Page 46 of Loving Josy
“Noah,” she breathes, her voice trembling as every muscle in her body tightens.
“Yes. So fucking mine.” The words come out in a guttural growl as I kneel before her, pushing her thighs wider. The sight of her, wet and glistening, makes my mouth water. “Stay right there,” I command softly, my lips curving into a grin as I blow warm air against her core.
I let my tongue glide from her entrance to her clit, savoring every taste of her. Josy’s head falls back, her moan echoing in the kitchen, and I press deeper, my fingers joining the rhythm. Her back arches, her body writhing against my touch.
“Noah,” she cries out, her hips lifting off the counter, seeking more.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I rasp, my voice vibrating against her skin. I quicken my pace, my fingers curving just right until I feel the telltale tremble in her thighs. “Come for me, Josy. Let go.”
Her release hits, a tidal wave of pleasure that leaves her shaking and gasping. I lap at her, not stopping until her hands push weakly at my shoulders, her body too sensitive to take any more.
I stand, watching her through hooded eyes as she looks at me with a hunger that sets my blood on fire. I bring my fingers to my lips, tasting every last drop of her. “Best dessert I’ve ever had,” I murmur, smirking as I pull her close for a kiss.
She tastes herself on my lips, and something about the way she melts into me makes me want to hold her forever. But I know she’s exhausted, so I whisper, “Come on, sweetheart. Let me take you to bed.”
Josy nods, her eyes heavy with sleep. I scoop her into my arms, carrying her like the treasure she is. When we reach her room, I lay her gently on the bed, pulling the covers overher. I lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Good night, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As I turn to leave, her hand catches mine. “Stay,” she whispers.
I don’t hesitate. “Of course.”
Stripping down to my boxers, I slip into bed beside her. She curls into me, her head resting on my chest, and I hold her close, her soft breaths lulling me. I feel at peace and know that this is where I’m meant to be.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Josy
Iwake to a cocoon of warmth, the covers snug around me and an unmistakable weight pressed against my back. My mind takes a moment to catch up, still hazy from the best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages. Slowly, I blink my eyes open, letting the soft light filtering through the curtains pull me into consciousness.
It’s peaceful. My body feels relaxed, my thoughts quiet. But then it hits me—the arm draped over my waist, the steady rise and fall of breathing behind me.
Noah.
My heart skips, then thuds heavily. He stayed.
My initial reaction is to melt further into his warmth. His arm, so solid and secure, feels like it belongs there. But the realization sharpens, cutting through the bliss. This wasn’t part of the plan.
I shift slightly, careful not to wake him. My pulse quickens as I try to piece together how this happened. Last night flashes in my mind—his touch, his words, the way he made me feel like I was the center of his universe. I loved every second of it. But waking up in his arms? That’s something else entirely.
Noah stirs behind me, his arm tightening around my waist as if he senses my thoughts. I close my eyes briefly, trying to savorthe feel of him. It’s intoxicating, the way his body molds to mine, his breath warm against the back of my neck. For a moment, I let myself believe it’s okay to want this. To want him.
“Merry Christmas,” I whisper softly when I feel him shift again.
There’s a sleepy hum in response, his voice low and gravelly. “Merry Christmas, Josy.” His lips brush against my shoulder, and a shiver runs through me despite the warmth.
He’s so at ease, so comfortable, like this is where he’s meant to be. Meanwhile, my heart is waging a war with itself. This feels so good, so right. But I’m not ready. Am I?
Noah shifts again, propping himself up slightly behind me. His hand slides over my stomach, resting gently on my baby bump. “How’d you sleep?” he asks, his voice still thick with sleep.
“Better than I have in weeks,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. I glance over my shoulder at him. His hair is a mess, his eyes soft and warm as they meet mine. It’s a sight I could easily get used to… and that terrifies me.
I sit up slowly, careful to keep the blanket wrapped around me. “You stayed,” I say, more to myself than to him.
He sits up too, his expression unreadable. “You asked me to.”
That I did. I remember the moment so vividly—the way he carried me to bed, the comfort of his presence, the vulnerability of asking him to stay. But in the light of day, it feels… complicated.
“I didn’t think you… I mean, you didn’t have to.” My words come out awkward and uncertain, and I hate how exposed I feel.
