Page 81 of Vicious Arrangement
Just like Superman wears Clark Kent.
Or maybe like Captain Sexy wears Noah’s suits instead of the velvet one.
I don’t know, and as much as I desperately want it all to matter, to mean something, I can’t be the only one playing and trying.
I take another bite of my salad, my stomach rocking with a touch of nausea.
He’s shut down again. It’s like living with a ghost for a roommate whose language skills each monosyllabic words. That’s when I see him, which is rare.
The man goes from one extreme to another and it drives me insane.
With a sigh, I snap the lid on my salad as my pager beeps, and I rush back to work, hoping the day won’t be too long.
That night,Angus and I go for a long run after I get home. He barks at me joyfully as we push the speed for a while. Then we settle into our normal pace, his seemingly boundless energy in need of a workout, and running still seems to be the only way for me to have a clear mind. The high-octane music with the powerful beat keeps the thoughts at bay.
But when we walk back, they start creeping in once again.
There’s no Noah when I get home, and I shower and fall asleep, Angus climbing up to curl next to me, stealing a large portion of my bed.
We repeat the same process Thursday, and when I shower, I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s like he’s burst some kind of dam in my head, and the water seems to make my libido flare. The water’s like the slide of his tongue or the brush of his fingers, and it makes my clit throb, my nipples hard.
I swallow hard, finishing with my shower. I dry off and pull on an oversize shirt. What I need is a glass of wine and something light to eat. A good aged cheddar and crackers. Or maybe just the crackers and no wine.
Or perhaps what I need is Noah’s commands and my hands tied above my head as he buries his face between my thighs.
Everything buzzes.
Outside, Angus is racing back and forth, lapping water, enjoying the space he has as his own and the night air.
I want to see Noah. And if he won’t talk, I want the next best thing, him with me, talking through fucking, because in a way, it’s what he’s doing.
At least in my mind he is. Each touch of tenderness contains the soft words he can’t find, the rough sex is his way of telling me how much he wants me. The domination and dirty talk that riles me up is his claim on me.
I lie on the bed and pick up a book, but the steamy thriller is at a hot scene and I can’t help seeing it as me and Noah.
I let it fall from my fingers, and the book hits the bed with a thump. Since no one’s home, I slide my hand down between my thighs and start to touch, trying to mimic the ways Noah touches me.
I’ve got a vibrating rose, and I’d grab that; as for me, a rabbit or the rose gets me off.
But I’m not sure that’s my goal. I want to relive the times with him, see if that can push me over the edge.
I’m wet, and I spread my juices over my sex, up to my clit as I run a finger through my folds, revving the engines and the outer parts most men—not Noah—forget when they’re after the prize. I then slide up and start to circle and tease my clit, and the tendrils of excitement spread through me.
Pleasure starts to swirl inside me, and I rub a little harder when I hear a sound.
My eyes snap open.
Noah’s standing against the doorframe, arms folded, jacket gone, tie undone, and an intense expression on his handsome face as he stares at me.
At my pussy.
Then he lifts his gaze to me.
“What the fuck, Noah?”
“I came to talk to you. And your door’s open. It’s a hell of an invitation, princess.”
I start to pull my hand away; but he shakes his head, and for some reason, I stop.
