Page 14 of Gifted

Chapter Eight

~ Poppy ~

Today was Christmas Eve, and waking with Noah wrapped around me was the perfect gift. All I’d ever wanted. Well, almost all.

Somehow, I’d turned again while sleeping, and I was half-draped over him, our limbs tangled. Maybe, I should be embarrassed that I was using him as basically a body pillow, but heck, why? The way he held me said he enjoyed me just as much.

Carefully levering myself upright, I looked down at him. I’d often heard that people looked younger when they slept. Maybe, it was because they were less tense, the relaxation of sleep sapping away the stress lines. Noah didn’t look younger, though. Perhaps more vulnerable. Less impervious to everything.

He still appeared as if he could defend me against anything bad that came my way.

Biting my lip, I studied his mouth and wondered what it would feel like against mine. If I just leaned up a little, I could kiss him while he slept.

“I feel you staring,” he said, not opening his eyes. Startled, I jerked away, but his arms tightened. “Don’t go. I like you here.”

“’Mm-kay,” I murmured and lay my head back on his chest. He stroked his palm over my hair before cupping the back of my head. He shifted under me, and suddenly, his lips pressed to the top of my head.

“Morning, little lamb.”

“Morning. Sleep well?”

“Better than sleeping on the floor, yeah. But overall, no.”

“Oh…” Well, that sucked. “Why?” I asked before I could stop my mouth. I threw my hand over my eyes. “Never mind.”

It was that whole student and teacher thing. And I was beginning to think he wasn’t as into me as I’d imagined—and imagination was all it was.

Noah groaned in frustration, rolling onto his back, and immediately yelped as he tumbled right off the bed with a thump.

Scrambling to the edge, I peered down at him.

“Are you okay?” I gasped.

“Physically? Yeah, I guess,” he muttered. He sighed and sat up, reaching over to grab his pillow then pulling it onto his lap. I followed the movement and caught a glimpse of morning wood tenting his sweatpants before he hid it from view.

“I don’t know that I’ll live down the embarrassment of falling out of bed, though.”

“I won’t tell,” I promised. Nor would I ever forget it. I bit back my giggle and tried not to look too amused. Of course, he noticed my expression.

“You think it’s funny?” he asked, rising to his knees and pressing to the side of the bed, the move hiding his erection from view. But then we were face to face, and I could barely breathe as attraction and longing squeezed my chest.

“No,” I rasped, shaking my head.

“I think you do. Especially since you know it’s your fault.”

“My fault,” I gasped. “I didn’t push you.”

“No, but you cuddled up to me like I was your own personal space heater last night, rubbing that perfect little ass against me the whole time. You ought to have to pay for that.”

My lips parted. Were we abandoning his reservations? Because yes, please.

“How?” I whispered, the word barely an exhaled breath. The blood pulsed through me so hard, it seemed to mute everything. Except for my sharp gasps and the sounds of fabric rustling as he moved forward, his own breathing smooth. Nothing else intruded into our tiny bubble.

“Maybe, I’ll bend you over this bed and bare that sweet behind to me, so I can…”

“Spank me?” I asked when he trailed off. Again, the urge to call him Daddy lingered at the tip of my tongue. I’d never thought I’d be the type to use that term with a guy. I wasn’t into that whole scene or age regression, even if I’d stumbled across it in books a time or two. But sexually, right now, it seemed exactly right.

He made a humming sound but didn’t fulfill my curiosity. His hand skimmed along my arm, then over my shoulder and along my neck. His fingers speared into the back of my hair.

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