Page 61 of Crown of Thorns
“You really have been stalking me then.”
I shrug. “If that’s what you want to call it. I’m simply trying to get to know you. But the closer I get, the further you hide. The more I talk, the less you share. And though that information was relatively easy to find, it still leaves me with the biggest missing piece of the puzzle. What happened fifteen years ago?”
His silence this time feels different. His entire body stiffens. Like I struck a nerve buried too deep to name. He pulls back just enough that I feel the shift, something cold snapping into place. A breath, a flinch, then he shoves me.
I stumble back—too fast, too easily—and hit the floor with a thud that knocks the wind out of me.
By the time I manage to suck in air, he’s off the bed and pacing like he doesn’t recognize the ground under his feet.
“I want you to leave. Now.”
He sounds winded. Shaken. But I don’t move. Instead, I reach for his ankle, catching him before he retreats again. I want him close, want the explosion, the fire, even if it burns me.
Noah yelps, stumbles, and crashes down. In the scuffle, he kicks out, his heel grazing the side of my head. Doesn’t matter. I’m still here.
He doesn’t know yet what persistence looks like. He should. He loves football, doesn’t he? He should know I play to win.
I climb up his body, arms winding around his waist. His fists hit, then falter. The air between us shifts, snarls giving way to panting, nails digging into my thighs as my towel slips open.
“Damn you,” he growls.
“Damn you right the fuck back, baby.” I grip his forearms, fingers brushing the hidden shape of the knife holster beneath his sleeve. So that’s where he keeps it.
“Stop being so skittish and talk to me.”
“I want you to leave,” he repeats. A shirt sails at my chest. “And put this on. I can’t watch you. Just…get out.”
I cup his throat, not to hurt, just to anchor. His whole body trembles.
“Tell me why.”
“I can’t.” His voice breaks, and his eyes shimmer with something too raw to name. “I need to be alone. Please.”
It’s that word—please—that undoes me. I wish he’d begged in any other way. But now I have no choice but to let go.
I rise slowly. He watches me like he’s starving and scared all at once.
“I knew you had a tattoo on your back, but I didn’t realize it was a crow.”
The crow’s wings have always been mine, inked over my bones like armor. I didn’t think he’d notice. I didn’t think I’d want him to.
The crow’s wings cover my shoulder blades; its head sits in the interscapular region. Pulling on his shirt, I rotate back, wanting him to see I’m still hard for him. Yeah, we can talk feelings and all that and I’ll still want him to fuck me.
“You backed out after one gathering because you couldn’t handle the sex. But you missed more than that. I thought that a professional like yourself would be able to see through the obvious. But I guess I was wrong. Just know that I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk about it, or anything else.”
Noah has lost all the fight, looking gorgeous and flustered and shit as he stares back at me, allowing me to kiss him goodbye. Allowing me to leave while he clearly doesn’t want me to.
I hate that it affects me. Hate that the thought has me all hot and bothered when he’s locking me out of his glorious mind, like always. This has nothing to do with me being his student and everything to do with whatever he’s hiding from.
I hate that he keeps me at a mile distance while others feed me crumbs about his past. I want to be the one he talks to, the one he confides in. Because if I’m not, then I’m just another body in his bed, another name he won’t remember once the storm passes. And that scares me more than I’ll ever admit aloud.
He let me stay last night. And that should mean something. But here I am, walking out like it never happened.
17
NOAH
I’m spiralling. I’m losing my mind. Everything I’ve worked so hard for is a mess, and I don’t know what to do to make it stop. I keep pretending it’s not happening, but the cracks are showing.
