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“But where doyoulike?” he asks, low and soft. He swipes his thumb across my cheek. “There?” His hand slides to my neck, tracing the sensitive column. “There?” Then his fingers drop to my shoulder, tickle my collarbone, glide over the hollow at the base of my throat. “There?”
Everywhere he touches me, my skin comes alive, seems to glow like neon.
I bite my lip.
“All of those,” I tell him, my voice almost a moan.
He gives a low, deep chuckle. “Yea?”
“Yes.”
He presses his mouth to my cheek, right where his thumb was, and his kisses trace the path sketched by his hand. He kisses the side of my neck, his tongue swiping over the delicate skin. I shudder against him and tip my head to the side, allowing him better access. His mouth slides wetly from my neck to my throat, and he drops a line of tiny feathery kisses over my collarbone.
It feels so good I can’t help myself: I roll my hips into him, pressing closer. My heart skips a beat when my hips meet his, and I let out a tiny cry of surprise.
He’s hard.
Reallyhard.
Before I can even process this, Noah wraps one arm around my waist and lifts me against him. Then we’re falling back onto the couch, me on my back and Noah on top of me, his weight propped on his elbows. His hips roll into mine, not hard, but deliberate. His erection presses between my legs and sends a wave of arousal shuddering through me. I let out a moan of pleasure which he stifles underneath his mouth when he kisses me again.
Even though it’s pretty obvious how turned on he is, his kisses don’t change. He doesn’t become more aggressive or more urgent. Instead, he is slow, lingering, insistent. His mouth leaves mine, his lips sliding to my neck. He sucks on the sensitive skin, then soothes it gently with his tongue.
Wherever his mouth touches me, waves of pleasure radiate through me like ripples in water. And now that we’re here, now that I’m underneath him with his skin to my neck and his erection pressing against me, then I know exactly where this is going. I reach between us and my fingers fumble for the tiny pearl buttons of my bustier.
But Noah’s mouth pulls away from my neck, and his hand falls on mine. He takes my fingers in his, stopping me from unbuttoning my top.
I blink up at him. My face feels so hot—I can only pray and hope I’ve not gone bright red.
“What are you doing?” My voice comes out hoarse, completely embarrassing me.
Noah’s face is very serious and earnest as he stares down at me. “Let’s stop here. I’ll call you a taxi.”
The heat pulsing through my entire body suddenly runs cold.
“What?” I push him off me and he immediately moves away, sitting on the edge of the sofa while I pull myself up. “What are you talking about?”
“Let’s call it a night here,” he says—even though his lips are literally still gleaming from kissing me. “I have training tomorrow, and I’m sure you have classes in the morning.”
“Class? Who cares about that?” I’m flooded with a myriad of emotions. Annoyance. Anger. Embarrassment. And of course, I’m still incredibly turned on, which somehow makes everything worse. “I don’t understand—do you…”
I stop myself and swallow hard. I have the sudden urge to cry, even though there’s nothing to cry about.
But instead of watching me or ignoring me or playing it cool, Noah does something I don’t expect.
He explains himself to me.
“Seraphina.” My name is soft and sibilant in his mouth. “I think you’re a gorgeous girl. I’m sure you can tell, but I find you really hot, and there are a ton of things I could think of doing to you on this couch right now. So we’re not calling it a night because I don’t want to do this, or because I don’t fancy you—because Ireallyfucking fancy you. I’m calling it a night because this is the first time we’ve hung out together, and you’re still in college, and I don’t want to take advantage.”
“You’re not taking advantage,” I say quickly.
“I’m not saying I am,” he says. “But I’m not going to fuck you when this is our first time hanging out. I haven’t even taken you on a date.”
“Adate?” I cast him a look of disgust. “I’m not the dating kind.”
“We don’t have to go on a date if you don’t want to.” He scoots a little closer to me on the couch, raising his hand in a reasonable gesture. “But we’ve just met, and I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”
“I’m eighteen,” I say, sitting up crossly. “It’s not like I’m a kid. I know what I want.”
