Noah reaches for the hem of my shirt and drags it up my skin, painfully slow.
He watches me as he works, his eyes heating with every inch of skin he reveals. It’s like a hidden treasure that he’s been longing for and has worked his ass off to get, and now finally, it’s all his and he doesn’t want to rush a single moment.
My shirt finally comes off over my head and it’s like I can breathe again. His warm hands come down on my skin, claiming it as his own as they roam over me.
I press my body more firmly into his, needing more. I need to see the tattoos and feel his burning skin on mine. I just need him, all of him.
Sensing that desperation within me, he leans forward off the headboard and my hands instantly shoot down, grabbing his shirt and ripping it over his head. None of that slow, torturous bullshit for me. I know what I want and I want it now.
Noah’s lips lift into a grin against mine, loving that raw, animalistic craving I have for him. One hand claims my waist as the other slides up my back and fingers the hook of my bra when that reminder shoots through my head again.
I wanted to tell him something. No, I need to tell him something, and this time, I don’t think I should hold back.
I’m done holding myself back.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I hurry out, desperate to put a pause on this little show before he removes my bra, as the second that happens, there’s no chance for talking. That’s game time. This is just the warm-up.
Noah’s sensual assault on my body comes to an alarming stop. “What’s wrong?” he questions with concern, as after all, I’ve never dared stop him in the middle of this before, and I mean, why the hell would I? The way he touches me and brings my body to breaking point is too damn good. It’s like one of those old school kettles. He works me, boils me up until I can’t possibly take anymore, and then suddenly I’m screaming the house down, letting the whole world know I’m finished.
I pull back slightly as his hand falls away from my bra strap, landing softly on my waist, though with the size of his hands compared to my waist, he’s still very much claiming me without even realizing.
His eyes study mine, wondering what the hell is going on and what could possibly be so important to ask him to stop. I pull back to get a better read on him, and honestly to give myself a bit of space. His lips hover just in front of mine and biting down on that juicy lip is way too enticing.
So, instead, I bite down on mine, unsure how to even do this.
My heart hammers away as my body calls for him. He places his thumb just below my lip and releases it from the confines of my teeth. “What is it, Spitfire?” he murmurs into the now too quiet house.
I let out a shaky breath as my hands come down on his strong chest. “Tully said something to me a little while ago.”
“Wait,” he cuts me off. “You’re thinking about my sister right now?”
I playfully slap him across his chest but momentarily get distracted by how good it felt. “No, you idiot. Shut up.”
He grins back at me, always loving how easy it is to get a reaction out of me, but thankfully, he does what I ask and zips his lips, patiently waiting for whatever I need to say. “She told me that I love you and for the past few weeks, it’s confused the shit out of me.”
I watch as he straightens a little, the playfulness slipping from his eyes and being replaced by a seriousness that knocks me off my feet. His thumb runs back and forth over my waist, momentarily distracting me before he brings my attention straight back. “And?” he prompts, nowhere near ready to let this conversation go.
“And it seems your sister is right,” I tell him. “I’m so freaking madly in love with you that I can’t even see straight. When you’re around, it’s like you call to me, I can’t help but move to your side. My body is so in tune with yours, and I swear, my heart beats a little faster every time you’re around.”
Emotion fills his eyes as he watches me with a joyful smile teasing his lips. That cocky sureness that drives me wild comes over him and he squeezes my waist a little tighter. “You love me,” he says, but it’s no question. It’s a damn, way too sure of himself statement.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I do.”
He leans in and softly brushes his lips against mine. “I know, Spitfire,” he murmurs against them. “I worked it out weeks ago, and for the record, I fucking love you too.”