Page 3 of Play Hard
Noah. Fuckin’. Jordan.
The man who one day long ago, purchased a large butter pecan flavored coffee with extra sugar, tossed the drink in the trashcan, then stood in line to purchase another one, just so he could stand behind me and start a conversation. That happened on a Tuesday morning, at a little off campus coffee shop that had the best bacon, egg, and cheese bagel I’d ever tasted.
Two weeks later he became the first man I ever slept with.
Nine months after that, he walked out of my dorm room, and I didn’t see him again. Until today.
And five seconds ago, his lips crashed over mine. Now, my body hummed a tune I thought long forgotten, as Noah and I kissed like there wasn’t a little over a decade between us. We still recognized each other, that much was clear. Not just at first sight, the way my heart slammed into my ribcage the second I stepped onto this elevator and saw him. But that invisible thread that had woven its way around us that day in the coffeeshop and continued to create a bond I never imagined breaking. That touch my body craved every day we were together and for hundreds of days after the break-up. That door that only Noah held the key to, the space in my heart that only he could fill.
That connection was dangerous back then. It was life-threatening now, in a way much more significant than before.
Yet, I didn’t pull away. Instead, I barely registered my purse falling to the floor. The hand that formerly held it snaked around his waist, my other palm flattening on his chest. His still muscled, still warm and hard and damned delectable chest. Noah always had a great body. Spending at least an hour each day in the gym easily paid off for him. Meanwhile, I had to sweat and grunt my way to maintaining the barest level of fitness.
“So damn sweet,” he whispered when he pulled his mouth from mine and we both took a breath.
“So damn good,” I replied with the words that always came after his declaration. I opened my eyes to gaze up into his, my chest heaving, pussy pulsating.
His brow furrowed, thick lines creasing his cinnamon-hued skin. Lust and irritation warred in his dark smoldering eyes. My eyes probably mirrored the same emotions, the same regret. Which meant I should say something. Should move away from him, break the connection…do the right thing. Again. But I hesitated and Noah, he did what he always did, he acted.
His hand moved from my upper arm where it rested while we kissed, to lightly grip my neck. Instinctively, I sucked in a breath and leaned into his hold. My eyes fluttered and my thighs clenched. I never forgot how much I loved when he held me like this with his touch and his gaze. I couldn’t move, was locked in until he chose to release me. The reaction was automatic and probably toxic as hell, but I lacked the strength to fight it. Especially when his other hand left my waist to ease down to my ass. His long fingers gripped my cheek with the amount oftightness that sent a sting of pain straight between my legs. My eyes closed, and I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth as urges I hadn’t felt in way too long burst onto the scene.
“Look at me, Serra,” he said through gritted teeth.
When I didn’t immediately do so, his fingers tightened around my neck. I gasped, eyes shooting up to find his still glued on me.
“You took this away from me,” he continued. “Away from us.” The last words were spoken more forcefully, hurt hanging on the fringes of each one.
I wanted to apologize; to tell him I shouldn’t have started the argument, shouldn’t have let things get out of control that day. But the fact of the matter was that I should’ve known better. Should’ve known I wasn’t available for whatever it was we’d been doing.
He leaned in closer, pressing his forehead to mine. “Why?”
The question was barely audible, but his hand moving again kept me from having to respond. Now, he was gripping the back of my thigh. Moaning, he lifted my leg and wrapped it around his waist.
Curse this wrap dress that I thought was the prettiest shade of purple and thus had to have since that was my favorite color. My bare thigh was in his grasp; his lips were now at my ear.
“You took this away,” he whispered, then captured my lobe between his teeth.
His hand inched up higher on my thigh, pulling me even closer to him. I arched into the embrace, needed every ounce of his rage to pour into his touch, his words, to drown me. To cover me in all that I knew was familiar, all that had made me feel cherished and safe before.
“Noah,” was all I could say. “Noah.”
A loud boom filled the space and the elevator jolted.
He didn’t immediately release me and I made no move to pull away. However, the slight drop in my stomach followed by a whooshing sound signaled the elevator was moving again. I closed my eyes as my chest continued to heave, reality filling my system like oxygen. My hands slowly fell from him, fingers pressing against the wall. Seconds later he stepped away from me. I struggled not to speak, not to beg him to put his hands on me once more.
A ding echoed through the air and my eyes popped open, but I didn’t look at him. Instead, I bent at the knee and grabbed the strap of my purse. Noah moved. I could see his jean clad legs in my peripheral as I stood. His perfect ass and sculpted back in the black T-shirt that fit him like a glove. Flashbacks of how I used to drag not only my hands and nails over that gorgeous, taut skin, but also my tongue. In moments those brisk fall nights spent exploring each other’s bodies in his bed, that first snow day that classes had been canceled and we stayed wrapped in blankets on his couch alternating sex, food, and watching Jason Bourne search for his identity, all flashed in my mind. I reached out, clasping my fingers around the bar on the wall to steady myself. That memory was accompanied by a rush of emotions that left me lightheaded, and my stomach churned.
I glanced up as I heard the elevator doors open and found him looking over his shoulder at me. His brow was furrowed, those hot molten eyes locked in. He wanted to say something, to ask more questions, or hurl more accusations at me. I looked away and quickly stepped around him. As soon as the doors were open, I stepped off, anxious to get the hell away from him. Away from the memories and the pain that inevitably accompanied them.
His hand on my arm stopped me.
Hestopped me. The way I once upon a time wished I would’ve stopped him.
Anger immediately replaced that disappointment and I yanked out of his grasp. “Let me go!” I shouted the words, then hated myself since a small group of people were gathered in the hallway.
No doubt they’d been waiting for the elevator and had grown concerned when the uniformed firefighter showed up instead. That guy—with his short-cropped sandy brown hair and dust of freckles over a creamy-hued face—stared at me now with wide eyes. I didn’t bother to give the others my attention, but knew they were staring, too.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” I said, my voice lower this time as I huffed. My fingers tightened on the strap of my purse as I adjusted it on my shoulder again.
