rough.
It’s a stupid thing to say, and I know it the second it leaves my mouth. My brain is trying way too hard to turn this back into strategy, and all the blood that should be helping it has gone elsewhere.
Noah nods, still leaning against the wall like his legs might not be fully reliable at the moment. “Yeah,” he says, a little breathless. “He definitely saw.”
We stand there for a second, the silence stretching between us. My heart is pounding hard enough to hurt, and I can still taste him.
“I should…” I gesture vaguely toward the bathroom, desperate for a minute to get myself under control. “Wash up. Before bed.”
“Right,” Noah says too quickly. “Yeah. Good idea.”
I turn away before he can see how wrecked I still am and head for the bathroom on unsteady legs. Once inside, I close the door and lean against it, exhaling slowly.
