His gaze stayed on mine.
“I want to feel your hand on my skin.”
“Where?”
“My back.”
“Green?”
“Yes.”
I moved slowly enough that he could stop me at any point.
My fingers found the hem of his sweater and paused.
“Still?”
“Yes.”
I slid my hand beneath the wool.
His skin was warm.
The first contact made him inhale sharply.
I stopped.
“Amber?”
“No. Green.”
My palm settled against the center of his back.
Heat surged through both of us.
Noah’s eye closed.
He leaned into my hand as though the warmth there had unlocked something.
The skin beneath my palm was smoother than memory and exactly the same. The line of his spine, the strength returning around it, the faint tremor when my thumb moved once.
“Do that again,” he whispered.
I stroked my thumb slowly over his back.
His mouth found mine.
The kiss turned deeper.
Noah’s right hand caught in my shirt. He pulled me closer, and I followed only as far as his body invited. My palmremained steady beneath the sweater, supporting rather than roaming.
He kissed me with growing confidence.
Not because he remembered how.
Because he was learning what he wanted now.
His tongue met mine.
