Page 34 of The Photo
Serious eyes cut to find mine. “Do you remember how good it felt when my mouth was here?” Light fingertips glide across the fabric, then he teases it to one side, exposing me. It’s dirty, hot and thrilling. “When my tongue was inside you.”
“Yes,” I splutter, when the muscles in my abdomen quiver.
An air steward announces the departure of a flight. The door handle rattles. His fingers spread me open. “Fuck, Rowan. What have you done to me?” Warm lips cover my clit, and he hums. “This taste. Your taste. I don’t want you to leave.”
I feel like my knees will buckle when his teeth gently bite. “I have to go, Noah.”
“You have to go now?” he asks, halting the sensation of heat and pleasure swelling.
“Noah,” I pant out his name. “Don’t stop.”
“I don’t want to stop. Ever.”
I flip off his cap, delving fingers into his thick hair. My hips tilt. He nudges my thighs wider. My shoulders press into the wall for stability, and I’m practically squatting. Flicking his tongue, fingers glide in the wetness and then pause at my anus. I experience an out-of-body surge when he suddenly sucks hard and slips a finger in my ass.
The room spins. My thighs clench. “Omigod!” I gasp. It’s a forbidden intrusion that feels so fucking X-rated. With my pelvis jerking and Noah’s face between my legs, I don’t recognize the person I’ve become. It’s not a bad thing. No, not at all. It’s liberating and exhilarating.
When my breathing slows and my fingers unravel from his hair, he rises before me and dries his mouth with long fingers. I’m either on the periphery of laughter, tears or I’ll just faint. A rush burns inside me and black dots float around the space.
“That was a bookmark,” he tells me with a look of bewilderment. “I’m holding my place until the next time.”
I bend over and grab my jeans, heaving them back over my shaky legs. As they reach my thighs, he steps into me and takes control. The zipper reaches the top, the button fastens, he smooths my tee in place, and then he squats and collects the cap from the floor. When his dark eyes find mine, he sets the hat on my head and fixes it in place. “Perfect,” he whispers with a throaty rasp. “When I see you again, the cap will be the only thing you’re wearing. Got it?”
What is happening? Are we seriously taking this to the next level? He meant what he said back in his apartment. “I’ll video call you when I get to my place.” I barely string words together.
The door handle shakes again, repeatedly this time. He flips the dark lenses out and conceals his eyes. I’m not certain if he’s hiding from the public or me. It breaks our connection instantly. Our privacy has been interrupted. The intimacy has vanished. The warmth of his touch has gone cold.
I inhale and side step him. When I grab the door handle, he comes up behind me and sets his palm over the back of my hand. “I’ve never been to Ireland before. It’s on my wander list now.”
“I’d be happy to take you on tour.” Don’t lead me on.
His other hand snakes my waist and rests on my belly. “I’ll hold you to that, Rowan.”
In one unseen move, he swivels me around, grabs my jaw and smashes his mouth to mine. A fist thumps the door from the other side, matching the pounding pulse in my throat. With a sultry rumble, he draws back. “Just the cap. Nothing else.” He winks, unlocks the door and ushers me out into the bustling crowd.
His hand leaves my lower back, and the seashell appears in my palms. “This is yours, and you’re mine.” His statement tingles around every vertebra in my spine. I am his.
I look up from the seaside gift to thank him, but he’s gone. Immediately my heart expands and lifts. I rise to tiptoes, scanning and searching. It feels like panic amplifying or adrenaline oscillating when I frantically try to pick him out.
I locate his biker jacket and backpack near the exit, his back to me. The urge to shout after him bubbles. I stop myself short and clench the shell securely.
A hand taps my shoulder. “Rowan, where did you get the cap?” Chelsea’s voice interrupts my silent distress. “And where the fuck did you buy a souvenir shell? Does that thing have a pulse? It's huge.”
Noah leaves the departure lounge. Chelsea snares my wrist and rambles on about what could fit inside the shell.
I flew to Canada with a whimsical dream to meet my crush. And now I’m leaving with two goodbyes in one day.
A seashell.
A promise.
A reminder.
An instruction.
And a cap that smells of his aftershave.
Fourteen
