I’m not ready for whatever this is, or could be.
I’m still figuring this shit out—what I want, who I am. I shift into reverse, ready to leave, when my phone lights up on the passenger seat.
Noah
Don’t leave. You’ll hate yourself if you do.
Come in.
I stare at the messages until the screen goes dark. My hands are shaking along the wheel. Part of me wants to floor it and never look back. The bigger part—the one that’s been quietly starving for months—kills the engine and steps out.
Noah opens the door before I can knock. He’s shirtless, wearing only gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. The sight hits me like a punch. Broad shoulders, defined chest, the dark trail of hair leading down.
My mouth goes dry.
I step inside. The door closes with a soft click that nearly makes me gasp. Probably not for him, just for me. But there is so much foreboding in that gentle click.
His living room feels strangely like home. Same worn bookshelves overloaded with poetry and special editions. I spot my favorite first edition in almost the exact same spot as mine. A half-drunk glass of bourbon rests on the table, next to the bottle–a good year, too. The similarities settle something nervous in my chest even as my body winds tighter.
“Want a drink?” he asks, voice low and heavy, reminding me of the thunder outside.
I shake my head. “Already had a few tonight trying not to think about earlier.” I swallow against the heated ball of nerves jumbled up in my throat. “About you.”
In tandem, we both sit. I choose the far end, needing space. Noah starts out across from me in an armchair, butafter a few minutes of quiet conversation—did you get here okay? Are you still cold from that run?—he moves. He settles right beside me, close enough that our thighs press together. Heat radiates off his bare skin.
His fingers lift, slowly and cautiously, tracing over my shoulder, then up the side of my neck. We’re nearly face to face. His breath ghosts my lips. My cock strains painfully against my jeans, throbbing as I stare into his beautiful, whiskey eyes.
“Do you like women, romantically?” he asks softly as his thumb strokes the side of my throat. It’s so gentle, but I need it so much, I love it so much, the back of my eyes burn. I focus on his question.
I shake my head. No. My answer to that has been no, ever since Rhiannon.
“Have you ever told that to anyone?”
Another shake, another no. The truth feels terrifying and freeing at the same time.
His fingertips glide along my jaw. “Do you like men, romantically?”
I can’t speak. My throat is too tight.
Noah leans in until his mouth brushes my ear, voice dropping to a rough whisper that sends shivers down my spine. “Do you likemeromantically, Cade?”
Everything inside me clenches. I turn my head, and it feels like the boldest thing I’ve ever done. Our noses brush. For one long second I’m suspended between fear and hunger. Then I nod—small, shaky, but honest.
Yes.
Noah’s control snaps.
He cups the back of my neck and kisses me. The first press of his lips is electric. Then it deepens, slow and devouring, his tongue sliding against mine in a wet, velvet glide that makes me moan into his mouth. He pushes me back until I’m pinned beneath him on the couch, his weight perfect and overwhelming. I open for him completely, kissing him back with months of buried want quickly rising to the surface.
“Fuck, Noah,” I gasp when we finally break for air.
He sits up just long enough to strip my shirt off, eyes darkening as he takes in my chest. Then his mouth is on me—hot, open kisses along my collarbone, sucking a mark that makes my hips jerk. I thread my fingers in his hair and hold on.
Our hands fumble desperately with buttons and zippers. I get my jeans shoved down just enough. His cock springs free first—thick, flushed, already leaking. Mine follows, harder than I’ve ever been, curving up against my bare stomach. The sight of us together makes my head spin.
Noah braces a hand beside my head, breathing ragged. “Cade. Look at me.”
I do, and I find his eyes blazing with desire.
