Page 54 of Keep Me Safe

His fingers play with my pussy, as he kisses up my body, stopping at my breasts. He sucks in my nipple through the sheer fabric of the bra, biting lightly as his fingers push into me. I gasp, and he looks up at me, satisfaction clear in his eyes.

I pull him to me, kissing him slow and deep, his fingers keeping a torturous rhythm. I’m practically panting when he moves back down between my legs, his mouth devouring me. I can feel the tension coiling in my core, white-hot. I’m close, andhe knows it.

“Eyes on me. I want to see your face when you come for me,”he orders.

With his thumb on my clit and his fingers deep inside me, my orgasm crashes over me. Despite my best efforts, I let out a moan, and Noah’s hand shoots up to cover my mouth. He’s still pumping into me, and it feels too fucking good.

When he finally pulls his fingers out of me, his eyes are filled with desire. He brushes my hair away from my neck as his lips graze my skin before reaching my ear.

“To answer your question from earlier,” he whispers, “I can handle myself everywhere but with you, princess.”

I try to form a sentence, but I can’t seem to find any of the words. I’ve wanted this from him for years, and it was better than I could have imagined.

I sit up on my hands and knees, crawling toward where he stands at the end of the bed. I need to feel him, touch him. I want to make him feel as good as he made me. I reach my hand up, feeling his bare chest. His body is beautiful. He sucks in a breath, eyeing me. I trail my hands down his torso toward his jeans.

But before I can do anything, his hand grabs my wrist. He looks down at me, shaking his head.

“Not tonight. Not with Jared right downstairs,” he says, his voice low.

I look up at him, nodding slowly. A wave of guilt overwhelms me.

What did we just do?

Noah Keller,Jared’s dad, just gave me the best orgasm of my life but won’t let me reciprocate because I’m best friends with his son. This situation is so fucked up. I don’t know if Jared couldever forgive me if he found out, but I want the man standing in front of me more than I’ve wanted anything else in my life.

As if sensing the turmoil swirling in me, Noah gently tugs me into him, his fingers threading into my hair. He holds me there, not saying a word, his heartbeat steady and grounding against me. He’s not rushing this, not treating it like a mistake. He’s here with me, in this quiet space between us, and I don’t want to let go.

Time seems to slow as his fingers trace small, soothing patterns on my bare back. The warmth of his body against mine is like a balm, easing the ache in my chest. For a brief moment, it feels like we could stay like this forever.

But then, he pulls away. My heart lurches in my chest, the familiar sting of disappointment settling deep in my stomach. Is this really how it ends?

Before my thoughts can spiral, he slides open my dresser drawer and pulls out a pajama shirt. He holds it out to me, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. His eyes linger on me for a moment longer, as if trying to say everything he’s feeling without words.

“Goodnight, Kira.” With that, he leaves the room, closing my door softly behind him.

The next morning, I pull up to Lakeside Pottery, the sun just now breaking the horizon. Noah wasn’t up yet when I left, and I’ve decided I won’t think about him today. Not the way he looked at me last night or what it could mean. I don’t need that distraction right now.

Today is the second pottery classthat I’m teaching. That’s still a crazy thought to me. Ceramics have been such an essential part of my life for the past four years, and being able to give that joy to others is indescribable.

It doesn’t take me long to get set up. I’m alone as Darla won’t be in until ten, but thankfully, we’re only trimming today. Once I’m content with the supplies, I go to find the reason I got here so early.

Walking into the kiln room, I see it on the second shelf, reaching out for me. I grab the hand, pulling it down to examine it closer. I’m so proud of the detail that I put into it. The hand is outstretched, the tendons in its wrist visible, its palm filled with minuscule creases. Now, it’s time to create what it’s holding. I bring the half-finished piece back with me to my workstation. Placing it on the metal table, I stare at it. It could be holding anything.

A snake?

Sounds cool, but no.

A book?

I like that idea, but it still doesn’t seem quite right. My brain runs circles around the topic, not latching on to any one object.

My thoughts are interrupted by a chirping from the other side of the window. The studio is silent otherwise, so it draws my attention. I glance up at the tree outside, not seeing the source. The song continues, and my eyes finally land on a small yellow and black bird.

I know what I want the hand to hold.

Before the class is over, everyone gets their pieces trimmed and ready for their first firing. After most of the students have left, Maddie steps up to my station, her eyes bright.

“You up for some lunch?” she asks.

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