Page 92 of Under the Lies

“So do it.” My voice is breathless.

With a growl and a tug on my wrist, Noah pulls me into his lap. “You make me insane.”

“Ditto,” I breathe right before our lips slam together, hungry for what’s been building between us since the night at the art gallery. Since the first night at Heathen’s Hell…maybe it’s been building for even longer. Maybe since I was fourteen and he searched me out in my childhood home.

We’ve kissed before but never has it felt like this.

An all-consuming, soul rendering kiss. It courses through my body, down to my core, all the way to my toes. His fingers lace through my hair, holding me firm, like he’s trying to keep me from going anywhere.

Trust me, I want to whisper as his tongue finds mine, I’m not going anywhere.

But since I don’t have control over my words, I’ll tell him with my actions.

Clinging to him, I dig my nails into his shoulders, greedily taking all that he gives me.

And he gives me his all.

The kiss is primal and possessive. Our tongues dance until Noah pulls my hair, pulling my head back. His mouth trails kisses down my neck to my collarbone. They’re not the gentle kind of kisses, but the kind that feel like branding. Marking me as his. I want to mark him back.

Skating my hands down his chest, I pull at the hem of his sweater. “I want this off.”

His gruff chuckle vibrates against my throat, stretching down to my core and I shift, wanting more friction. But Noah’s hands go to my hips, keeping me still.

“Noah.” I fight to move, but his grip is firm.

Giving me a smile that feeds the fervor growing in me, especially when one of his hands trails down my hip, fingers dancing along my thigh as they finger the hem of my dress. “And I want this off.”

Desire feeds his stare as he looks into my eyes.

“Then take it off,” I whisper, and the room turns into a blur as Noah stands up with my legs around his waist and a rumble in his throat.

Walking around to the end of the couch, he sets me down, pressing my thighs into the arm of it. In a quick, swift motion Noah pulls the dress over my head and sinks down to his knees, ripping my tights in two.

And with it goes the last remaining calm in my chest.

He finds my tattoo, the little rose outline I got last year. His eyes dance as he leans in to trace the pattern with his tongue. Leaving a trail of passion in his wake.

“Noah.” My hand stretches out, gripping his hair and pulling him even closer. But even that doesn’t feel like enough.

My skin is scorched as his hands grip the back of my legs and his mouth presses to my aching center.

“Hmm.” The sound vibrates against me, making my body purr. “I’ve barely touched you and already you’re so wet for me.”

I clench around him, his words are husky and rough and I whimper as he pulls away. I want him back, finishing the job he started.

Only to whimper again, more tormented than before, from the feel of his tongue licking me. Tasting me. Ruining me.

His moan of satisfaction thunders from his throat. “So wet,” he hums, his tongue darts out licking between my folds, circling my clit. My hips buck. “I could play with you all night.”

I’d be a puddle by the end of it.

Already my legs quake, my breathing erratic. If Noah drags this out for hours, I don’t know if I’d actually survive it.

He’s already robbing me of thoughts as he goes back to pleasuring me. My body arches against the couch when his teeth graze my clit, hips pressing more into his face. Aroused by not only the feelings he’s stirring up in me, but by the fact that I’ve brought Noah to his knees not once, but twice now.

It fills me with a power, a high I’ve never felt before.

Noah puts all the adrenaline in his veins into torturing me, taking my body higher and higher; building me up for a crash that doesn’t come.

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