“A lot of it looks physically unpleasant.”
“It is staged for the camera.”
“And no one discusses what they’re doing.”
“Also for the camera.”
His fingers reached the first button of my shirt.
“I prefer that we talk.”
“So do I.”
“I like when you ask.”
“Yes.”
“But I also like when you understand without making me explain every thought.”
The distinction warmed my blood.
“What do I understand now?”
“That I’ve wanted you to kiss me for the past three hours.”
I kissed him.
Noah met me with hunger held too long.
His mouth opened beneath mine. His hand slid into my hair. The tablet vanished beneath the edge of the blanket as he shifted closer.
I kept my weight away from his injured hip.
He noticed.
“Closer.”
I moved until our chests touched.
His breath caught.
“Comfortable?” I asked.
“Yes.”
The first kisses were slow. Familiarity rebuilt itself through pressure and breath, the tilt of his head, the way his fingers tightened against my neck.
Then Noah made an impatient sound and pulled at my shirt.
I sat back long enough to remove it.
His gaze traveled over my chest.
He had inspected me with curiosity before. This was different. Desire had sharpened the attention, turning it possessive without becoming demanding.
His fingertips traced the compass tattoo along my ribs.
“Still excessive.”
