Noah came closer.
His fingertips touched the compass tattoo across my ribs.
“I remember hating this.”
“You called it dramatic.”
“It is dramatic.”
He traced one black line.
“I remember kissing it anyway.”
“You did.”
“Like this?”
He bent and placed his mouth against my skin.
The kiss was warm, lingering.
Pleasure moved low through me.
“Like that,” I said.
Noah looked up.
There was a spark in his eye I knew from the past and the present.
He kissed the tattoo again, then moved his lips slowly along the edge of my ribs. His breath warmed my skin. His hand settled at my waist, steadying himself.
My fingers went into his damp hair.
I did not guide him.
I only held.
“Green?” he asked against my body.
“Yes.”
His tongue touched the ink once.
My breath caught.
Noah’s mouth curved against me.
“You like that.”
“Yes.”
He straightened.
Desire had begun to flush his chest.
He took my hand and led me to the bed.
We lay facing one another beneath the quilt, bare skin warmed by the dim room.
