Page 26 of One Killer Night
Like a hallucination sent to sabotage what’s real and right in front of me. I volley between her and the street only twice, with Goldie winning the war.
Focus on the now, Noah.
“Not until what?” she prods as I look back to her, a deep V forming between my eyebrows.
But I shake it off and smile. “Not until you promise you won’t regret becoming my girlfriend. You know, now that you’ve met the puppy.”
She pushes me away and begins walking backward out of the alley, dragging me along by my shirt.
“Well, that’s an easy answer, but why don’t you ask me again in the morning.”
Chapter Six
Goldie
Noah’s back hits the door with enough force to knock the wind out of him, but he’s completely unfazed as he cradles my face, our mouths doing their level best to exhaust us.
We haven’t stopped kissing since his bike pulled into his driveway. It was like the universe rang the sexy-time dinner bell and we were starved.
“Sorry,” I say, floating between excited laughter and lustful impatience as we bump faces awkwardly when he tries to reach behind him to open his front door.
“Keys,” he mumbles against my lips, urging me to help him.
We’re fumbling and shoving our hands into all his pockets, trying to get his damn door open, completely out of breath from our refusal to stop kissing.
But we just can’t stop.
“Oh my god,” I groan as he grabs the back of my neck, keys forgotten, only lips remembered. “Just bust it open.”
My plea is accompanied by the sound of his key sliding into the lock.
Thank god.
Noah spins me as the door opens, backing me up into his house before kicking the door shut behind him. I don’t know whose clothes come off first, but we’re immediately clawing at each other.
Our jackets thud as they hit the floor. My bottom presses to the top of the couch as we toe off our shoes. And my purse is flung onto the couch as his belt’s whipped off with a snap.
He chuckles as my shoulders jump, and I do the same into his lips.
We’re feral. But a week in your thirties once you’ve met someone is like dog years, so a month is tantamount to starvation.
We kiss sloppily, pulling away and diving back in as we make our way through the living room. I only risk breaking it to look down, trying to find the right buttons on my shirt to start with, but as I lift my eyes, Noah’s mid-drag, his shirt sliding over his head.
Sweet Jesus. My mouth goes dry.
His hair’s messy and possibly even more sexy than it was before, and his eyes are shining even bluer. I’ve spent weeks wondering what he’d look like when we gothere, and it’s exceeding all my expectations.
I’m walking backward, not knowing if I’m about to run into anything, as I stay fixated on every groove of his abs and defined muscle on his chest. The tattoos that start on his neck are deliciously painted down over his chest and his arms, even covering his twelve-pack. In fact, they go all the way down over the V on his lower stomach, disappearing beneath the tops of his jeans. It’s like a gorgeous sheet of armor, forcing me to stare at the precision by which he’s been sculpted.
He unbuttons his jeans with one hand before unzipping and shoving them down his muscular thighs, stepping out.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, feeling even more breathless as I reach the last button on my shirt, letting it fall.
He’s stalking toward me, faster than each of my steps, his jaw slack and his gaze boring into mine.
“Bed, floor, or counter.”
He delivers those three words with an indecent amount of gravel in his voice, and I shiver, forgetting everything I was doing, half blinking and feeling heady, unable to answer.
