I kissed him with the same patience.
This time, Noah responded immediately.
His right hand slid into my hair. His fingers closed at the back of my head, drawing me toward him. The sudden movement pulled his injured arm awkwardly against the brace.
He made a soft sound.
I stopped.
“Pain?”
“The brace.”
“That’s enough.”
“No.”
“Noah.”
“Change the angle.”
Desire darkened his voice.
The sound went through me.
I moved to his right side so he could lean without twisting his hip. Noah settled against the couch, supported by the cushions. I braced one hand beside his shoulder, keeping my weight away from him.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
His fingers tightened in my hair.
He pulled me down.
Our mouths met again.
The kiss grew warmer.
Noah explored without pretending certainty. He learned the shape of my mouth instead of remembering it. His thumbmoved along my cheek. His lips parted beneath mine, and his tongue touched mine briefly before retreating.
I waited.
He came back on his own.
The second stroke was slower.
More deliberate.
A quiet sound moved from him into my mouth.
Heat gathered between us until every place we touched became painfully vivid. His hand in my hair. My thumb beneath his ear. His knee resting against mine. His breath warming my face.
His body knew enough to lean toward me.
Mine knew far too much.
I remembered how he kissed when he was impatient. How he bit gently at my lower lip when he wanted to provoke me. How his breath changed just before he lost control.
