Beth
I want this. I don’t know how to say the words, so I hope in some weird way that Noah is a mind reader. I tell him about the carrel, and the way his eyes darken makes my skin tighten and burn. He understands what I’ve done.
The permission I’ve extended between us.
My body is warm as I lead him up the stairs to the second floor. I can feel his gaze on my back and hips as he follows me. I’m aching as I turn down the hallway that leads to the small room.
It’s private, in that there are four walls and a door. The walls are paper thin. The policy says we have to use headphones if we’re going to watch any videos.
I doubt we’re going to be watching any videos.
And I don’t have the slightest idea how we’re going to get through his lesson today with the heat burning between us.
He was there for me last night. I called out of a stupid moment of weakness, and he made me laugh.
Now, I can’t think of the laughter. I can only feel the heat as I key open the door and step inside.
He steps in behind me. He’s there, almost at my back. I hear the faint click of the door as it closes. Noah doesn’t move. I’m aware of every inch of his body in the almost space behind me. Every nerve ending is alive, crackling with energy. Heat pools between my thighs. I press them together to stop the ache, and the pressure only makes it worse.
“Is this your space?” he asks. His voice is ragged and thick. His breath is hot against my neck but still he doesn’t touch me.
“Yes.” I release a shuddering breath. I’m afraid to turn, to see the arousal in his eyes. “It’s a policy violation to…”
“To what?” He skims his fingers over my neck, and I bite back a whimper. “To touch you?” He slides his fingers down my scattering pulse. “I’ve wanted to touch you since I first met you.”
I close my eyes and tip my head a little, offering myself to him. He nibbles gently on my ear, his breath teasing my skin. I can’t think of anything beyond the feel of his lips on my skin. Need is hammering wildly between my thighs. Never in my life have I been so aroused by such a simple touch.
He shifts then, pressing his big body into my back. His hand covers my mouth before my cry escapes. I want, oh God, how I want this. I want him. I grip his forearms, needing something to do with my hands. I’m barely standing at this point. I want to sink to my knees and take him down with me. He’s hard and pressing against my back, rocking gently as he continues the assault on my throat. My ear. My soul.
“I want to do this right,” he whispers. “I want to lay you down in my bed and strip your clothes off you piece by piece.” I arch against him and can feel the hard length of him against the cleft of my ass. He slides one hand down the center seam of my body. Skimming the space between my breasts until his palm is flat against my belly. His hand is big and solid and rough, and I want him lower, lower. I shift, opening for him to touch me there, just there. “I want to feel you come against my mouth.”
Lower. Please lower. “Touch me.” A harsh demand. A plea.
“Here?” His palm slides against the front of my heat, just above where I need him. I make a sound, spread a little further. Urging him silently to please touch me. “Say yes, Beth.” A nip on my ear. “Please say yes.”
“Yes.”
He slides his hand down now, between my aching thighs. The pressure drives me that much closer to the edge. I’m wet. I can feel it through my thin pants. I know he can feel it. He presses hard against me, the heel of his palm caressing me where I’m swollen and wet for him.
“Can you come for me? If I touch you like this, can you come?”
He’s whispering again, dirty things I’ve only read about. I rock against his hand. I want his skin on mine. I want to be skin to skin, flesh to flesh. I want to feel his heat against me. I want his fingers where I’m wet and aching.
But he simply continues his gentle assault. Winding me up higher and higher until I’m writhing against his hand, needing just a little more. My nails dig into his flesh. He turns my head until he captures my mouth with his and I’m making sounds that are lost on the breath between us.
And then it hits me, crashing over me until I’m nothing but trembling nerves firing over and over against the raw and sensitive flesh that he still has not touched skin to skin.
He’s kissing me, bringing me back from the edge that I’ve tumbled over. Soft, petting caresses now. Tempered and tame, slowly bringing me down, back to earth.
I turn in his arms, unsteady against his solid length. I can do nothing more than rest my head against his neck and breathe for a moment, pulling myself back together.
