Page 24 of Lies and Other Drugs

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Noah sat down on the bed in our tiny hotel room, running a hand through his hair. "Shit, Babe." Walking to the kitchenette, I turned on the faucet and filled up a cup with water before drinking it. Turning to face Noah, I spoke again. "You know, for a therapist, you sure are bad with words," I said, a small and faint glint in my eyes.

"For a woman with a vendetta, you sure do miss your target," he replied. Touché, Noah. Touché.

I moved to sit down on the mattress beside him, resting my head against his shoulder while I stared at the brown hotel door. The room smelled of Noah's cologne and microwaved room service. "I'm sorry I didn't call you back. I was arrested," I explained, preparing myself for his response.

"Oh. And here I was thinking you were going to explain why you're sopping wet and sitting on our bed," Noah said with a humorless chuckle, like my odd quirks were something normal that he'd just learned to navigate. I kind of loved that about him. "Did Samuel or Nathaniel bail you out?"

"No. President Robinson just had a little chat with me, then I was free to go. Basically, he wants me to leave."

"Do youwantto leave?" Noah asked, and instead of answering him, I stood up and stripped from my wet clothes, my pebbled nipples perking up in tight little peaks as a rush of air hit them. Noah's eyes roamed my body as I stretched my arms over my head.

"I think I'd like to stick around and finish what I started," I answered finally before dropping my hands to my side and shrugging. And this time, I wasn’t saying this to push Noah away or make him hate me. I was just clinging to my truth like it was all I had left.

"I see," was his shaky response.

"Why do you stick around, Noah? What is it that makes you feel like you owe me something?" I wasn't sure why I wanted—no, needed—to know that, but right here and now, it seemed important. My expiration date was coming to an end. I would pretty soon confront the woman in the alley, and everything would come to light. I'd do what I came here to do, leaving him, Young, and Samuel behind. Many wouldn’t understand why I could approach this so clinically. They didn’t get why my plan had to be so rigid.

"Aside from the obvious?" he asked.

"Pretend I'm oblivious."

"I like you. Possibly love you. I'm the therapist, right? So I could sit here and tell you that my need to save you stems from my inability to save Arielle. I could say that I'm projecting my issues on another grieving woman. Or that I'm addicted to you. I have an addictive personality, so it wouldn't be a stretch." Noah stood and made his way over to me, his eyes went hooded and dark as they took in my empty gaze and parted lips. "But the truth isn't something I can easily explain. I crave you, not in the same way I crave a drink. I want to save you, not because I couldn't save Arielle, but because the idea of never talking to you again makes me fucking sick."

Noah wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close before nuzzling his head in my neck, peppering me with kisses. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll wait until you can actually stand to look me in the eye when we fuck. I'll wait until you no longer feel like you should punish yourself with this dead end you're on because you couldn't save William." I went stiff in his arms, his words hitting just a little too close to the truth for comfort.

“And if I asked you to go?”

“I wouldn’t.” He pulled away then kissed me with tenderness. Noah’s and my kiss was this subtle thing that just kept growing and growing. It started with our lips touching, testing the waters of a real kiss, one of those that burrowed itself in your soul. And then it was a crescendo of the last year, overflowing and challenging us to stop holding back. It was too much.

I opened my eyes, just to watch the way he kissed. Eyes closed, soft expression that teetered on adoration and awe. I then pulled back when I saw how much love was hidden within his relaxed face. “Don’t hold back on me now,” he growled before wrapping his hand around my head and pulling me back for more. I felt bad, offering him the scraps of my heart. But he adjusted, escalating our kisses into something that felt less like a declaration of love and more like the intense attraction we had for one another.

Wrapping my arms around his back, I lifted up his white shirt, breaking apart for a split second to pull it over his head and toss it to the side. Cupping my breast, he kneaded my flesh. His sensuous mouth felt divine. I matched the rise and fall of his heaving chest against mine as he guided me to the bed.

He abandoned me for a brief moment to grab a condom from the nightstand and slip it on. I rocked my hips as he settled on top of me, parting my thighs so that he could slide inside. Then began the never ending cycle of pumping and ravenous devouring. My body was his. My mind was mine. My heart couldn’t decide who it belonged to, but it beat in time to his. I dug my fingers into his back as he kissed my lips, thrusting deep until we were both jolting the headboard of the hotel bed against the wall.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

“Go slow,” I moaned, wanting to prolong the crushing tempo. Then I looked Noah in the eye. I saw the struggling man I didn’t want to get better, and I felt bad that I’d never be what he needed. Because if misery loved company, then grief loved alcoholic therapists with tempting tattoos and blue eyes that made me feel like home. I was grief. He was misery. We were two bodies worshipping one another.

And instead of the angsty fuck I thought I wanted, I decided to let him fuck me slowly, deliberately. I wanted to savor his soul until we exploded together. He held me as though he would never let go, and I fucked his cock like it was a goodbye.

“You’re so perfect,” he moaned.

“Don’t lie to me,” I replied in a breathy tone. “Not here. Not now. Tell me the truth,” I pleaded. The truth was the last bit of relief I could cling to. The one thing holding me back from being selfish with Noah.

Noah stopped, going still inside of me before giving in to my request. “The truth? Babe, the truth is I’ve never loved someone like I love you.” And he made sweet, sweet love to me. That cliche type of fuck, where you were nothing but moving bodies and silent declarations of shit that mattered. It was beautiful and teasing. My back arched off the bed as I unraveled in his arms. He watched my half-opened eyes and parted lips with awe. Like my orgasm was a reward, letting himself go only after he’d gotten his fill.

Then we rolled on our backs, looking up at the ceiling as our breath slowed. We didn’t touch or cuddle. He knew enough about me to treat me like an animal that was easily spooked. So we lay there in awe of what our bodies could say. It was by far the best therapy session we’d ever had. Maybe, just maybe, I had a breakthrough.

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