I stayed.
Noah moved his hips again.
The hard length of me slid along the seam between his thighs, separated by the soft fabric of our clothes.
My breath broke.
A low sound escaped him.
“Green?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you want movement?”
“Yes.”
“From me?”
“Yes.”
I tightened my arm around his waist, anchoring him without trapping him.
Then I moved once.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Noah’s hand stopped beneath the blanket.
His back arched against my chest.
“Still green?”
“Very.”
I kissed the back of his neck.
He shivered.
We moved again.
There was no undressing.
No attempt to turn the moment into something it was not.
Only the pressure of our bodies aligned through thin cloth, Noah touching himself beneath the blanket while I moved against the heat between his thighs.
The intimacy nearly overwhelmed me.
He had chosen every part.
He controlled the angle with small shifts of his hips.
I followed.
“Harder,” he whispered.
