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For a moment, the room is silent except for the mixing of our panting breaths. Noah slumps down at my side, his arm across my chest, his lips pressed to my temple. When I finally catch my breath enough to speak, I turn my head against his.
“You should’ve come inside me,” I mutter in the tiniest voice. “I’m on birth control.”
He lets out a sigh that flutters the moist hair on my temple and kisses my cheek. “I’m so sorry, princess. I should’ve asked beforehand—I meant to, but got carried away. I’m sorry.”
I point at my body, the ropes of come painted across my skin and the lace of my bra.
“Look at the mess you’ve made.” My tone is mean, but I can’t quite hide the smirk of satisfaction curling my lips at the sight of my body covered with the evidence of Noah’s desire for me.
“Mm, I’m sorry princess.” He tilts my head to his with a finger and kisses my mouth. “I won’t do it again.” He speaks against my ear, lowering his voice to a growl. “Next time, I’ll come inside you and send you homedripping.”
With that, Noah rolls off me and hops to his feet, offering me his hand. I take it, too flustered to speak, and he helps me up, catching me when my trembling legs buckle and I almost fall. We both let out panting laughs as he guides me into his bathroom.
I stand, naked and shivering, in his bathroom as he unhooks my bra and soaks a flannel with hot water. He wipes his come off me with gentle, patient movements and then he runs his shower and makes me step into his bathtub.
My chest swells with a bubble of emotion. I’ve never had a guy clean me up after sex. Normally, I slink off to the bathroom and take care of myself. But Noah doesn’t just wipe me off: he showers me, washing my hair, my skin, rinsing me off. His shampoo and shower gels smell just like him frosty and clean and masculine. He’s gentle and patient, running hot water through my long hair until it’s free of suds.
When I’m showered, he wraps me in towels and dries my hair. He doesn’t have anything aside from a hairdryer, and this is a far cry from the multiple meticulous steps of my skin and hair cleaning routine, but there’s something incredibly sweet about the way he takes care of me. Firmly, but tenderly. He asks nothing of me. He doesn’t even make me say anything.
When we’re done, he takes me back to his bedroom and hands me some water to drink. We get into bed and he gathers me right against him. His body is warm, and the muscles of his chest and shoulders form a cushion for me to press my face into as he wraps his arms around me. I tuck one of my legs between his thighs and close my eyes.
“You were right, you know,” he whispers just as I’m about to fall asleep, my lips pressed to my head.
“About what?” I ask sleepily.
“I’ve really never met a girl like you before.”
Chapter 13
Thursday Indulgence
ThursdayssoonbecomeNoahdays, and Noah day soon becomes my favourite day of the week. To avoid missing classes every Thursday, I get into the habit of doing all my waxing, skincare and preparation on Wednesday nights. On Thursdays I sneak off campus, hop into a taxi, and spend my evenings with Noah.
Sex with Noah is addictive because it’s not like any of the sex I’ve ever had before.
And that’s not because I’ve never had good sex before. I’ve had terrible sex before—most girls have—but I’ve had decent sex too. Sex with older, experienced men. Sex with partners who tried very hard to make me come.
But I’ve never had sex with someone like Noah before.
Noah has sex like he doesn’t worry about me coming because he trusts that I will. There’s no pressure, and I never feel like he’s hurrying me to the finishing line. Noah is unhurried and tender and seems to be a stranger to shame or embarrassment. All he seems to care about is the pleasure he brings me.
He’ll get on his knees if he has to and beg if I ask him to. When I’m a little rough with him, pulling his hair or grabbing his neck or clawing at his arms or back or hips, he lets me, moaning softly. He wasn’t lying when he said he liked it when I was mean. Helovesit when I’m mean.
But he also loves it when I’m a whimpering, trembling mess, too. He loves feasting on my pussy until I’m writhing against him and moaning loud and long. Sometimes he looks up at me, eyes bright, cheeks and chin sodden, with so much pride in his expression I want to give him a pat and a treat.
And other times, it’s like he can’t even control himself. He’ll have me on my stomach with my ass in the air, fucking me with abandon, his moans rough and primal against the back of my neck, muttering strings of dirty words and curses. Times like these, Noah fucks hard—harder than anyone has ever fucked me.
He fucks harder than a rockstar.
He fucks like agod.
And Noah doesn’t just fuck. Noah cleans and cooks. He talks and cuddles. He runs his fingers up and down my back while I fall asleep plastered to him. Noah, as crazy as it sounds, almost seems toenjoyspending time with me.
One snowy evening in early January, after I’ve returned from a week away with friends in Aspen, I’m lying on my stomach with my head resting in my arms. Noah lies next to me, playing with a long strand of my hair. He smoothes it between his fingers and lets it drop on my back before picking it up again.
“You really have the prettiest hair,” he says thoughtfully.
“Like a princess?” I ask with a laugh.
