He cuts me off with his palms gripping my cheeks, and presses his lips to mine. It’s not passionate or wild, there’sno tongue or swallowed moans. It’s a kiss to make a statement. And I like the statement he’s making.
“Let’s go. We can talk more at my place but…” His eyes drop to my mouth and pride swarms me at the adoration in his gaze. “Let’s go back to my place.”
I pay Juliette’s tab, and ours, and leave the restaurant with Cade slipping his hand into mine.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
CADE
The restaurant wasa good place to get to know one another. But we’re not done. I know we’ll continue learning about one another as time goes on, but it feels good to know that Noah knows a little more about me. About my mom, and everything else.
After running into my dad, and promising him a conversation down the line, only after chastising him about unintentionally hurting Juliette, we decided to come back to my place. Where his overnight bag rests in my bedroom, where the scent of us lingers on the sheets, and clings to the air. Just us in my space, changing forever what this place represents, giving life to my house, infusing my life with so much more than I’ve ever experienced.
As soon as the door is locked, Noah’s lips are on mine,and before we know it, I’m giving my second blowjob ever, and then receiving my second blowjob from Noah. It still makes my head spin to think how good I feel with him, to think that this feeling has been inside me all this time, I just needed the person with the key. Noah is my key.
In my bed, where we end up, I trace lazy circles over his bare chest, my fingertips catching on the faint sheen of sweat still cooling between us. The room is dim, lit only by the lamp on the nightstand and the San Francisco glow sneaking through the half-closed blinds. The sheets are wrecked beneath us—twisted and damp—and the air smells like sweat and release, my cologne, and him. I can’t stop touching him. I press my palm over his heart, feeling it thudding strong and steady, and something tight and hot unfurls in my chest.
I swallow, nerves twisting low in my stomach, stretching through my veins. “Does your family know?” I ask, my voice a little husky. “That you’re bisexual?” I shared with Noah that my family likely thinks I am asexual, but that my sister helped me reach the discovery of my pansexuality.
Noah shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look down at me. His hair is a disaster from my fingers, lips swollen, a fresh mark blooming on his collarbone that I blissfully put there with my teeth. His expression softens. “Yeah. They’ve known since I was nineteen.”
I nod my head. “How many serious relationships have you had?” I don’t specify gender, because it doesn’t matter.I just want to know if he’s connected deeply with anyone before, or how many people for that matter.
He drags his thumb over the freckle on my throat, and his voice is raw and raspy when he answers. “Two. Evan was my first real relationship. I met his parents, he met mine, we said the three big words… but we didn’t have much of a future after college because he was always planning to go to med school and neither of us wanted to do long-distance.”
I let my eyes flutter closed as the rough pad of his thumb traces the spot on my throat, over and over. “Not… serious enough to do long-distance?” I manage the question despite the fact his tender touch and low voice are making me hard right now.
“He… couldn’t handle long-distance. He was affectionate, physical. He needed physical contact to feel loved. He was just that kind of person.” Noah kisses me, then says, “And a couple years after Evan, I had my second serious relationship. It lasted just one year but… at the time, I thought it might be, you know,it,”he says, the admission sticking in his throat a little, even though he never takes his eyes off of me.
“But it wasn’t?” I ask, realizing the obviousness in my question. Noah sees the subtext hiding in my words, and strokes a finger down the arm of my glasses before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
He shakes his head. “He cheated with someone we were both close with. I walked in on it. That was the end.” His voice stays level, but I catch the flicker of old hurt inhis jaw. “That’s pretty much the fastest way to ruin things.”
I nod, absorbing it. Jealousy flares hot and ugly in my veins—not just at the years he had with those other guys, but at the pain someone caused him. I want to erase every trace of pain those men left behind, and I want to be the last man who ever gets to touch him.
Silence stretches between us, and I think he’s letting me process, and he too is processing what he’s shared. We’re adjusting to knowing more about one another, when I decide to tell him about my dating history.
“Aside from three months with another grad student, I never really dated. Not like that,” I admit.
Noah’s hand keeps stroking. “Tell me about things with Rhiannon.”
I close my eyes. The words spill out of me, urgent and raw, and I didn’t know how badly I wanted to share until now. “We had a lot of classes together, went to study at the library at the same time. It felt like the universe wanted us to be together, you know? So we started to date.” I scratch the back of my head, remembering Rhiannon’s sweet smile and teasing nature. “She was great but…”
I couldn’t get it up.
When I could, I couldn’t finish.
When I couldn’t finish, I felt relieved.
Instead, I say, “I didn’t feel connected to her enough to work for more. I wasn’t able to make love to her, you know, the way she expected.” I laugh at that but Noah listens without interrupting, his body a solid anchoragainst mine. “The way anyone expects.” I look up. “And there was no one after that. I’ve really never felt connected or comfortable to or with… anyone.”
“And now?” he asks when I fall quiet, voice low and careful, like he’s afraid of the answer.
I lift my head so I can meet his eyes. My heart bumps against my ribs. “Now I know I was so focused on digesting my asexuality that I missed parts of myself entirely. For me, I’ve learned, it’s not about gender but it’s about the connection. I need it—mentally, emotionally, physically. All of it. I need to feel seen. Known. Safe enough to fall apart and still be wanted.”
Noah’s expression shifts. That slow, devastating smile breaks across his face, the one that wrecks me every single time. Warmth floods his eyes, chasing away any leftover shadows from his past.
