Page 48 of Best Served Cold

That shit had happened later, and it kept fucking happening.

The memories of that kiss still lingered. I’d expected it to be weird and gross. It had been weird as fuck, but it hadn’t been gross.

And it wasn’t the win I kept thinking about. It was that damn shuddering breath he’d let out, the way he’d gasped when I toyed with his tongue stud. How the cool metal of his snake bites had tickled my lips and warmed under my tongue.

I’d chalked it up to it being a new experience, but that didn’t explain Mason’s party.

That I couldn’t explain away.

I’d kissed him because I wanted to.

I’d jerked him off because I wanted to.

I’d let him manhandle me, and his dirty talk affected me on a level I still couldn’t quite understand.

But even now, I wasn’t sure if it had been the act itself, or the orgasm that had scrambled my brain and turned me into a whimpering mess who’d not only come from having Noah rub off on me, but had done it on command.

Was I attracted to him? Or was I confusing attraction with the good feels?

I’d always struggled with impulse control. Both River and I had addictive personalities, and we’d learned that the hard way. I’d spent years training myself to responsibly consume my vices, like alcohol and weed, but stayed the fuck away from anything harder because I knew I’d like them too much.

I liked things that felt good. Orgasms felt good, and apparently, an orgasm with another person could feel even better than doing it alone. But only when that person was Noah.

“Me neither.” He raked his hand through his hair, messing up the carefully styled locks.

“But you liked it?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.

What did it matter if he liked it?

“I guess.” He clicked his tongue stud against his teeth, distractedly. “Did you?”

“I didn’t hate it.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something but closed it and exhaled a sigh.

Something about that sigh and his body language sent alarm bells off in my head. It looked defeated, like his soul was weary and he had the weight of the world pressing down on him.

His gaze met mine. “This is fucked up.”

“It is.” I stepped closer. The toes of my sneakers brushed his combat-style boots as I trapped him against the wall.

His nostrils flared and his eyes darkened with what I now recognized as arousal.

Why did I want to see more of that look, see his face twist up in pleasure and hear him say my name in that lust-drenched voice he used when he was close?

Why wasn’t I walking away from him?

“You can end it now,” I said, ignoring my instincts. My stubborn side refused to let me be the one to concede. “All you have to do is tell me to fuck off.”

He smirked, all traces of his weariness melting away. “Or you can just leave.”

“That’s always an option for you, too.”

“Is it?” He leaned back as casual as could be. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one blocking me in.”

“I thought you could bench me without straining yourself?” Caging him in with my hands, I leaned closer, until our chests and faces were only inches apart. “Are you saying you can’t get by me?”

“I’m saying I could, but you’re the one blocking my exit.” He tilted his head, his eyes on my lips. “It’s almost like you can’t get enough of me.”

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