Page 80 of Still Yours
The warmth hits my throat, the peppery remnants coating my tongue and the heavy tannin sucking up the rest of my saliva.
In my days of schmoozing directors and impressing studio execs, I’ve become a good study with wine. Noa’s right. I finish it in two gulps.
“Delicious,” I say tightly, swiping at my lips, then slamming the wineglass down.
“Hey,” Noa says softly. She shifts closer, lifting her hand and thumbing a droplet from the corner of my mouth.
I stiffen under her touch. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Her thumb lifts off my skin. Her hand hesitates in the air.
I whirl, catching her wrist and tunneling my vision until all I can see is the teary-eyed warmth of her gaze.
“It’s not because I don’t want you to touch me,” I rasp out. “But because I do. Deeply. Badly. Uncontrollably.”
Noa allows my grip to stay, though it must be painful with how tight I’ve wrapped my fingers around her delicate bones.
“I won’t tell you it’ll be all right,” she says softly, holding my gaze. “It’s only going to get worse. And it hurts, and time will help, but you’ll never be the same. You’ll have to take pleasure in the small things to get your mind off it, to make you remember what the world’s like when it’s good.”
“You’re no small thing, Lavender.”
Her mouth works, her thoughts needing to catch up with my words. Then she leans forward. “If you need me right now, I’m here.”
My teeth grind together. “Are you sure about that?”
The question comes out of me with considerable warning, rough and husky.
She gives a slow nod, her stare unmoving. “I wish I had someone back then. I wish I could forget.”
My free hand finds her jawline, then her cheek. My thumb pulls against her skin until her plump lips stretch, then bounce back.
She’s beautiful. Pristine. Open and loyal.
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this moment,” I say, my voice strained, “But I’m fucking taking it.”
The moment her lips part, I grab the back of her head and yank her against me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Noa
Stone’s tongue plunges into my mouth, almost reaching the back of my throat as he tilts my head to get the best angle to devour me.
I let him.
He smells like fresh cotton and cologne. He tastes like expensive wine and salted memories. I climb on top of him, my hands digging into his hair the same way he tangles his fingers in mine.
I grind into him, feeling his rigid stiffness through his pants. We rub ourselves up on each other, almost viciously, our teeth coming out, too, nipping, biting. Possessing.
In a single maneuver, Stone stands, gripping my ass to keep me where I am. He spins as if to drop me onto the couch so he can crawl on top, but I pull away, laying a finger on his mouth, wet and shiny with my thirst.
“Take me to bed, Stone.”
Somehow, his brows lift over his darkened, lust-filled eyes.
“You deserve a real bed,” I continue, my lips brushing against his.
“Only if you’re in it,” he says.
