Page 57 of Mr. Picture Perfect
No car alarms. No mailboxes. No random acts of God or big spontaneous combustions of any kind.
It’s just me.
And Noah.
And the tension that’s built between us for far too long.
“I’m close,” he whispers.
Even his whisper is candy to my ears.
“Me, too,” I whisper back.
He lets out a little grunt, indicating he’s there, which is all the push I need to fly over the edge myself. Both our free hands reach to cling to one another at once, sensing the moment. We both let out deep moans of relief as we unload all of the pent-up tension in our bodies. With each wave that empties from him, he lets out an adorably fitting groan, clinging to me tighter, his fingers nearly clawing into my back. I grit my teeth as the pleasurable anguish of release sends chills of delight throughout my whole body.
Then we remain right there with each other, hanging onto the moment, clinging to one another’s bodies as the rush slowly ebbs, leaving us in our afterglows. Our foreheads touch as our breaths fill the space between us, the only sounds in the room.
“That … wasamazing,” he finally says with a sigh.
I smile. “Amazing?” I tease. “You’re the writer, and the only word you can think of is ‘amazing’ …?”
“Mind-blowing. Explosive. Eruptive. Stupendous.”
I hold back a laugh. “‘Stupendous’ …?”
He lifts his head slightly. Our faces are so close. “Then what would you call it?”
I tilt my head and put a tender kiss on his lips. I feel his body melt against mine. “Fucking magical,” I answer.
He kisses me back, then leans toward me. “I don’t believe we are allowed to use curse words like that in our articles.”
“This is a story you won’t have to write about. It lives in us … just us, right here with us.”
“And our underwear,” he mutters.
I grimace, then chuckle. “I’ll wash mine when I get home.”
Noah pulls away and adjusts his glasses just enough to get a look at the time. “Oh. Home. Right. I … I guess you probably want to head out soon.” He gazes back at me. “I … I kinda wish …”
“Yeah?”
He sucks in his bottom lip. “I wish this could last all night.”
My heart flutters up into my throat. “Really?”
And it’s right then that we hear a noise coming from down the hall. A rattle of something metallic. Footsteps. A voice.
Noah’s eyes go wide with panic. “That’s my mom,” he hisses in alarm. “What’s she doing up??”
At once, we become a hurricane of clothing and tissues as we clean each other up—in the dark—and become as presentable as is humanly possible within a handful of seconds.
Then there’s a sound at the door. “Sweetie? Noah?”
Noah clicks on his desk lamp—which fuckingblindsme, since my eyes were completely attuned to the dark. “Yes, Mom?” he asks as I continue to blink wildly and rub my eyes.
The door opens and his mother’s face appears. “When’d you get home? I didn’t hear—” Then her eyes fall upon me. She lets out a gasp and tugs her robe closed even tighter to better preserve her modesty. “Cole …? Cole Harding? In our house? My goodness!”
“H-Hi, Mrs. Reed,” I quickly greet her with a wry smile. “I apologize for startling you and appearing here unannounced. You don’t have to worry. I … I was just leaving.”
