“For you or for me?”
“You.”
I considered the question.
“Green,” I said. “Intense, but green.”
His eye searched mine.
“Can intense become bad?”
“Yes.”
“What happens then?”
“I ask to pause.”
He nodded.
Then he kissed me again.
Speaking did not ruin the moment.
It made trust part of it.
His fingers slid behind my neck. My hand spread over his back. When he leaned closer and our chests met, a soft sound escaped him.
The sound went directly through me.
My fingers tightened before I remembered the rule.
Noah felt the pressure.
“Green,” he whispered.
I held him more firmly.
His mouth became hungry.
Not desperate.
Curious enough to forget fear for several breaths.
His lips parted wider. His tongue met mine with less hesitation. He tasted of dill, lemon, and the coffee he had drunk while cooking. His beard—shorter than mine, softer—brushed my chin.
I wanted him with an intensity that made my hands ache.
I kept one palm at his back and the other at his side.
No lower.
No assumptions.
No test of how far he might let me go.
Noah shifted again.
His hip brushed mine.
