Page 47 of They Are Mine

He stiffens.

“Juliet,” he says, voice low, uncertain. Not unwilling. Just unsure.

Like he wants this but doesn’t want to assume.

Like he thinks he needs permission.

God, I love him.

I let my lips brush the back of his neck, pressing the smallest, laziest kiss to his skin.

“Don’t think,” I murmur, dragging my mouth just a little lower. “I want you.”

Noah shudders.

And then?

He turns, slow but certain, his body shifting toward mine.

And when our eyes meet?

Oh.

Oh, he’s gone.

His pupils are wide, his breathing uneven, his lips just barely parted like he’s already imagining what they’ll feel like against mine.

I tilt my head, close the space, press my lips to his.

And Noah?

Noah kisses me like he’s been starving for this.

His hands find my waist, then my hips, then my thighs, pulling me into his lap like I belong there.

Because I do.

I straddle him, rolling my hips just slightly, just enough to feel him, and fuck, he’s already so hard.

He groans into my mouth, like he didn’t expect this, like he’s struggling to keep himself under control.

Don’t hold back, love.

Not with me.

His hands are so soft, so careful.

They glide over my sides, my back, up to my face, cradling me, holding me like something delicate.

His thumbs trace my jaw, my cheekbones, the corners of my mouth.

He kisses me like he’s learning me.

Like he’s mapping every inch of my lips, memorizing how I taste, how I sigh when his tongue slides against mine.

I press against him, grinding down just enough to make him shiver.

He moans, actually moans, against my mouth.

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