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“Yeah, like a princess. Hair for girls who live in castles and don’t have to work or do anything.”
“I work and do things!” I protest, propping my chin up to glare at him.
“Yeah?” He laughs, and there’s a little mocking edge to his laughter. “Like what?”
“I want to design and make clothes,” I tell him.
He leans over to kiss my shoulder. “Not just wear them and take them off to seduce poor innocent guys like me?”
“No.” I push him away. “Obviously, I like doing that, too. But I want to have my own label someday. I’m going to fashion school next year.”
“Are you?” He looks at me with an appreciative nod. “That’s fair enough—I take it back, princess. What are you going to name your label?”
For a moment, I think about it, chewing on the inside of my cheek. I’ve wanted my own label for a long time—I want my own fashion house someday—but I’ve never thought about a name before. I guess it never felt real.
Now, with only half a year of school left, it’s starting to feel real for the first time.
“I’m not sure yet,” I answer finally. I roll over against him, pushing him onto his back so I can lie with my cheek on his shoulder and my leg and arm draped across him. “Do you have any suggestions?”
He thinks for a moment, scrunching up his brown eyes. There’s a tiny beauty spot near the corner of his eye I’d never really noticed before, and a pale scar near his eyebrow I’ll need to ask him about.
“Well,” he says finally. “Shouldn’t it be your name? Your surname?”
I grimace. “Rosenthal?”
“Your surname is Rosenthal?” he asks.
I’d forgotten I’d never told him my surname. I’d never planned on telling him at all. Now, he knows my full name. All he would need to do is google me and he’d find my social media, all the stupid blogs and articles about what I’m wearing, where I’m holidaying, who I’m reportedly dating.
But I don’t want him to know all that. I want him to just know me, the real me right here in front of him.
“Yeah,” I say sullenly. “But that’s my father’s name, not what I want to call my label. I want a name of my own. Something feminine but with an edge to it.”
The label name isn’t even that important, but I want to move on from the topic of my name. Part of me wants to command him to never look me up, but I’m afraid that would encourage him to do it even more. If someone tried to forbid me from looking them up, it would be the only thing I’d want to do.
Hopefully, Noah forgets my name by the time I leave. He opens his mouth to make another suggestion, but I slide on top of him and cover his mouth with mine, kissing him deep and slow. His arms immediately wrap around my waist. He kisses me back with enthusiasm, his tongue sliding against mine, sucking on it. Something hard and thick pokes against my stomach.
I pull away from him with a smirk and lick my lips. “Don’t get too carried away. I’ve already booked a taxi.”
He laughs. “You just love torturing me, don’t you?”
Balancing myself with my hands on his chest, I grind myself against his erection, looking down at him with my most innocent smile. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Then I hop off him and climb out of his bed. He watches me get dressed. As I roll on my stockings, his hand strays down the smooth ridges of his abs and across his belly, sliding under the blanket. I glare at him.
“You better not touch yourself.”
He frowns but pulls his hand from under the blanket. “You think this is just going to go away?”
“Of course, it will.” I pull on my dress and fetch my shoes from the corner where they landed when Noah stripped them off me and threw them away earlier. “It’ll go away when I do.”
“And if it comes back?”
I shrug. “Ignore it.”
“Are you serious?” He sits up suddenly. “I’m not allowed to wank until I see you?”
“Mm-hm.” I finish dressing and lean down to kiss him. “You better do what you’re told, or I’ll know.”
