Never Ever

33| A little tangled

🚨*This chapter contains mature themes of a sexual nature. If that makes you uncomfortable, skipping it won't affect the storyline.* 🚨

The less-than-innocent dream I'm having is disturbed by Noah's alarm clock buzzing. I reach over in my groggy state, unable to see a thing thanks to his blackout curtains, and scramble to switch it off.

Then I lie back again, where it hits me that I'm not just tangled up in Noah's sheets but Noah. His long and sinewy arm stretches over me, pressing against the soft feathered duvet while his leg remains firmly around my waist. And even though he radiates warmth akin to the sun, the room's cool aircon means that his hot, taut skin feels like bliss.

Not wanting to disturb him, I stare at the patterns on the ceiling for a while, realizing I'm not the slightest bit drunk. No hangover, or headache, nothing but this burning desire in my stomach to bury my face in his neck.

When I can't ignore it any longer, I breathe deeply before turning to face him properly. He shifts a little, his leg tightening around my waist and drawing me in as if, even in his sleep, he wants me closer.

My gaze slides over him, past his long, black lashes and down his perfectly straight nose to the stubble on his jaw. He's like a statue, carved to perfection like Canova's Love and Psyche, only unlike Psyche, I can look at him all I want.

I snuggle closer, the desire to kiss him even stronger than last night, proving that it wasn't just the champagne talking. I want to have more with Noah, even if it means putting my heart on the line and potentially getting hurt. I want to at least try.

It's what the old me would want. If it wasn't for the accident, I'd have already hooked up with him by now, would probably have done so multiple times, and, more importantly, wouldn't feel bad about it. If college isn't for figuring out what – or who – makes you happy, where is?

Outside, soft footsteps tiptoe past the door before the hallway light flickers on. I glance at Noah, whose features are now half-visible in the tiny stretch of light trickling under the door. The idea that he'll have to leave for practice soon makes me sigh.

As though he hears it, Noah shifts closer until our noses are practically touching. He pulls his hand from under my arm to gently cup my cheek. Then softly, still groggy in his half-asleep state, he kisses me.

It's lighter than usual, the kind of kiss you barely feel but somehow reaches everywhere. It spreads through my body, from my toes through my stomach and to my breasts, making my nipples harden.

With his eyes still closed, he slides his other hand to my leg, gently caressing my thigh. Excited, I wait for him to travel further, anticipating the tips of his fingers brushing my boxers, but they don't.

He's determined to keep this gentle, scared the moment he pushes too hard, I'll run for the hills, and I don't blame him given our history. But I don't want to run this time – I want to take control. In one smooth move, I place my palm on his chest and climb over him.

He's suddenly wide awake. His eyes lock on mine, laced with surprise and something decidedly darker. In one swift move, he seizes my waist, gliding his hands down my hips and thighs before yanking them forward, forcing me to grab fistfuls of his t-shirt to balance myself. I lean into him, watching his Adam's apple bob the closer I get to his face.

Pressing his mouth to my ear, he mutters, "Am I dreaming?"

I don't speak for a moment, too lost in the heat of his breath on my skin. "Do you dream about me often, Noah?"

His grip around my thighs tightens. A breath escapes my lips. "Every damn night."

I pull back slightly, watching his breathing quicken. "What happens in them?"