able to eat it with copious amounts of alcohol. I wasn’t sure if he was serious.
“I was only kidding about the carrying business,” I said to Noah’s chest.
“You’re my guest. I don’t want you getting injured. I’m not sure we’re current on our homeowner’s insurance,” Noah joked. I could feel the rumble of his voice through his chest. If I had eaten or drunk less, I’d have protested more, but right now I felt too satiated and happy to argue. If he wanted to carry me out to his truck, I was okay with that. Only he didn’t proceed out the kitchen to the driveway. Instead, he started up the stairs.
“Are you trying to work off your s’more?” I asked.
“Nope, I’m putting you to bed.”
I started to struggle weakly. “I can’t stay here.” My protests were half-hearted, though, and Noah merely ignored them.
He carried me down the hall like I weighed no more than a marshmallow and took me into a room on the right. The room was dark and the walls seemed to be painted gray or white. I couldn’t tell in the dimness.
A large bed was positioned between two windows. Noah walked straight to the bed and laid me down on top of the gray striped comforter. He went over to a dresser and pulled out a T-shirt that had the letters USMC. “You can sleep in this,” he said, tossing the shirt to me.
I took the shirt and held it up to my face. It was cool and smelled clean. I wished it was the shirt Noah was wearing so I could be wrapped up in his scent and surrounded by the warmth of his body.
When I didn’t move, Noah said, “Should I help you? You mentioned something about non-functioning limbs.”
The offer was a joke, but an invitation lurked underneath. I wasn’t ready for that yet. “No, I think I can manage but, um, are you sure I can’t just call a cab?”
“Cab service is shit out here, and I don’t want you to leave,” Noah replied firmly.
I went to the bathroom and put on the borrowed shirt. Noah had also lent me a pair of cotton boxers that were too large in the waist. I rolled the waistband down twice so it settled on my hips, the extra fabric from the turns ensuring the boxers wouldn’t fall off. Noah definitely passed the“ not fitting into my jeans” rule.
He stood next to the bed holding the covers up for me. I exited the bathroom and slipped under them. If I were braver, with more experience, I’d have reached for him. He’d press his body into mine, and I’d run my hands over his broad back. I’d map the dips and peaks of his ridged chest, the one I’d stared at all day in the pool.
I was restless and unsatisfied, wanting something I knew only Noah could give me. My open expression was easy for him to read. Noah sank down on the edge of the bed and put one arm across my body. His head dipped low, and I saw his eyes darken. His descent was slow and measured, telegraphing that I could stop him at any time.
I must’ve known the day would lead to this, even if I hadn’t acknowledged it consciously. I placed a tentative hand on both of his forearms, braced at my sides. I felt him shudder and for a moment, I was filled with a strange sense of power. I could make him shudder for me.
I slid my hands up his arms and around his shoulders, enjoying the feel of hot flesh over hard muscle. My fingers laced around his neck. The first touch of his lips against mine was soft, almost like whispers of a kiss. His touch wasn’t tentative so much as patient. If we went any further, he was saying, it would be at my urging.
So I lifted up and pressed into him, using his body as leverage for mine. And that was enough. His arms swept around my body, lifting me flush against him. His hand came up into my hair and cradled my head against the now hard onslaught of his lips and then his tongue. I felt like he was a marauder, invading my mouth and my senses.
His other hand was braced around my ribs just under my breast. I felt my nipples tighten in anticipation of his touch. But when I thought he would move his hand, perhaps caress my breast, he stopped. He pulled