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‘Let’s see.’ His fingers find the waistband of my pants, loosening them, and I wiggle my bottom so he can slide them down lower. I am naked in his kitchen and it doesn’t even occur to me to be embarrassed or to think it’s weird. It’s not. It’s perfect.
The only sound is my breath, loud and rasping, as though I’ve run a marathon when, in fact, it is anticipation, not exhaustion, that fires the sound.
‘Noah.’ A whimper, a need.
He knows. ‘Lie back.’
I don’t, not straight away, so he grabs my knees and pulls on them a little, sliding my butt forward. I drop back onto my elbows; the kitchen counter is marble and ice-cold beneath me.
I don’t have time to process that discomfort, though, because suddenly his mouth is on me. On my seam, his tongue running across me, his hands holding my legs wide.
I have never been kissed there.
‘You’re kidding.’
I must have said that aloud—I didn’t mean to. But, seriously, I have never been kissed there and I’ve never even really been interested in it. I mean, it seems almost gross. Or it did. Noah’s mouth on me is the best thing I’ve ever felt—just about. I am breathing harder and faster, louder, arching my back on the marble slab, reaching for him, for something, for sanity, but there is nothing.
Just me and my abandonment to this beautiful rightness.
‘You taste so fucking good,’ he groans, and the words tip me over, spreading through me like a whip of desire.
I curl my toes around the scalloped edge of the bench and cry out as I come, hard, fast, impossibly inevitable.
It is like being doused in warm water, so beautiful and perfect and relaxing despite the fevered racing of my heart. I need to take stock, to feel this, to let it permeate my being, but Noah doesn’t allow that. He grabs for me, pulling my hips, and I don’t realise he’s undone his trousers until he’s lifted me around his waist, away from the bench. We don’t go far; he pushes me agai
nst the fridge, my back used to cold surfaces and not minding the shock of that when answering heat is promised.
And it is.
He thrusts into me, hard, and his mouth reclaims a nipple, and my body zips with feelings, still processing my first orgasm, as he drives me towards another. I hear something, a voice, keening over and over, and realise it is me. I’m crying out in a fevered state, the words shaking with intensity.
His hands on my hips are splayed and his possession of me feels so unbelievably natural that I don’t stop to think about the fact that he’s possessing me so completely, that I have fallen under his spell and would do anything he asked of me. Anything. I am addicted to this and him.
The pain I’ve endured this week, the wondering, the loneliness—these things don’t matter. It is just Noah, and now.
And, for now, this is enough.
CHAPTER NINE
HER BODY IS sheened in perspiration and her cheeks are pink. Her eyes moist—not with tears but with heightened pleasure. I stand above her, watching her, my arms crossed, the thrill of power unmistakable.
I have done this to her. And I am pretty sure it’s the first time she’s ever known this kind of drugging desire. A thrill spreads through me.
Her ex was a bastard; I shouldn’t feel any kind of competition with him. I have seen his marks on her body now. Little marks, small scars, but I know without asking how she came to wear them.
He isn’t worthy of competing with, and yet the knowledge that I have given her so much pleasure, that he certainly didn’t, does something inside me.
Then again, at what cost?
Holly Scott-Leigh is dangerous for me—there is risk here, with her. She has entered my bloodstream and I don’t even bother trying to pretend otherwise. She’s not like any other woman I’ve ever known. If I make her feel new different pleasures, she does exactly the same to me.
Losing myself in her body has become my latest addiction, and not just because it seems to give me a reprieve from my dark thoughts—if only for a while.
Her chest, and those beautiful breasts, are shifting with each of her breaths, slowing down now, and I wonder if she is tired? If she would like to sleep?
I swallow past a throat that is constricted by pleasure and reach into my bed, lifting her. I’ve lost count of how many times she’s come. In the kitchen downstairs, on the bench, against my fridge, and then in my bed, when I used my fingers to drive her to the edge... I scoop her against my chest and her eyes lock onto mine.
Something shifts in my chest. Desire, surely, rampant and uncontainable. I look straight ahead, needing her as an addict needs their next fix.
