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Please.
I could say those words, think those words, a hundred times with this man with no regret. I have no regrets with him. I’m tired of pretending otherwise. He was almost gone again. He was almost dead this time, and now he’s standing in front of me again. I wrap my arms around him and hug him, pressing my breasts to his chest and offering him my mouth, my trust, my heart.
He cups my head, claims my mouth, and in that kiss, there is possession, heat, need. We need. He needs. God, I need. Take me. Fuck me. Own me. Love me. Those are the things I try to tell him with every lick of my tongue and then he’s inside me; I don’t even know how it happens, but he’s inside me, stretching me, filling me, in all those ways that I need to be filled.
“Damn it, woman, you undo me,” he whispers, and my back hits the wall again, his hands on my breasts, fingers plucking at my nipples, his kiss devouring me. Then, I’m no longer on the ground. I’m no longer against the wall. He’s lifted me while my legs have found his waist. And just that fast, he’s pumping into me, thrusting, and I’m not sure if he’s pulling me down on top of him, or if I’m pushing against him. I’m not even sure how I lean back, but I don’t fear falling. I know he has me. I think I’ve always known that he has me. As if promising that to be true, his arm wraps around my waist, his big, beautiful, powerful body holding all of my weight.
His eyes meet mine, lowering to rake hotly over my naked, bouncing breasts, and I am all about this moment. About showing him trust. About taking what he offers and that is him, that is pleasure and with that decision is freedom to just be here, live this, take him as he is. I push into him, groan with how hard and thick he is. For me. He is hard and thick for me, and I want him to want me. We are wild, and I watch his face, the hard lines, his perfect lips that I know can be deliciously punishing, and for reasons I can’t explain, just the idea of that mouth is what undoes me.
I shatter into orgasm, and it’s not just any orgasm.
It ripples through me with such sudden force that my body stiffens and clenches, my sex clamping down on his shaft. He groans low and deep, and his reaction, his pleasure, is everything to me. He is everything to me, and I can feel the warm, hot heat of his release, I can see the pleasure ripple over his features, and that is almost enough to make me orgasm all over again. He is masculinity personified, a perfect man to me, and it’s that thought that seems to wrap us up and drug me in the final moments of his release.
He molds me close and holds me, his face pressed to my face, and for longs moments, a full minute, I think, he doesn’t put me down. He doesn’t move. He just stands there, seeming to inhale me, to drink us in, and I do the same. I don’t want to return to the rest of the world. I don’t want to fight for our lives and fight for a world where we can be together. I just want this moment to last forever.
Slowly, he slides me to my feet and strokes my cheek. “Don’t forget me ever again.”
“Don’t give me the chance,” I order. “I thought—I thought you were dead.”
He cuts his stare, his gaze lifting skyward, his jaw clenching, and when he looks at me, his expression is all hard lines and torment. “I know,” is all he says, and then he’s releasing me, stepping out of the shower.
He grabs a towel and hands it to me and then wraps another one around his waist. There’s something going on that I don’t know, which is really a stupid thought. There’s a lot going on that I don’t know, but right now, what I care about is whatever it is that just made Noah pull away from me.
I wrap the towel around myself, and by the time I’m out of the shower, Noah has both hands pressed to the sink, his chin on his chest. Whatever is wrong is big. Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to tell me. Dread fills me. His silence stretches out, and all those thoughts I had about trust and us and no longer denying how much I love him seem to mock me.
“Noah,” I whisper. “Talk to me. I need you to talk to me.”
He pushes off the counter and turns to face me. “I’m not Noah. You need to figure that out and do it now.” And with that contradiction to what he just said in the shower, he walks out of the bathroom. Angry. He’s angry with me, and now I’m angry. I pursue him; I’m done with secrets and lies. It all ends here and now.
Chapter sixteen
Ashley
Idon’t know what just happened to set him off, but I can guess that being attacked back there by that cabin has something to do with it. He’s on edge and pushing me away, just as he had momentarily done during that snowstorm. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit. Needing some semblance of control I search for clothes, scavenging a couple of shopping bags. I find options, lots of options because this man knows me. I know him, too, I tell myself. I pull on jeans, a tee, and Converse, brushing my hair and that’s all the patience I have. He is making me crazy.
I charge after Noah, or Aaron, or whatever the heck I’m supposed to call him at present, I round the corner and bring the room into view. And Lord help me, he gives me his back as he drops his towel, his perfect backside now gaining my full attention. My God, this is an unfair play, which sums up everything with this man.
He starts pulling on his pants, sans any damn underwear.
“You’re killing me,” I hiss. “Everything about you is killing me.”
He whirls around to face me, his hair around his handsome face somehow accenting the anger in his eyes. “I’m keeping you alive.”
“I wouldn’t need to be kept alive if you wouldn’t have—”
“Come into your life?”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean that. I’m emotional, and it just came out.”
“Because it’s what’s in your head.” He snatches a shirt up. “I’m crystal clear on that point, but I did and that means you need to stop fucking calling me Noah.” He pulls the shirt over his head. “That name can get us both killed.”
I swallow hard with the harshness of his tone. “Then you shouldn’t have told me—”
“I get it,” he says. “I shouldn’t have done a lot of things, Ashley, but I did. Burying me in your hate in this room doesn’t help me make sure we don’t both end up buried somewhere else.”
“Do you want me to hate you?”
“We’ve had this discussion. No, I don’t fucking want you to hate me, Ashley.”
