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Silence follows his statement. I’m hurt, of course, and the depth of that emotion is unexpected. But I have slipped back into my therapeutic headspace and I am used to having patients throw insults and cross reprimands at me—usually, it is a sign that I am close to finding a wound they don’t want reopened.
‘I’m...sorry.’ Noah frowns. ‘That was fucking rude.’
I laugh, because only Noah could apologise for rudeness and include a curse with it. ‘Yeah, but you’re right.’ I smile reassuringly, not wanting him to think I’m upset. Not wanting him to shut down. ‘I’d do anything to not...’
I freeze, surprised at the admission I’d been about to make. It goes against the determination I have to see the positives in my relationship with Aaron.
‘Yes?’ he prompts, finishing off his oysters and moving back towards me.
‘I mean, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat to get Ivy, but it was...a dark phase of my life.’
He lifts a brow. ‘Is that therapy-speak for it sucked balls?’
I laugh. ‘Something like that.’ He watches me as I sip my wine; his eyes on my face make my skin flush. ‘What about family?’
He doesn’t welcome the question. He visibly bristles and his shoulders tense. ‘What about them?’
‘Well—’ I shrug my shoulders ‘—you have one, I presume?’
‘Everyone has family, right?’ He moves towards me, placing a hand possessively on my thigh. ‘Did you miss me this week?’
The question is out of left field. He’s trying to change the subject and I let him, but I make a mental note, determined to return to this later, determined to find out something about him that he doesn’t necessarily want to share.
‘Did you think about me?’ I’m wearing a silk blouse and he undoes it slowly, his eyes hooked onto mine. My breath is forced, my pulse frantic.
‘I...’
His smile is just a mocking twist of his lips. ‘No lies, Doc.’
‘Of course I thought about you,’ I say, knowing on some level that he needs to hear that. He is tough and appears confident, but I sense his insecurities and this is one of them. There is no sense in obfuscating. I don’t want to be the kind of woman who sleeps with someone like Noah and doesn’t think about him, anyway.
For this reason I don’t ask the question back. I know he thought about me. I don’t need to surrender to my insecurities and beg him to admit it.
But, without prompting, he says, ‘I wanted you so fucking bad.’
‘When?’
‘Every day.’ He pushes the shirt down and I lift my arms out, mesmerised by him, distracted by him, owned by him.
‘I thought about these.’ He cups my breasts, pushing them out from under the bra before reaching around to unhook it. ‘A lot.’
‘Did you?’ A whisper. I don’t need to speak, though, my body is speaking for me. I push myself forward, nudging my breasts closer to him, needing him to touch me, to kiss me.
His smile shows that he knows. ‘I thought about the way I touched you in your office, and how ready you were for me. How wet and sweet. How quick to come.’
A gargled whimper dies in my throat. I’m all that again, already. Oysters and wine are forgotten.
‘Noah...’
He runs his mouth along my jaw, not touching me, just close enough that I feel the warmth of his breath. I shiver. He pushes his lips against my throat and kisses me, sucks on me, and a whirl of feeling starts in my gut. His touch is like flame; my body burns in response.
When he finally drops his mouth to an aching, hard nipple and sucks it deep in his mouth, I am beyond rational thought. I make a bubbling cry and wrap my legs around his waist, just like on that first day in my office, holding him close to me.
I feel his hard cock through his clothes and mine and I grind myself against him, needing to feel him inside me, but for the moment making do with this. Feeling his firm length against my pulsing heart is heaven.
‘Are you wet now?’ he asks, the words breathed against my flesh, reverberating through me.
I nod, though I think his question is rhetorical.
