“It was caution.”
“Did I argue this much before?”
“More.”
“Did it work?”
“Occasionally.”
Noah kissed me.
The movement was deliberate.
Not a challenge thrown carelessly into the air.
A choice.
I let him set the pace.
His fingertips moved through my beard before sliding around the back of my neck. His mouth touched mine with soft uncertainty, then warmed as recognition of the act replaced the fear of it.
I kept my hands at his sides.
Nothing lower.
Nothing assumed.
He kissed me again.
Longer.
The blanket slipped from his lap, and his thigh pressed against mine.
Desire rose through me, hard and immediate.
I did not attempt to hide the physical truth of it, but neither did I move against him.
Noah deepened the kiss.
His tongue touched mine.
The small sound that left him went directly through me.
Then he stopped.
His forehead rested against my cheek.
“You’re hard.”
“Yes.”
“Again.”
“Yes.”
“Does that happen every time I kiss you?”
“Nearly.”
