“Can I change your world forever?” he asks, voice utterly raw, stripped of ego and flirtation. He wants me, and I feel it in every syllable.
His question hits deep. I know what he’s really asking.
I nod, desperate, and answer honestly. “Yes.” I nudge my glasses up. “Please.”
He spits into his palm, wraps his big hand around both of us, and strokes. The first tight slide rips a broken sound from my throat. Hot, slick friction—his cock pulsing against mine, velvet skin over hardened steel. He sets a slow, torturous rhythm, twisting around our pinkened heads, thumb spreading our precum until everything is wet and obscene.
We kiss through it, messy and hot. Tongues tangling, teeth nipping, shared moans swallowed between us. Every stroke sends flames through my veins and down my spine. I thrust up into his fist, chasing more, needing more, desperate for it. I grind against him and nothing has ever felt so right.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growls against my lips. “So hard for me. Been thinking about this cock all night, haven’t you?”
I whimper, nodding frantically. “Yes—God, Noah, I can’t—fuck?—”
He speeds up, fist flying, bodies sliding together with sweat. He kisses my neck, bites my shoulder, whispers every dirty thing I never knew I needed to hear. How he wanted to drop to his knees in the rain and take me in his mouth. How he wants to open me up slowly one day. How beautiful I look falling apart for him.
The pressure builds fast and overwhelming. My thighs shake. My balls draw tight.
I come first with a strangled groan, cock pulsing hardas thick ropes streak across my stomach and chest, even hitting my chin. The heat and sight of it drags Noah over right after. He groans my name like a prayer and spills across my skin, mixing with mine in hot, messy pulses.
For a long moment we just breathe, foreheads pressed together, hearts hammering.
Noah reaches for a towel and gently wipes us clean, pressing soft kisses to my sternum, my ribs, the inside of my wrist. The tenderness almost undoes me.
Then reality slams back in.
Clarity hits like a freight train. What the fuck am I doing? I’m with a colleague, whom I share an office space with, and I’m trying to achieve tenure. Moments ago we were covered in cum, admitting things I’ve barely admitted to myself. Panic floods my chest. I sit up abruptly and reach for my shirt, yanking it on with shaky hands.
“Hey,” Noah says softly, catching my wrist. “Stay. Talk to me.” He threads our fingers together and squeezes. His eyes are gentle but intense. “Please, Cade.”
I look at him—really look. The man who just shattered my world and my perception of pleasure in the best and scariest ways possible. Part of me wants to crawl into his lap and never leave. The other part is absolutely terrified.
I pull my hand back. “I can’t. Not yet. I’m sorry.” I don’t know what I’m saying, or even doing. But my heart is racing so fast, and I can hardly catch my breath.
I rise on unsteady legs, pull up then button my jeans and head for the door. I don’t want to look back. The night air hits me like a slap when I step outside, sobering andcold. I climb into my car, heart still racing, body still humming with aftershock of being with Noah.
As I drive away, I can still taste his kiss. Still feel his hand on me. Still hear the way he said my name when he came.
I grip the wheel tighter and wonder how long I can keep running from something that already feels inevitable.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
NOAH
I’ve chosenthe silent treatment.
I admit, it’s not my normal mode of handling conflict, and it’s one I haven’t used since I was wearing elastic waist pants and eating Fruit Roll-Ups but still. Cade is getting the silent treatment.
The bar of expectations isn’t set too high for Cade. I know he moves glacially slow, and when it comes to something like sexuality, I don’t need him to hurry. I don’t want him to rush. I’m not asking for him to solve himself in a matter of moments so we can immediately be together.
But he wants me. He wants me back, the way I want him, I feel it. I know it.
He could have stayed for a conversation.
I didn’t think he would. In fact, he did exactly what I thought he’d do. And in response, I’m going to give himsilence until he’s ready to address things between us. I’m not angry, but this feels like the best way to nudge him into a choice.
After all, I already asked him to stay. I’ve already tried talking. Now, he’s got to pull the conversation from me. And he will. I know he will.
