Page 35 of Beauty and the Cop
"Noah," I whisper, "I can't tell you that. I—"
He takes two quick steps toward me, and then his mouth is on mine, cutting me off before I can even finish.
I gasp as he presses himself flush against me, his hard muscles molding to my softer curves. I cling to him, letting him push me back against the wall and wedge his knee between my legs.
My mind spins as his lips work against mine. He kisses me hard, as if desperation drives him. The feel of his tongue flicking at mine shoots steam through my veins, heating me from the inside out. I kiss him back just as desperately, my hands tangling in his hair, tugging, trying to pull him closer.
I need him closer.
He takes control of the kiss then, delving his fingers into my hair to angle my head. The bobby pins in my hair catch for a moment before he tugs them free. I don't even hear them hit the wood of my porch. I'm too focused on him, on the growl rumbling deep in his throat and the way his heart hammers against my breasts.
The gun on his hip digs into me, but I don't care. The way he feels against me is heaven. I'm not asking him to move. Hishands on my body are hard on soft, like silk sliding against marble. Only better. Warmer. Lord, so much warmer.
His stubble scratches my face as his tongue explores, curling around mine and pulling it into his mouth before he presses past my lips again.
My heart thunders in my chest, a moan breaking from somewhere deep inside.
"I know, baby," he whispers against my mouth, half ragged groan, half choked cry. "I know."
Does he, though? Can he understand the inferno raging through me because of him? It blazes so hot it hurts. But it still isn't hot enough. And he still isn't close enough.
For four weeks, he's teased me, flirted with me, driven me wild. For four weeks, I've silently prayed for him to fall for me. And now, to hear him say he feels it too? That he's in love with me? The intensity of those words frightens me and sets me ablaze at the same damn time.
"Christ, it hurts," he groans, pressing himself harder against me, making clear exactly what he means. His dick feels like solid rock against my belly. "I fucking hurt for you, Dimples." He pulls back a little, burying his face in my neck. His mouth goes to work against the sensitive skin there, biting and sucking as if he wants to eat me alive.
"Noah, please." I don't know what I'm asking for, only that I need it from him. Need more. Before him, I didn't know that it could be like this. That kissing could make me feel shattered like this, like a fine web of crystal ready to crack at the slightest movement.
"Four fucking weeks, baby," he mutters into my skin, his body pressing and grinding against mine. "Do you know"—he sinks his teeth into my neck again, biting gently, then soothes the skin with a wicked flick of his tongue—"how badly I've wanted you?"He pulls my earlobe into his mouth, sucking before he pulls back. "How wild you've made me?"
I shake my head. I haven't known that, either.
"I want to eat you alive, sweetness."
"Oh God," I moan, another burst of heat blazing through me at the look in his eyes.
"It's not just sex, either. Christ." He draws a ragged breath, his body still moving against mine, like he can't stop grinding against me, tugging his fingers through my hair, or kissing my neck, my throat, and my collarbones. "You know that, right? Tell me you know that." His voice is desperate, torn, as shattered as I feel.
I can't find words through the haze in my mind. They won't form. I nod instead, a wordless sob of need breaking from my lips. I hope that suffices, tells him everything he needs to know. Of course this isn't just sex to him. How could I ever think it was?
Noah isn't like that. He doesn't serial-date half the women of Chicago. Frankly, I wouldn't care if he did because he's more than his sexual history, and I won't reduce him to that like it defines his worth. He's a good, honest man. He has integrity, compassion, and dreams. And good God, if he doesn't make love to me soon, I'm going to explode.
A relieved sigh bursts from his lips.
He leans his forehead against mine, his body stilling for a moment, as if whatever he feels rips through him, leaving him unable to even breathe. The stillness lasts only an instant, then he's back. His lips work against mine again, more gently than before, but only just. His tongue dips and swirls, tangling with mine in a sinuous dance. He tastes like beer and chocolate.
Untangling one hand from my hair, he searches beneath the riotous mess for the zipper of my dress. His mouth never stops working with mine. His hips never stop moving against mine.
"Noah. Noah, wait." I push against him. "Noah, stop."
He freezes immediately, his eyes opening, his gaze searching mine in the shadows. "What's wrong, baby?" He looks nervous, as if he fears my answer. And grumpy, as if I've taken away his favorite toy.
"We're outside, Noah."
"What?" Confusion clouds his expression.
"We're outside. On my porch."
He glances around. "Oh. Shit."
