Page 18 of Rock the Cradle of Love
Taylor’s wrapped around him like an octopus. Taylor’s hand hangs limply against Noah’s abs. Which would be perfectly fine, but Noah’s got morning wood. He swallows a groan. Noah takes several slow deep breaths and gets his breathing under control.
How the heck is he going to extricate himself? Last week, Noah’d wanted to drag Taylor back to bed for additional snuggles after waking up with Taylor at his back. Cuddling is one thing, cuddling with a hard-on is another. Especially after saying he doesn’t get aroused by anything but direct stimulation. And after making such a fuss about no sex. A hard-on usually means something.
He takes another few breaths, closes his eyes, and chills the hell out. Men get morning wood. Taylor’s not going to think anything of it. It’s a natural bodily reaction, and Noah is a fully functioning man.
In fact, Taylor’s boner is poking him in the butt cheek right this moment. Noah’s heart rate spikes, and his gut tightens. His erection twitches, and he takes a cleansing breath. Taylor’s asleep. Nothing’s going to happen. Nothing would happen if he were awake.
But his state and his close proximity beg the question: what would anal sex be like? Noah’s experience had been with a woman. It hadn’t been bad, but the sex hadn’t been anything he worried about repeating. Lying here with Taylor, however, evokes strange new sensations inside of him, and he doesn’t know what they mean. He suspects, but…that can’t be. How can it be? The basic tenet of asexuality—a lack of sexual attraction and little interest in sexual activity—has always applied to him.
Right now though, the compulsion to touch himself is strong. His dick tingles and his fingers twitch to take hold of it. The urge surprises him, and he’s certainly not going to do anything right here, tucked into Taylor’s embrace. With a sigh, he squirms until Taylor loosens his grip and rolls away.
Noah makes a quiet beeline for the bathroom and cuts on the water for a shower. He wraps a fist around himself and, for the first time in his life, he masturbates to thoughts of another person. Nothing’s different about this except that instead of focusing on the sensations—the hot water pounding against his back, the tug of flesh, the sparks deep in his groin—he’s imaging Taylor’s hands around his dick, on his hip. Taylor’s large hands that wield a hockey stick and hold a precious baby with equal finesse.
Noah doesn’t realize he’s about to come until his body tenses and his dick goes stiff, but he closes his eyes and strokes himself through it. He’s breathless and weak-kneed, which is new. Guilt and embarrassment immediately replace any pleasure he’d felt in the moment, but by the time he takes care of the business of actually getting clean, they recede enough for him to feel comfortable facing Taylor without giving anything away. What Taylor doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? Noah peeks into his room to make sure Taylor’s still asleep, but sees Taylor holding Emma and crooning softly to her. If Noah were a hunk of chocolate, he’d have melted at the sight.
Taylor turns around and Noah’s breath hitches at the sight of Taylor standing there, shorts tented by his own morning erection, and looking completely comfortable in his own skin, hard-on and all.
“Hey, Ems, here’s Daddy now.” Taylor deposits Emma into the crook of Noah’s available arm. “I gotta take a piss, man,” he says, pressing a kiss to Noah’s shoulder and slipping into the bathroom, the door snicking shut behind him.
Noah’s gaze follows Taylor, and he feels the ghost of Taylor’s lips against his skin. Taylor’s easy display of affection is just that—easy and nice and something Noah could definitely get used to.
Emma hiccups, drawing Noah’s eyes from the closed door to her smiling face. “Hi, baby girl. I need to get dressed,” he says as he sets her on the bed as best he can with one arm, while the other hand clutches the corners of his towel at his hip.
Nabbing a pair of boxers out of the drawer, he pulls them on as quickly as possible. He’s more worried about Taylor seeing his junk than he is Emma seeing it, which is silly either way. Taylor’s seen his junk more than a few times in the locker room over the years. Emma’s three months old and doesn’t even know what junk is. Not only that, but Noah’s not inherently modest. You can’t be when you’re on a track leading to professional hockey. More than any other sport, he thinks, hockey is a close-knit community from early in most players’ lives. Teammates spend so much time together on buses and planes and in locker rooms, in hotel rooms, and on ice rinks, that personal space and privacy are rare commodities.
