For years, I’d chained up the sexual desire for anyone.
Until right now, with her. My hands shook as I touched her because suddenly, it wasn’t enough.
Faster, more, harder, my brain screamed, and my whole body shook from the effort it took not to follow that instinct.
I wouldn't feel this with any woman, not after so long of not having the press of soft breasts to my chest, the natural way her hips cradled me, the rocking of her pelvis against me. It was Molly.
We kissed and kissed and kissed before she pushed up on tiptoes to get closer to me, and it wasn't enough.
My hands trailed down the supple line of her back and gripped her bottom so I could boost her up in my arms. Her legs twined around my waist, and with one stride of my legs, her back was against the door.
We groaned in unison, the sounds lost in each other's mouths as our movements got messier and the kiss got deeper. My tongue pushed harder against hers when she caught the tip of it with the sharp edges of her teeth.
Her hands dug into my hair and pulled me harder against her. I couldn't get any closer to her, not if I tried. I rocked, pleasure gathering in a ball of flames at the base of my spine, so I gritted my teeth and pulled away from her.
She whimpered when I did, and I smiled against her mouth.
"Patience," I murmured between artless kisses. Whatever I lacked in finesse, I made up for in sheer fervor because she tasted so good and felt so good, and my hands were up underneath her shirt in the next heartbeat.
I wanted to feel the thrashing of her heart under my palm, I wanted to rip her leggings off and know how much she wanted me, I wanted to mark her chest with my mouth and stay with her like this for the rest of the night.
Molly froze completely, her hands pushing against my chest.
I did the same, my mouth hovering over hers as I took in the wide eyes and flushed cheeks and mussed hair.
"Noah," she whispered. "We shouldn’t do this."
Four years of playing professional football and four years of college before that honed my discipline into something that was iron sharp, and I had to use every single ounce of that discipline to let her feet drop carefully to the ground.
"Right," I said.
"We can't, Noah," she said apologetically. "You know we can't."
I nodded, swiping a hand over my mouth. I wasn't sure I knew that, but I'd respect her all the same.
"We-we have a whole weekend together after this. It's important," she continued. I wasn't sure who she was trying to convince—me or herself. "And Beatrice would kill me."
Like I cared what her boss thought. But Molly did. I pinched my eyes shut and leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead.
"It's okay," I told her. "It's okay."
For a moment, she leaned into me, letting her face fall into the center of my chest as I wrapped an arm around her back.
"It'll be all right."
Molly nodded shakily.
"It'll be all right," I repeated.
I just broke a woman-free streak that had lasted years, and I was about to spend the weekend with her. And a camera crew. And my grandma. And I was supposed to keep my hands off her now that I knew exactly how she tasted and the noises she made when she sucked my tongue into her mouth.
No problem.
Chapter Eighteen
Molly
A few things became clear to me over the next eighteen hours since I walked on Jell-O legs out of Noah's new house.
1-Noah could still kiss
2-I was an idiot
3-I needed an intervention because I tossed and turned the entire night afterward, replaying that kiss like he'd just served me the best sex of my entire life
Number two was the one I needed to focus on the most. It should have told me everything I needed to know that it wasn't in the number one spot in the first place. Rick and Marty wanted to do some editing before we left for South Dakota, and Noah had a big practice before the weekend leading into preseason, so we didn’t film the next day.
Work provided a meager distraction, but not enough to quiet my screaming thoughts. The whole day at my desk, my thoughts had done this basic dance.
Did kissing count as fraternization?
No.
Yes.
Maybe, because there was a lot of tongue action.
But probably not.
Fraternization was probably just P into V. Actual intercourse, like the way they'd taught us in middle school. Nothing else counted.
Would Beatrice demote me for making out with him?
No.
Yes.
Maybe, because holy shit there was a lot of tongue action.
I called Isabel as soon as I left the parking lot because I knew she was working, and I knew there were no classes scheduled that night.