I kissed him.
Slowly.
Not because my desire lacked urgency.
Because I wanted him to feel every decision inside it.
His lips parted beneath mine. His tongue met mine. His body pressed into me, hard and warm, his arousal unmistakable against my stomach.
He shifted closer.
“Still green?” I asked against his mouth.
“Yes.”
“Head?”
“One.”
“Hip?”
“Good.”
“Fear?”
He took my hand and placed it flat over his sternum.
His heart beat fast beneath my palm.
“Here.”
“Do you want to stop?”
“No.”
“Slow down?”
“No.”
“What do you want?”
He glanced toward the bed.
“That.”
I drew back the quilt and arranged the pillows the way Maeve had shown us.
One beneath Noah’s knees. Another supporting his right hip. A third positioned near his left arm so he would not have to bear weight through the recovering shoulder.
Noah watched with growing suspicion.
“This has become a medical demonstration.”
“The lighting is romantic.”
“The light is green.”
“You like green.”