He’s pulling on shorts when Taylor comes back. “Sorry. You know how it is first thing in the morning.”
Noah nods and scoops Emma back up. “Breakfast and then what?”
Taylor loops his arms around both Emma and Noah and kisses them both. “Let’s finish Pretty Pretty Princess’s room and then can we please play that new Xbox game I brought over?”
Chapter Seven
Noah kisses first Emma and then Taylor goodbye. He’s a little nervous about what the attorney has to say. As long as Julia follows through with her part of what they talked about and is willing to take whatever legal action she should, Noah can’t imagine anything impeding the adoption. But still. Until he meets with Ms. Padget and until all the papers are signed and filed, a niggle of doubt is going to hover over him like a little black rain cloud.
“Hey,” says Taylor softly, one arm holding Emma, the other around Noah’s shoulder. Noah breathes in the combined scent of laundry products and Taylor’s cologne. It’s familiar and comforting. “I can still go with.”
Noah shakes his head and straightens. “I need you with Emma. But thank you. And, hey, I’m meeting my mom afterward. Can I tell her about us?”
“Really?” Taylor looks pleased.
Noah nods. It’s only been a week, but things are going well, and he wants to tell someone. Normally, he’d tell Taylor or Julia, but Taylor obviously knows and Julia, well…this probably isn’t the best time to flaunt a new relationship.
“Of course, yeah.”
They share another kiss that turns messy fast—Noah’s discovered he likes kissing a lot—but he finally pulls away. “I gotta go.” One more quick peck and Noah’s out the door, the jacket of one of his best game-day suits draped over an arm.
The three-and-a-half-hour drive to Big Spring is not conducive to his nerves at all. There’s too much time to ponder all the things that could go wrong. He pushes those thoughts aside, though, and thinks about Taylor instead. About this past week and the time they’ve spent together. It’s been domestic bliss mostly. They hang out, care for Emma, cook together, and sleep together—mainly in the slumber sense of the word. They’ve made out just about every night, but Taylor’s kept his word and hasn’t pushed Noah into doing anything he hasn’t been ready to do. Last night, though, Noah’d wanted to go a bit farther, to do something for Taylor, to reward his patience, and had ended up giving Taylor a hand job. Wringing that kind of pleasure from Taylor had been surprising and satisfying in a way he’d never imagined he could feel.
Noah’s one lukewarm sexual encounter where both parties had climaxed paled in comparison to Taylor’s intense orgasm at Noah’s hand. His stuttered breathing, the writhing, his obscenity-laced speech. Noah’d never seen someone enjoy arousal so much. Not that he had any experience except movies and television and even those’re tame in comparison to a real live moment. The encounter was amazing and a little bit overwhelming, to be honest. And Taylor’d been so appreciative of the warm washcloth Noah’d brought to clean him up with, as if no one’d ever done that for him before. Turns out, no one had. They’d cuddled afterward and Noah fell asleep feeling wanted and cherished in a way he never thought possible.
Thoughts of Taylor led to thoughts of hockey and Noah wonders how acquiring a boyfriend and a baby are going to affect training and playing next season. But nothing has to be figured out right now. The buildings of Big Spring come into view and thoughts of Emma and his suit for paternity return full force. The only thing that matters right now is making sure he gets to keep Emma. His blood thrums in his veins and his fingers drum nervously on the steering wheel until he pulls into the parking lot of Ms. Padget’s firm.
* * *
Noah takes a seat in a banquette at one of his and his mother’s favorite sit-down restaurants. He sees her enter and waves. A moment later, she’s walking his way. He stands up to hug her, dwarfing her in his embrace. They haven’t seen one another in months, but she looks the same. Battleship gray hair in a messy bun held together by jade green chopsticks; pale blue eyes; few wrinkles in spite of her fifty-seven years. She’s wearing her usual hippie-cum-eccentric-professor outfit consisting of a long flowing denim skirt and a loosely crocheted shawl thing in variegated blues over a white tee shirt.
“Mom, hi, I missed you.”
