Page 49 of They Are Mine

Because that’s who Noah is.

He doesn’t just take.

He gives, worships, makes me feel like I’m something to be adored.

And I am.

I grind against him, feeling how hard he is, feeling how much he needs this.

And I whisper against his ear, “Let me have you.”

And Noah?

Noah groans, his fingers flex against my hips, holding me steady, grounding himself.

His lips are hot against my skin, his mouth still trailing kisses over my chest, my ribs, the soft curve of my stomach.

Slow.

Savoring.

Because Noah?

Noah doesn’t just fuck.

Noah loves.

Even now, he’s making love to every inch of me.

And fuck, I want him inside me.

I shift, rolling my hips against him, gasping at the solid, aching heat pressing into me through his pants.

Oh.

Oh, he’s big.

The thought sends a hot rush of pleasure through me, a tightening, a pulse deep in my core.

And then?

Noah groans, like he can’t take it anymore.

He lays me down against the mattress, so fucking gentle, like I’m something breakable.

I’m not.

But I love that he thinks I am.

He leans over me, breathless, wrecked, eyes dark and wanting.

His fingers slip beneath the waistband of my shorts, tugging them down my thighs, his touch hesitant but sure, like he’s trying to pace himself.

Like he’s trying not to rush.

I arch up, giving him permission, giving him everything.

And when I’m bare beneath him, when he finally sees me?

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