And all the while, he’s stroking my back, my hair, my arms. Like I’m the most precious thing in the world to him. I stand there for a moment, lost, forgetting everything but the feel of Noah Warren surrounding me, embracing me.
Holding me upright against the onslaught of sensation he has brought to life.
Noah
I’m destroyed by her reaction. I knew holding her would be too much, too powerful, but I had no idea how unrestrained, how wild she would be in my arms.
I was right to keep us both dressed. There is no way to do what I want with her. Not here when anyone can walk by the door and see in the tiny window.
She’s trembling in my arms. I want badly to take her home with me. To bring her to my quiet place.
Slowly. I need to go slowly with her. Not just for her sake, but for mine, too.
This is new territory for me since I’ve been home. And Beth…Beth is worth the wait.
I lean back, cradling her face. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen from mine. “God, but you’re fucking beautiful.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.” Her voice is like liquid honey, thick and rich with arousal. She brushes her lips against mine. “We really should get started on stats. I have to be to work in two hours.”
The thought of her in that fitted white button-down shirt does something to my insides. I clear my throat and reach between us to adjust my pants. Her hand covers mine, sliding over the back of my palm. It’s an erotic embrace, something unexpected and sensual. She presses her hand against mine and the pressure against my erection is intense. I shift then, sliding her hand beneath mine so that she’s cupping my cock. I’m so hard it hurts.
“Seems like that’s going to be a distraction,” she whispers.
My brain goes completely off the rails as I imagine her dropping to her knees in front of me. I squeeze her hand around my cock, trying to remember that once upon a time, I had more control than a horny teenager. That I had discipline and motivation and, holy hell, her hand sliding over my erection is driving me quietly insane.
“Can I pick you up when your shift is over?” Now is probably a terrible time for a blowjob joke. I can’t summon the willpower to take her hand away. The gentle friction isn’t enough. It’s everything, the center of my whole world. I want more.
“I’d like that.” A promise in those words, a promise that I cannot wait to unwrap slowly, so slowly.
She slips her hand up my belly and I immediately miss the warmth of her touch. “So. Stats?”
I nod, my mouth dry, my erection painful. I have no clue how I’m supposed to think about anything other than her naked and writhing in my arms, but there are probably worse problems to have.
She sits in one chair; I take the other. Our thighs are touching and we are shoulder to shoulder as we lean over my textbook.
She explains confidence intervals in a way that actually penetrates the sexual haze in my brain and makes sense. I do a couple of problems by hand, and she checks my work. I like having her watch me. Knowing that she’s making sure I’m getting it right.
Sitting here and scratching out equations, I focus on the mental energy required to make sense of it. The reward is the gentle press of her thigh against mine. Not erotic at the moment. Comforting. Steadying.
Holding me upright when I could fall away amid the fear of failing, falling flat on my face. I’m working now, and the problems are clicking in a way they’ve never clicked before. Like the language is suddenly making sense.
She corrects me when I make a mistake, the tapered point of her fingertip gliding over my chicken scratch writing. I glance over at her. She’s focused and serious Beth now. She meets my gaze, and her cheeks flush.
“I love seeing you blush.” The truth, I decide, is probably the best track with her. Her flush deepens. “It’s true. You’ve got this amazingly pale skin that turns this gorgeous pink.” I lean closer because I cannot help myself. “I want to see how far down your body it goes.”
She offers a throaty laugh then taps the paper. “Focus.” But she’s smiling, the first time I’ve really seen her smile since I’ve met her.
I do as she asks, and I work through the other problems she’s assigned as extra work. I’m motivated now, not just to get them done and get them correct, but to get through them so maybe I can steal a few more moments of her time before she has to leave.
There are so many things competing for her. Her dad. Her work. School. I’m selfish enough to want my own time, my own space. More than a few hours a week of tutoring.
She’s not there yet. Patience. I need a plan. I need to find a way to become part of the space in her life.
Because she is more than fire in my arms.
She’s life. And I crave her more than breathing.
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