Chemistry. That’s chemistry.Thisis what it feels like.
Everything inside me buzzes, light and heady, exciting and new. My toes curl in my silk socks, inside my dress shoes.
I step back to let him in, hyperaware of how close he passes, the brush of his sleeve against mine sending sparks straight to my groin. I’m already half-hard just from the sight of him and from the realization slamming into me like a stack of books:I want Noah.
Not as a friend, not as a colleague. I want him under me, over me, around me. I want to peel that perfect tux off him with my teeth and map out every inch of skin beneath. I want to see where else he hides ink, what his face looks like when he feels really good, I want to feel his breath in places I’ve never felt before.
“Come in,” I manage, my voice made husky from my secret desires. “Drink before we go?”
Noah nods, eyes still devouring me as he steps into the living room. I pour two fingers of whiskey into crystalglasses gifted to me by my father, my hands steadier than I feel. When I hand him his, our fingers brush. Electricity. His pupils dilate, dark and hungry, and for a second I thinkhemight close the distance.
I want him to.
God, I want him to shove me against the wall, make my Charles Wysocki print crash to the floor, and ruin this perfectly pressed tux before we even leave my place.
We stand close—too close—sipping in charged silence. The whiskey burns down my throat, but it’s nothing compared to the fire licking through my veins. I watch the way his throat works as he swallows, the subtle flex of muscle, and imagine pressing my mouth there, feeling his pulse race under my tongue. Noah’s gaze drops to my lips, then lower, tracing the lines of my body like he’s memorizing them for later. The tension coils tighter, thick enough to choke on. My cock strains against the fine fabric of my pants, aching with every heartbeat.
I clear my throat. “You clean up better than I expected,” I say, aiming for casual but falling short, because it comes out thick, husky, laced with all of the things I’m clearly not saying.
Noah’s mouth curves into a slow and dangerous smile. “Same goes for you.”
The words hang between us, heavy with promise. I step closer, close enough that I can smell his shampoo and his cologne, too. Close enough to see the faint flush creeping up his neck. My realization settles deep in my bones: thisattraction to him isn’t new, it’s just been waiting for the right moment to ignite.
And tonight, in these tuxes, it’s a goddamn wildfire.
But this is Kat’s wedding, and Kat is my best friend. Tonight is about her. As she deserves.
I finish my drink, the glass clinking against the table when I set it down. “We should go.”
Noah drains his own, eyes never leaving mine above the heavy rim of crystal. “Yeah. Before I do something about how fucking good you look in that tux.” He wipes his mouth and pats my shoulder, breezing past me like he didn’t just scramble my brain with that casual line he dropped. “Gotta piss first, then we go.”
I wait at the door and a moment later he joins me. The walk to the car is torture—every step beside him is vibrant and electric, the night air doing nothing to cool the heat between us, with a sky littered with gorgeous stars and a breeze that urges us closer, arms brushing. I slide into the passenger seat, a heady realization settling.
Now that I know who I am, I can no longer deny who I want.
And I want him with a hunger that’s only just beginning to roar.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
NOAH
I’ve always consideredmyself a good read of character, a person who can easily discern bad and good within the first few minutes of meeting someone. And I’ve always felt very in tune with the people around me. Part of my choice to become an English professor was because I felt like I’d be really good at finding the students who could rise above the pack, those meant for the graduate program or even the PhD program.
Cade Mercer has put those skills to the test.
He didn’t exactly invite me to his sister’s wedding, but when I invited myself, he didn’t say no. And then he made it happen—he talked to his sister, got me a place at his table, and allowed me to come to his house for a drink before we left together.
You don’t need to be Nostradamus to get that one.
He wanted me to join. Clearly. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have kicked my self-invite up to Kat. He would’ve simply and politely shrugged me off, the way I’ve seen him shrug off female students for years.
I made a bold comment about the way he looked in his tuxedo, which was bold for us, but demure for me. I knew Cade Mercer would fucking destroy a tuxedo, I just didn’t anticipate how much more it was going to make me want him. Reserved, pressed, straight-laced—that man in a suit made me want to tear every scrap of clothing from his body and devour him while watching those slutty little glasses fog.
But the rest of the night held no more surprises. I’d thought the ball was in his court. After all, I invited myself. I made it known that I thought he looked beyond handsome in his tuxedo. I brushed my arm against his whenever I had the chance. And outside, while we had cigars with his uncle, cousin, and father, my knee grazed his. Over and over. He exhaled his cigar smoke, and I discreetly inhaled it, swallowing every smokey, sweet note, hoping that a molecule of him was with it.
Not the place, that’s what I’d convinced myself. He doesn’t want to have anything happen between us while we’re here, because his entire family is here. But he does want something with me, or else why would he say yes to me coming and introducing me to his entire family? I love Tara, but I’ve never met her father or her sister, and I’ve never attended one of life’s most intimate events with her, either.
