“Green?”
“Yes.”
I continued until the initial tension began to ease. The contact became less foreign beneath my fingers. His body softened enough to accept the possibility of more.
When I pressed one fingertip inside, Noah inhaled sharply.
I froze.
“Pain?”
“Stretching.”
“Color?”
“Amber.”
“Do you want me out?”
“No.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
I stayed exactly where I was.
No movement.
No additional pressure.
No expectation.
Noah reached back until his hand found my thigh. His fingers closed around it.
“Talk to me.”
“I’m here.”
“Something else.”
“You’re in our bed.”
His grip tightened.
“It’s raining. The green lamp is on in the hallway. Marlowe is scratching at the door because he believes every closed room contains something specifically arranged to exclude him.”
A laugh trembled out of Noah.
His body loosened around the contact.
“Better?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I moved my fingertip slightly.
His breathing changed.
