“I thought I could.”
“You can decide one is enough.”
His breathing began to steady again.
“Keep touching me.”
I did.
One finger.
My mouth against his shoulder.
His hand on himself.
Nothing demanded to become more.
The simplicity made the pleasure safer.
Soon his body began to move again—small, deliberate motions against my hand.
“Cal.”
“Yes.”
“I want to feel you.”
My pulse surged.
“Where?”
“Behind me. Against me.”
I withdrew carefully and cleaned my hand.
Then I moved closer, fitting the length of my body along his back.
My arousal rested between us, hard against the curve of him.
Noah pushed backward once.
I caught his hip, not restraining him, only keeping the movement from twisting the joint.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Stay there.”
I pressed along him without entering.
He shuddered.
The feel of his body against mine, warmed and prepared but still protected by my restraint, nearly broke my control.
Noah reached behind us and guided me lower.
When the head of me brushed the place I had been touching, he stopped breathing.
I did not move.
