Page 106 of Brim Over Boot
“Anyone could catch us.”
“Would that bother you?” he asks, seeming curious about my answer.
“Yes,” I say too quickly, too harshly. “I don’t need people seeing myass, Noah.”
“And is that the only part that would bother you?” he persists, scooting closer.
My pulse hops.
“I won’t let anyone see,” he promises, his scent—overlaid with the work we both do—crossing my mental barriers and clouding my brain. Making me think of the last time that scent was surrounding me.
It’s the only explanation I have for why I shift around enough for Noah to have access to my right hip. He rumbles his approval, tugging down my jeans, his other hand pulling my shirt out of the way.
I feel like a rabbit—fragile, heart pounding—as Noah’s fingers trail over my skin. Mapping out his name.
I was pissed all to hell when I got that tattoo. Pissed at Noah for winning. Pissed about my obsession with the man. Pissed, even, at all the emotions I couldn’t name when it came to thisKingI thought I hated. Ididhate him. For a long while.
But I still got his name tattooed on my ass. It was a point of pride. Of not wanting Noah to see me as weak for backing out.
I don’t feel weak now. Even rabbits have a powerful purpose, don’t they?
They nourish the wolf.
Noah’s fingers dance over me reverently, his soft sound of satisfaction and wonder making me feel like the most powerful being alive.
“Are you done stroking me?” I ask when my cock starts getting interested in the proceedings.
Noah huffs a small laugh, his fingertips skating over me once more before he tugs my pants back into place and lets go of my shirt. “I’d be happy to stroke you again later.”
“Not sure your uncle would appreciate that,” I note.
He snorts. “Consider it a private dessert. For just you and me.”
I swallow roughly. “I needa go.”
“Mhm. See you tonight at six-thirty.”
I get out of Noah’s truck and head to my own on the other side of the lot, not even bothering to tell himwe’ll see about that.
“Oh,God,”Igroanto myself, walking the short path up to Noah’s front door. Hisdoor. “What am I doing? What is this? Why am I even here?”
“Hopefully to have dinner,” Noah says, nearly startling me out of my skin.
“Fuck. Don’t sneak up on people, King!”
“I was standing here the entire time,” he says calmly, holding the door open wide. “Wasn’t sure if you were going to get out of your truck.”
“Yeah, well… Can you blame me for being…confusedabout all this?”
He closes the door once I pass, a thoughtful expression on his face. “No, I suppose not.”
I thrust the bottle of wine I brought at him before tugging off my boots. “I think I figured it out.”
“What’s that?” he asks, motioning me toward the kitchen. I can smell savory herbs and what I desperately hope is pot roast simmering away inside the room.
“This,” I repeat, motioning between us and then encompassing the entirety of his house and my existence. “I fell off Clementine. I fell and hit my head, and all of this is just a dream.”
“A good one, I hope,” Noah says, setting down the wine before sidling up close and placing his hands on the outsides of my hips. Like that’snormal. Him and me.
