“Yes.”
“You tell me immediately.”
“I will.”
The confidence in his voice sent desire through me so forcefully that I had to breathe before answering.
“All right.”
We went to the bedroom.
Not because the bed carried expectation.
Because the couch strained his hip and my back.
Noah showered first. He said the warm water would clear the last pressure from his head. I remained outside thebathroom until he told me, with increasing irritation, to stop guarding the door.
When he emerged, his hair was damp and his body bare.
He stopped.
We had seen each other naked several times since he came home.
This felt different.
Intent sharpened every detail.
The pale scars along his arm.
The healing line over his hip.
The mark near his temple.
The changed shape of muscles slowly rebuilding after weeks of enforced stillness.
My gaze traveled over him.
He noticed.
“Still green?”
“Yes.”
His shoulders lowered.
I removed my clothes.
Noah watched.
Not shy.
Not fully confident.
Present.
His gaze followed the movement of my shirt over my head, the lowering of my sweatpants, the way my body responded to being seen by him.
I stood naked before him.
