Page 90 of Vicious Arrangement
I might be tempted to look. It is temptation personified the private world a phone holds. But… “I’d never think there’d be something between you two because I trust her. I… I trust you.”
With shock, I realize I do. “Or did.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, “it happened, and I can’t undo it and I’m sorry.”
“Not good enough. I’m going.” I need to think, I need space?—
“No, you’re not.”
I glare. “And who’s going to stop me?”
Then he does something. He doesn’t yell or threaten. He just steps forward and takes my hand. “I am sorry, Aria. I am.”
“I know.”
He nods like he hears all the pain and frustration in that tiny truth. “How far along are you?”
“Around six weeks. I… I wanted to bring you when I made an appointment at the hospital.”
“I’ll get you the best Ob-Gyn?—”
“I know the best.”
His dark eyes are pools of fire as we glare at each other. Then he slides his other hand along my cheek with such tenderness I give a sob.
Noah closes the gap, pressing me against the lift’s door, and he kisses me.
The kiss is a match to tinder, and I flare into flames as I drop my phone, his hand, and I take his shoulders and slam against him, kissing him back with a ferocity I didn’t know I had.
The desperation and urgency from me seems to mingle with his as the kiss turns feral and we paw at each other, ripping at each other’s clothes. He yanks down my scrub pants, taking my panties with them, and I manage to get his fly open, my finger wrapping as far as they can around his thick cock.
He’s hard, and I’m wet.
Noah kisses a path along my throat and lifts me, and I wrap my legs around him, guiding his cock as I sink onto it, crying out in pleasure.
He slams us against the lift and fucks me hard. Like every demon in the underworld is forcing him to come inside me.
I start to shudder as my orgasm hits, my body clenching and spasming around him.
And he blows his load. I can feel him come, the twitch and the swell of him and I bite into his shoulder hard.
Then Noah finds my mouth as our orgasms ebb, and he rocks into me, milking it to the end, or letting me do it, I don’t know which. But the soft kisses in the wreckage of the storm are alive with latent need and passion and so many emotions I refuse to unpack.
I’m falling for him, and it’s not the looks, not even that dimple that continues to make me weak and bloom with heat when it flashes my way, and it’s not the sex. I’m falling for him for the glimpses of the heart of him, the soul. All the good and bad.
Even his outrageous jealousy is a symptom of him being a flawed, scarred person. One worthy of my heart.
After, I don’t know when I go and spend time with Angus. I take him for a walk, one which Noah insists on coming with, much to Angus’s doggy dismay, some of which is lessened when Noah bribes him with an outrageous treat of steak cubes bought from the butcher on Bleecker.
But now we’ve all eaten some takeout of my choice—burgers and fries, where I feed the patty to Angus, scraped free of sauce, while I just eat the fries—we go to bed, and Noah insists I stay with him.
I lie in his arms, listening as he talks.
“I know I’m fucked up, Aria. Like, really fucked. There were… years, a lot I don’t remember, where my father, when he wasn’tout fucking other women, would abuse us. He didn’t smoke so there weren’t any burns, and he didn’t use a belt.
“He used his fists, his feet. He’d kick and punch and break bones. He’d fling me down the stairs of our brownstone when I left a toy out or something slightly out of place. He’d do it so it’d look like an accident. Even when social services would come, we lived well, we were rich and had the name of Templeton behind us, and he’d use it when it suited him. He’d fucking charm them and then he’d take it out on us.”
I don’t say anything, giving him time.
