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“No!”
“Who fucks you the way you’ve always wanted? Who’s the one you need to worship?”
“You!”
He uses one hand to angle my head toward his. He licks a long stripe against my parted lips, his tongue hot and possessive. “Don’t you dare try to ruin this, Jarred. I’ll fuck you a million times to remind you thatwe’reright.”
“Noah,” I whine, my lips and my soul and my body aching and yearning and crumbling. “Noah, I need you.”
He continues his relentless drilling of that magical spot and I’m coming all over the table, my cum mixing with the paint under my cock, drained of everything I have. I’m boneless as I feel him still inside of me, experience his cock swell, and hear his loud grunt as he comes.
“Oh, you’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close to his chest as he kisses the back of my head and pulls out.
“Noah,” I rasp, feeling so exposed. I hug his arm to my chest and kiss all over his bare skin. “Baby…”
He helps me up and snickers when he sees my upper thighs, cock, and shirt are all covered in different shades of paint. He looks down at where my cum landed on his palette and smiles. “I’m going to make this a part of my painting and every time I see it, I’ll be reminded that you’re fuckingmine.”
I am his. Wholeheartedly. God…I can’t even think of Him right now because nothing feels as right as now. The rightness of Noah gently redressing me, the certainty of how he kisses the corner of my slack mouth, and the certitude of the little whispered secrets he gives me.
“Think about it, babe, because I can’t help it. I think I’d wait for you.”
And my chest tightens. Despite how he may appear—filled with rage and frustration, swallowed by sarcastic anguish and vivid pain—he’s so fucking patient.
I…I think I’ve been waiting forhimforever.
But I don’t get to tell him any of this when the door to the studio swings open. We bolt apart quickly, but the damage is done. Bryce walks in and his face is filled with nothing but confusion. I don’t blame him. Noah and I are both covered in paint. Thankfully, we’re both fully dressed—minus Noah’s bare chest—but there’s no realistic way to explain why I probably look freshly fucked and why there are red handprints all over my back.
“Bryce,” I cough out, straightening up and stepping toward him. “Can I help you?”
Bryce blinks repeatedly and shakes his head in a daze. “I…no. I was just—Nothing.”
And he walks away before I can stop him.
Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe. My chest hurts and my vision is blurry. I can feel the tip of my fingers zap with something akin to electricity, and I’ve never been so aware of how heavy my tongue is and how dead my limbs are.
“Babe. Babe. Look at me.”
My eyes zero in on Noah. His face is worried as he rubs his hands up and down my arms.
“Breathe, Jarred. It’s okay.”
“B-but Bryce…h-he…” I cut myself off with a loud heave. I feel like I’m going to throw up.
Noah shakes his head. “I’ll take care of it. I promise. I’ll handle it. Please, just breathe with me.” He places my hand over his chest. “Breathe with me, Jarred. In and out.”
I follow the pattern of his breaths, leaning on him and wrapping my arms around his waist as I try to calm down. “Noah—”
“I’ll take care of it, Jarred. I promise.”
And all I can do is breathe. Breathe. Breathe and hold onto the promise that Noah will take care of it.
Take care of me.
CHAPTER20
NOAH
I can’t run fast enough.
