Page 181 of Relapse

Any more words I may have had were useless. The only truth I had was the ferocious need to show him that I was still here with him. I wasn’t going to run.

I would meet him in this darkness.

I leaned forward, my lips not quite touching his, but close. I waited.

“Is this okay?” I murmured.

His eyes finally made their way back to mine, and he searched them, as if he was trying to find the slightest sign that I had changed my mind, now that he confessed to me. He was trying to figure out if I saw him differently, knowing the truth.

I didn’t.

I moved the last inch, our lips grazing each other's.

I felt his breath catch. His hand found mine where it rested against his face, covering it with trembling fingers.

He leaned in.

The kiss was different this time. He kissed me like he was memorizing the shape of my lips, like he was tasting me for the first time. His hand stroked the side of my face and he pressed his mouth into mine, slowly, like I was delicate and might break under his grasp.

We broke for air and he looked at me. There was fire behind his eyes that I was familiar with.

We crashed together, with everything we’d been holding back, like two storms finally colliding. The kiss was unlike anything I’d ever experienced, full of grief and relief all at once, every bit of need that had been buried by us finally uncovered.

Once we started, we couldn’t stop.

His mouth attacked mine with a desperation that bruised. His fingers dug into my hips hard enough to leave marks, and I wanted them—I wanted him to have proof that I was real, that this was real, that the horror he’d confessed to me didn’t go unheard. That I wasn’t going to leave him.

“Delane,” he gasped against my jaw, my neck, his voice breaking between kisses. “Delane, I’m sorry. I—”

“Stop,” I whispered, fierce, pulling his shirt over his head, needing his skin against mine like I needed air. “Stop apologizing.”

He guided my body to the room, never once letting me go. We tore at each other, our clothes mere casualties to our needs. His hands were urgent, tracing the lines of my skin-tight wet shirt. We broke for air and he peeled it off of me.

My back hit the blankets, and he rolled on top of me, his weight pressing me further into the mattress. He kissed me like I was his lifeline, like I was the connection preventing him from drifting off into oblivion.

I could feel it. Feel the control in him snapping. And I let it happen. I needed him as much as he needed me.

His rose, briefly, looking down at me beneath him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered into the dark. “I don’t know how to be good for you.”

I rose off the pillow myself, my arm snaking around his neck.

“You don't need to change anything about you, Noah. Everything I care about—is right here. You don’t have to worry about the rest.”

His stare was filled with so much. Lust, fear, shame, sadness. And I hated it. It angered me more than anything, knowing he had been suffering through so much alone.

“I want you,” I said, pressing my lips to his. I slid my hands behind my back and unhooked my bra. “I want you, and I don’t care about anything else.”

His eyes flared, hungrily taking in the sight of my body.

I didn’t stop there.

My fingers found the button of my jeans, shimmying them down my hips, and kicking them free. Noah watched, breathless, then moved to slide down his sweats, tossing them to the floor with a soft thud. He climbed back on top of me. We were skin to skin, nothing between us, and the heat of him burned against my exposed body in the most delicious way.

I arched up to meet him, my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.

And then I felt it. His cock. Hard and ready. Positioning against my wetness. I could feel myself already clenching, my body already ready to drag him deeper into me.