We kiss again, cocks stirring, full of promise of more. Noah rolls us so I’m on my back, settling over me with that smile that makes me all weepy inside.
“My turn,” he murmurs.
He traverses my body with his mouth, slow and worshipful, until I’m hard and aching again. When he sinks down onto me, taking me deep in one smooth glide, we both moan at the connection. This time he rides mewith unhurried rolls of his hips, hands braced on my chest, eyes never leaving mine.
We move together like that for long, perfect minutes, every thrust tender and reaffirming. I grip his hips, guiding him, marveling at the way his body takes me so beautifully. When we come again, it’s soft and shared, less urgent, less panicked, our mouths fused, bodies trembling together.
Afterward, we lie tangled in the sheets, limbs heavy with satisfaction. Noah used the same washcloth to clean us up, but this time returned with water and popcorn. He turns on the TV and outside, the rain starts up again. We watch the news, cuddle, while Noah’s fingers trace idle patterns on my chest.
“I love you,” I tell him quietly.
He nestles closer, pressing a kiss over my heart. “I know.”
Outside, the storm eases. Inside, wrapped in the man who refused to let me hide, I finally feel whole.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
NOAH
Morning light filtersthrough the half-drawn curtains of Cade’s bedroom, soft and golden, painting his skin in warm shades that make my chest tighten. He lies curled against me, one arm draped possessively across my waist, his breathing steady and deep. For the first time in five days, peace settles over his features—no furrowed brow, no tension in his jaw. Just quiet contentment.
Finally.
I trace a fingertip along the line of his shoulder, marveling at the way his body responds even in sleep, leaning into my touch. Last night’s Bay Area rain has given way to a clear, crisp morning, but the memory of standing soaked on his porch, reading those old words aloud, still lingers like electricity under my skin. He opened up to me so beautifully. Let me in so completely.
Cade stirs, lashes fluttering. Those vibrant blue eyes find mine, and the smile that curves his lips is shy but real.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and satisfaction.
“Best morning I’ve had in a long time,” I reply, rolling us so I’m half over him, our legs tangled beneath the sheets. His body is warm, pliant, still marked faintly from my mouth in places only we’ll see. Same with mine, and I love it. “How do you feel?”
“Hungover but ready for more.” He reaches up, cupping the back of my neck to pull me down into a slow, deep kiss. There’s no frantic edge this time—just lazy, easy connection. Tongues sliding, breaths mingling, hands roaming with affection. When we part, his eyes are darker, heated. “Morning fun? I hear that’s a thing for couples.”
The words send a bolt of pure want through me. After last night’s emotional intensity, this morning feels like a celebration. We briefly use the sink to clean up before slipping back into bed. I kiss down his body with deliberate care, savoring every hitch in his breath as I map the planes of his chest, the dip of his navel, the sharp cut of his hips. When I take him into my mouth, he arches with a groan that shoots straight to my cock.
“Fuck, Noah… your mouth.”
I work him patiently, tongue swirling, one hand stroking his shaft while the other teases between his legs. He pants, his legs thrash, and just a few minutes later, he comes, with a broken version of my name echoing warmly over me. I swallow every drop of him.
He tugs me up immediately, kissing me deeply as his hand wraps around my aching length. A few expert strokes—learned so beautifully over these weeks—and I’m spilling over his fingers with a guttural groan, forehead pressed to his.
“Is this normal? How much we can’t stop getting each other off?” he asks with a crooked grin, nudging his glasses up his nose with a curled knuckle after we cleaned me up and got out of bed.
He pulls clothes from the drawer, and throws them at me, grabbing some for himself next. I tug on his shirt, and love how it exposes a touch of my belly. I like that Cade is just a little smaller than me, but still fit and capable. “I can’t envision ever getting tired of what I just did for you,” I dance my eyebrows, and love how he stiffens in his sweats that he just pulled on.
He grins. “I can’t either.” There’s a loud knock at the door, and Cade veers to the window, tugging the gauzy curtain back to peer down at his stoop. “It’s my dad. And Juliette.”
“Are they an item?” I ask, pulling on the sweats he gave me. Luckily, it looks like our legs are the same length, because the pants fit. I follow after him down the stairs.
“Yeah, they are. He was celibate since my mom died. Until her.”
I stop in my tracks, thinking back to all of the magazine covers and TV interviews I’ve seen of Cade’s dad, one of the more well-known millionaires in San Francisco’s intimate, downtown neighborhoods. “Seriously?”
Cade strokes a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah. And I’ll tell you all about it later.” He pulls open the door where Ford, dark hair with touches of silver, dressed in a wool peacoat and dress slacks, stands beaming. His arm is linked with Juliette’s, and she’s wearing a coat identical to his. Cade steps out and kisses Juliette on the cheek, then shakes his father’s hand, so I do the same.
I take Juliette into the kitchen to start coffee while Cade and Ford stand near the hearth, talking quietly. At one point, Ford stretches his hand along Cade's shoulders and neck, and gives him a squeeze. I don’t know Ford and yet, I can’t imagine a world in which Ford Mercer isn’t a super good dad. I mean, Cade’s so awesome. Kat, too.
