You play dirty, Bright.
“I’m not a cat.”
“Nope, you’re a grumpy old man who will eat my dust.” I didn’t hear the rest of his words because Noah bent forward to tie the shoelaces on his trainers and the wide shorts snagged on his biteable glutes.
That I let him run ahead of me had nothing to do with the fact that he looked like a snack on lean legs and everything with how untrained I was.
“Oh. My. Gods.” I gasped for breath and almost doubled over when we arrived back at the shack.
“Yeah, this sucked.” Noah wheezed and held the stitch in his side.
“Agreed.” I groaned. I rested my hands on my knees to catch my breath. “This is definitely not my preferred form of cardio.”
His snort ended in a pained moan. “I think I’m dying. Also, yes. Let’s never do that again, okay?”
I chuckled between rasping breaths. “Deal. I’m not opposed to other kinds of exercise.” I said it with so much innuendo that laughter burst out of Noah.
“Whatever you have on your mind, I’m game, Lew.”
I cupped the back of his neck and pulled him closer.
“I can’t tell if you’re serious or not.” In comparison to Noah’s body my hand was so large that my fingers met at his Adam’s apple. He swallowed under my touch and a nervous tongue darted out to sweep over his lips.
“I’m serious,” Noah huffed and pressed his erection fleetingly to my thighs, and I hummed in reply.
Damn it, Bright. You’re not making it easy for me to wait.
As much as I wanted him, I was determined to get this right.
I can’t afford to make any mistakes.
And this between us wasn’t about a quick fuck.
“Let’s play some Alphaforce, okay?” I pecked him gently on the cheek.
We cleaned up, changed, and had the best evening with my favourite game. I’d got us some more of the White Tiger IPA, and Noah had spotted a new crisps brand we both decided we had to try.
“I love the packaging,” he’d exclaimed, and I’d got one of each variety and then we ranked them by taste.
“The Smoked Ember is my winner,” I said as I licked my index finger and swept the bottom of the bag for the last crumbs. Cinder Salt was bland but extra crispy, and the Singed Lime did what the packaging promised and singed my throat. I could never tell my mother that I preferred the ones that were a little less hot.
“For me it’s a tie between the Smoked Ember and the Singed Lime,” Noah mused. “They help me think. It’s an ADHD thing.” He grinned over at me and then took out one of the bad guys who’d tried to creep up on me.
“Cheers.” I eliminated another guy and soon we were stuck in a vicious fight that we managed to win only after five brutal minutes. I held my hand up and Noah high-fived me when our last enemy had gone down. “Oh, we should probably take some more photos.” I paused the game.
“Yeah, good idea.” He dug his phone out from under the empty crisp bags and plastered his body to my side.
What a step-up from our first attempt. I flung an arm around him and waited until he’d opened his camera app. Noah took a few pics, of us arm in arm and me kissing his cheek, but then I nudged his lips on mine and he abandoned his smartphone.
“Gods, Puppy,” I growled when our tongues tangled and his piercing tickled my flesh.
“Fuck, I like it when you call me that.” He huffed and draped his body across my chest.
It took me nearly half an hour to drive home in the dark because my brain replayed the rest of the evening in an endless loop.
Noah’s arms around my neck. The way he kneaded my pec. His gasp when I slipped my hands under his jumper. His soft skin. And restraint.
Endless restraint, and it was so dumb to hold off like that, but inside I was still 14 years old and scared to spook him with the magnitude of my desire.
