The Fake Mate(71)

I realize that through this entire train of thought I’m staring at him, just as I’m noticing that he’s staring back at me in the same way. I wish I knew what he was thinking, wish I could read him just enough to help me figure out my own muddled thoughts, but all I can see in Noah’s face is the clear blue of his eyes, the strong line of his jaw, the plush curve of his lips—all the things that make it hard to look away from him. When I met him they were simply nice things to look at, but now just a glance is enough to give me butterflies. When the fuck did that even happen?

“Mackenzie,” he says suddenly, making me jump a little.

I meet his gaze, finding a warmth in his eyes now that makes the butterflies worse. I can tell he wants to say something, can practically see it stuck to the tip of his tongue, and for some reason I am desperate to know what it is. Whether it’s the hormones or this place or just Noah himself—my entire being seems hinged on whatever he is about to say.

So it’s surprising when he says nothing, but only for a moment, since he leans in instead to brush his lips with mine. That frenzy that has always come after his kiss seems less now, and in its place is a slow, molten burn that starts just below my navel and spreads deeper until it’s pulsing between my legs. It seems impossible that I could still get aroused after the amount of times we’ve been together just today—and yet his fingertips at my skin are like sparks of electricity, and his mouth on mine is sweet like wine, making me just as dizzy.

I feel his finger hooking into the sheet over me to ease it away, his palm covering my breast after and squeezing gently. He catches my gasp against his tongue when his thumb teases my nipple, and I unconsciously arch into his hand to chase after more of his touch.

“You’re so soft,” he rasps against my mouth. “So beautiful.”

My head falls back when his mouth wanders, reveling in the sensation of it on my throat, my collarbone, lower to capture my nipple. His tongue swirls there before he sucks it deeper into his mouth, and the sensation zings straight down to my core, making me want more.

“Noah,” I breathe.

His hand skims over my belly, his fingers curling between my legs to slip inside me. I’m embarrassingly wet even from just this, and the sound of his fingers sliding in and out of me is lewd and loud and yet all I can worry about is how to get more. He’s taking his time now, the frenetic pace I’ve become used to long gone as Noah seems to be intent on taking his time.

He pumps his fingers inside slowly, only to withdraw at the same tortuous pace, just to repeat it all over again, all the while teasing and nibbling at my nipple until my skin tingles all over. I can’t decide if I want him to keep doing this, keep teasing me at this pace that seems designed to drive me crazy, or if I want to beg him to get on with it, to give me more than just his hand.

His body covers mine as he touches me, his wide shoulders the perfect place for my hands as I keep him close against me. He licks at the swell under my breast, pressing his teeth there afterward, and my back bows as I let out a soft cry, feeling like I’m on fire in ways that have nothing to do with my heat.

So it’s almost painful when he stops, when all of it ends suddenly as he lifts his head to look at me with glazed eyes, and I’m panting my protest as I lean up to meet his gaze.

“Go on a date with me,” he says in a rush.

I blink, still keyed up and frustrated that he isn’t still touching me. “What?”

“A real date,” he says.

“A real . . .” I rear back, trying to comprehend what he’s asking. “But . . . complicated. You didn’t want to make things complicated.”

“But it is,” he says firmly, never tearing his eyes from mine. “It’s complicated. At least for me.”

And all that worry and all that uncertainty come crashing back down, every reason I’ve had for keeping him at arm’s length rearing their ugly heads to make themselves known. I don’t believe in this fate shit; in fact, I outright reject it—it drove my dad insane and left me alone, after all, and so I have every reason to calmly reject him, to cut my losses and realize that this good thing we’ve had has run its course.

But my heart is still fluttering, and that heavy, hot stone is still rolling around in my chest, impossible to ignore, and I’m realizing all at once that I might be more afraid of walking away like none of this matters than I am of risking something to see if it does matter.

“A real date,” I echo dazedly. “What about Albuquerque?”

“We’ll figure it out,” he answers immediately, without a shred of doubt. He says it like he will do everything he can to make it work, even if he has no idea how to. “Just say yes.”

“Noah, are you sure you want to—”

“I want to,” he cuts in. “I don’t think I ever even stood a chance of touching you and then just walking away.”

I can’t pretend this doesn’t rustle up those same butterflies in my stomach that might be building their own permanent residence, and despite all the wariness and all the reasons why I should say no . . . I feel my lips quirking in a smile, having to lean in and press my mouth to his just to keep it from spreading that smile to embarrassing levels.

“Okay,” I mutter against his mouth. “A real date.”

Noah doesn’t hide his smile in the slightest, his lips curving widely only a moment before they cover mine with a deep kiss. I melt into it as his tongue slides across my lower lip, opening for him as he crawls up the bed a little further to cover me completely. His hands are less patient now, sliding down my ribs to my hips as he squeezes me there, pressing a knee between my legs to part them even as I’m tugging at his boxer briefs to get them down.