Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
"Hey," he says, his voice soft. "You okay?"
"I think I died for a second there," I say, burying my face in his throat, afraid to face him now. Not sure what to say or how to say it.
"You're beautiful when you come, Elsie."
I whimper softly, my cheeks burning.
He just holds me, like he's perfectly content with me on his lap, my cries of pleasure still hovering in the corners of the room.
I'm not sure when or how I fall asleep, but I do. And unlike most nights, I don't dream about him. I don't think I dream at all.
For once, I just sleep.
Chapter Nine
Elsie
The sun is barely up when I wake, feeling like I fell asleep in a sauna, with something jabbing me in the butt cheek.
I groan and stretch…and then freeze.
I'm not in my bed, and I'm not alone.
I crack my eyes open, my heart pounding, and peek over my shoulder. Sure enough, I'm not in my bed, and I'm not alone.
Noah is nestled on the sofa behind me, one arm thrown over my waist, the other cradling my head like a pillow. He's still sleeping, looking more peaceful and still than I've ever seen him.
He's beautiful awake, but asleep, he's something else entirely.
My heart turns a flip.
And then panic trickles in.
He kissed me last night. Correction. I asked him to kiss me last night. And then he got me off. He was sweet and gentle and so damn good.
What happens now? What if he wakes up and tells me that it was just a pity orgasm? What if he doesn't say that, and everything changes?
I have a feeling the latter is more likely to happen, and I don't know what to do with that. I don't know how to feel about it. Last night was good, better than I ever expected. If I have to give it up now, it's going to break my heart into tiny pieces.
I won't survive it. I think I'm in love with him. Not falling, but actually there—landed, arrived at destination.
"Shit," I whisper, the truth resonating through me like a gong. I'm in love with Noah. That's why I was so hurt yesterday morning, not because I thought we're friends, not because I'm falling for him, but because I actually love him.
I see a future with him, one where we argue over the remote and watch stupid television shows, and he tries to annoy me while I grade papers, and I tease him while he tells me stories about all the ridiculous things he's done as a cop. One where we bake for each other and cook for each other, and instead of stalking him through the window and saying goodbye at the end of the night, we actually live together.
The grand adventure I wanted was him. It was love, something I was never going to find in Porter, where I never met anyone new and knew too much about all of my neighbors.
I'm still in the thick of my existential crisis when Noah shifts behind me, his breath stirring the hair on the back of my neck. His arm tightens, holding me in place, and then he starts to wake up.
There's a moment where I think—maybe I even hope—he'll just get up and leave before realizing what happened, just so we don't have to have that awkward morning after conversation. But, no.
He buries his face in my hair and breathes in deep, like he's trying to memorize the way I smell.
I freeze, pretending to be asleep, not ready to face whatever this is. His hand slides up my waist, slow and gentle, before settling over my stomach. We're spooning, my skirt is rucked up, and I'm pretty sure my panties are still soaked. The combination of embarrassment and giddy excitement is enough to make me explode.
"Morning," he rasps against my neck, his voice all sandpaper and sleep. "You awake?"
I contemplate pretending I'm not, but then he kisses my shoulder, and any hope of maintaining my composure is gone.
"Yeah," I squeak, my eyes tightly shut.
He doesn't move right away. He lies there for a long time, his breath hot and even on my skin, his body pressed up against mine.
Eventually, he shifts, nuzzling my hair again, his beard tickling the shell of my ear. "You're thinking too loud," he grumbles, his arm tightening around my middle as if he's worried I'll slip away.
I twist my head to catch his expression, wary and hopeful all at once. "Thinking too loud?"
"You're worrying. Don't. It's too early for that." He drags his nose along my neck, slow, almost lazy, and I want to melt. "Stop thinking so much, Elsie."
He says it like it's easy, but I'm built for worrying and second-guessing. I chew on my lip. "Okay," I say, even though my mind is racing ten thousand miles per hour.