Page 87 of Brim Over Boot
“I’ll be upstairs,” Noah says. And that’s it. He heads up the stairs, expecting me to follow him.
I do.
My pulse is heavy as I trail Noah through his home. Although small, it’s well-loved with homey touches that speak to the life Noah has here with his uncle. I don’t know why it surprises me, the evidence of Noah’s life. As if I—what? Thought he existed inside a sterile box while plotting my demise?
I’m probably a blip on Noah’s radar. He’s likely never thought much about me. Not like I’ve thought of him.
He turns right into a bathroom, looking over his shoulder to make sure I’m still behind him. “Strip,” he says as soon as the door closes.
I stare at him, fairly certain I’m having a mild cardiac event. We don’t…dothat. I’ve never even seen the man with his shirt off, let alone naked. He’s never seen me, either.
Noah lets out a sigh. Not one of disappointment but understanding. Somehow, he understands. “Colt,” he says softly, “I’d really like to get you in this shower. It’s been a long damn day, half of which I spent nestled close to your ass. If you wanna go, you can. I won’t stop you. But if you decide to stay, I’m hauling you into this shower, got it?”
I let out a breath, my stillness this time a choice.
Noah nods to himself before grabbing the hem of my shirt and wrestling it off my body. I consider fighting it, consider putting off the inevitable out of principle alone.
But, like Noah said, it’s been a long day. And I think I’m done fighting.
Noah tosses my shirt on the ground and grabs my waistband, opening my fly. My jeans follow, hitting the floor, and then my briefs meet the same fate. Noah is squatting on the ground now, looking his fill as he lifts each of my feet up to remove my clothes, my socks the last to go. I feel utterly exposed. More than naked.
Noah stands with smooth fluidity, turning on the shower before staring me in the eye and unbuttoning his pants. My cock starts to plump the second I hear the zipper, and Noah smirks, a little more life entering his eyes. He makes a production of undressing, and I hate that I can’t look away. Can’t tear my eyes off the man for a single second as he removes his pants and underwear, his socks, the bandage around his hand, and lastly, his shirt.
My breath whooshes out of me when I see the ink flowing across his chest. The rope vines across, like I’d imagined, moving from one arm, across his pecs in beautiful motion, to his other arm and down again. Flowers are intertwined with the rope the entire way, creating a colorful tapestry over his skin, that horseshoe I kept getting a peek of hooked over one loop. It’s as if it’s part of the design. Part of him, the curve of the metal right over his heart.
Noah steps ahead of me into the shower, and my gaze dips down. I about buckle as I come face to face with the man’s ass, his cheeks firm and dimpling at the sides as he moves.
Fuuuck.
My mouth feels dry as he steps under the showerhead, his hair darkening to near black, water dripping down his back in rivulets. I step in after him, and Noah turns to shut the curtain. What the fuck am I even doing here? What is this? Why do I want it so much?
Noah tugs me forward, no hesitation in the man. He maneuvers me under the spray, his fingers sinking into my hair as he tips my head back an inch, the water drenching me. He hums, seeming so pleased by something so simple.
I’m afraid to open my mouth. Afraid, if I do, I’ll fuck this up. Afraid he’ll stop. Afraid that I don’t want him to stop.
Noah’s hand wrapping around my cock is an immense relief. It’s what I’m used to from him. What I expect. He gives me a couple slow, slippery strokes before stepping in closer. It takes me a second to realize he’s grabbing his soap, not moving in to kiss me, and the disappointment that hits is unwelcome.
But then Noah is squeezing soap out onto his palm, and the man’s hands are back on my skin.
“You look like a scared kitten,” Noah remarks, his voice low but still startling following our silence.
I don’t have a single comeback, and Noah raises a brow. How he expects me to speak with his palms running slow circles across my chest and shoulders is beyond me.
“Have I broken you?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “Never.”
“Good,” he rumbles, reaching around to rub soapy palms over my back, the move slotting us neatly together. “I much prefer you alive and kicking.”
“That’s a surprise,” I manage, trying to keep the groan from my voice as his hip moves against my cock. “Didn’t think you liked when I kick.”
He huffs a laugh, his palms smoothing down toward my ass. “On the contrary. I like the fight in you, little Colt.”
“Yeah?” I breathe, my brain going haywire as his fingers slip, testingly slow, down between my ass cheeks. “Why’s that? You like the challenge?”
My hands are on his waist now, holding steady, my pulse a fast cadence in my ears beside the noise from the shower.
Noah hums, his palms so fucking big as he covers my ass, his fingers continuing to tease, dipping just inside my crack. “I like that moment you give in,” he practically whispers. “When you stop fighting yourself.”
