Page 45 of Noel
Like I might never get another chance.
Because, God help me, I might not.
And that thought alone makes me grip her tighter, pull her closer, pour everything I’m feeling into her mouth like she’s the only thing keeping me alive.
She trembles against me, and I know she feels it too.This need.This fire.
This, whatever the hell is happening between us, that’s so much more than just heat.
Every brush of my mouth, every sweep of my hands over her flushed, curvy body sends her arching.
Responsive.Beautiful.Wild.I can’t get enough.
Outside, the wind howls like a living thing.Snow stacks higher against the windows, blurring the world into white.
But in here, it’s only her.
Her breath.Her gasps.Her nails raking down my back like she’s trying to mark me from the inside out.
“Noel,” she whispers, soft and raw, like a prayer and a plea all in one.
And then I’m gathering her up, lifting her from the rug with more care than I thought I had left in me.
She wraps around me without hesitation.Arms looped around my neck.Head tucked beneath my chin like she belongs there.
I carry her through the fire-lit hallway to my bedroom, the feel of her skin against mine anchoring something I didn’t even realize was adrift.
“I’ll never get enough of you,” I murmur, voice rough with wonder, raw with want.
“I hope not,” she breathes, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dazed and dreamy and fucking perfect.
I lay her on the bed like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever held—because she is.
Then I lean in, kiss her slow and deep, like a man who knows exactly what he’s risking and wants her, anyway.
For a moment, there’s only silence.The crackle of the storm outside.The steady beat of our hearts.Her breathing against my skin.
I run my palm down her waist, fingers brushing the curve of her hip as I whisper against her shoulder, “Still with me?”
Her lashes flutter.Her smile’s soft and wrecked.“Very.”
“Good,” I say, my voice low, hungry again.“Because I’m not done.”
I kiss her again, slower this time.
Savoring.Worshipping.Letting the tension simmer back to life with every drag of my mouth across her skin.
Because when something feels this real—when it’s more than just timing or lust or adrenaline—you don’t let it go.
You hold on.
Even if it scares you.
Even if it burns.
My Tinsel?She does both.
And I want her more than anything.
