“Too many clothes,” I mutter, breaking free of Noah’s mouth. I pull his shirt up, and his eyes widen.
“You want this?” he asks.
“Of course, I fucking want this.”
He blinks, then we work like the pro athletes we are in ridding ourselves of our clothes as quickly as possible. Our clothes rustle as they drop to the floor. If there were an Olympic category for undressing, we would totally be representing our country.
Then I slam Noah into the wall again because whoever designed this apartment made the hallway far too long.
But this time my chest touches Noah’s bare one, and his flat pink nipples tighten. This time, my thighs touch his just as sturdy ones. And this time, my cock touches his.
Oh, God.
I press against his cock again, feeling my nerve endings jolt. They’ve never experienced anything like this. I’ve never experienced anything like this. His smattering of dark chesthair brushes against me, the masculine sensation not unappealing.
Life is fucking amazing.
“Have you ever—?” I ask.
Noah shakes his head. “No. Never. But—”
“But?”
“It’s amazing...” he murmurs, and his eyes roll back, and I decide my time is best spent sucking on the tender, salty skin of his neck. Noah’s groans and moans and pants have become my own personal favorite soundtrack. There’s no need to buy any music when I can just hear this. Noah has got this covered.
“I didn’t think you would want—” he murmurs, then his cheeks turn ruddy. He’s been thinking about this. I’m certain. Joy surges through me, like hats are dropping around me on the ice, and an audience is clapping, clapping, clapping.
“I absolutely want,” I say. “You’ve been driving me crazy all week.”
His eyes brighten. “Oh, yeah?”
“Totally. A thousand percent.”
A smile breaks over his face, and I would stare at it for centuries, except I want my tongue back in his mouth right now.
Then we’re kissing some more, my new favorite thing. I brush my cock against his. It feels fucking amazing. This all feels fucking amazing.
NOAH
It’s possible I’ve fallen asleep at the breakfast table, and I’m drooling, and my parents and Finn are staring at me.
Because, surely, having a dream about Finn is more likely than what’s happening here.
Finn Carrington can’t be kissing me.
He can’t be groaning into my mouth.
He can’t have torn off my clothes in a fit of passion, because Finn Carrington isn’t supposed to feel passionately toward me.
He’s supposed to like me...as a friend. Tolerate me...like an imperfect colleague.
But kiss me? Slam me against the wall so I thud against its so he can make out with me? Rub his cock against mine? No way.
Finn pulls away, and for a wild moment I think his eyes are going to dance, his lips are going to smirk, and he’s going to announce “called it” and tell me to leave his apartment, leave the team, leave his life.
His eyes dance, and his lips swerve upward, though not in a smirk-like manner. “Bedroom.”
“Seriously?”
