He withdrew his fingers and hungrily sucked on them. “Caro. Let me.” He started to sink to his knees before her.
She stumbled back, panicked. “No, no, no,” she said wildly. “No, not that. Not when I’m on edge like this. I just can’t.”
He rose back up to his feet, his gaze intent. Waiting for a signal.
The bastard. So confident. Making her feel like she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t get one last taste of him.
And what felt worse: knowing that he was on to her. He had all the time in the world to wait. He would just stand there until she broke down and begged for it.
“I’m prepared.” He smiled.
She didn’t. “You would be.”
“Black cabinet, top shelf, left side.”
She shoved past him into the bathroom, and found what she was looking for.
Back into the shower, to sheath his thick shaft. She savored his reaction.
He clasped her waist and she let him lift her and press her back against the cool wet slate tiles, wantonly spreading her legs. He grabbed her thighs, encouraging her to wrap her legs around him, which she immediately did.
He leaned forward, kissed her throat, murmuring in her ear. “Put me inside you.”
Caro seized that thick club bobbing at her thigh, and nudged it to where she wanted it. She was drenched and ready. Under his spell. Craving every inch of him.
They gasped together as he drove deep inside her. His thrusts were slow and slick and heavy, each stroke of his big cock the ultimate answer to her body’s silent pleas for more, more, more.
She dug her nails into his back, moaning. He was so deep inside. Body, mind, soul. All of her. Her body melted for him, molded around him. A slick rocking give and take of pure erotic bliss. She knew he could hold her effortlessly, pleasuring her with masterful skill for as long as she wanted him to.
Her heart was swelling bigger, too. Hotter, like the sun was inside her chest. Filling her with light. Coming closer, brighter, sharper . . .
Oh. Yes. Sweet oblivion pulsed and throbbed through her.
The wrenching bursts of pleasure eventually eased, leaving her limp in his arms. Just Caro again. Her face was wet. Stupid tears.
Noah’s face was pressed against her shoulder. She clutched his hot, slick body, trying to fix this moment and all the others in her memory. His blazing vital energy, the magic space he’d created where she felt safe, desired, beautiful. After months of lonely desperation, this sudden intimacy with him had jolted something dead back to life.
They clung to each other for a long, silent time.
Noah slid out of her, and set her on her feet. He turned the shower on, angling it away until the water was warm, and aimed the stream over her torso and then down between her legs, caressing as he rinsed. There was bold assurance to his touch, as if he had every right to handle her so intimately.
He shut off the water and reached for a fresh towel.
She almost smiled. Couldn’t quite manage it. “I can dry myself,” she told him.
“Give me that much,” he muttered.
So she did. Just stood there unresisting, letting herself be caressed by the long strokes of the towel over her body. Willing herself not to cry again as he slowly and meticulously toweled her hair, with leisurely thoroughness.
He tossed the sodden towel aside. “Stay here with me,” he said fiercely.
She felt her body go tense. “Noah. Don’t start.”
“I never stopped,” he said. “I don’t know how. The coffee should be ready by now. Come get some when you’re dressed. I’ll make you breakfast.”
“No breakfast, thanks. I’m not hungry.” She stared, hypnotized, as he toweled off his own chiseled physique. “Your coffee maker sure is timed to start early.”
“I’m not much of a sleeper.” He strode out, taking the air and energy with him.
Solitude thudded down. And she’d thought she was depressed before.
How strange it felt to pull on her wrinkled clothes. They smelled unfamiliar somehow, as if they belonged in someone else’s life. But this was the only life she had. She was stuck with it.
It hardly mattered if he learned her address. She was leaving Seattle as soon as she made contact with Bea. After that, time to pack and run. Ponytail was probably still looking for her, but she had to risk going home. If she didn’t get her stuff, she’d have to buy it all again. Nothing like stark poverty to make a person loathe waste.
Dressed, with her damp hair braided back, she walked through his house, admiring the lofty vaulted spaces and huge windows. The lake glowed, a dissolving mist wafting over the water. There were no lights in the kitchen except for a subtle line of illumination under the edge of a counter.
Noah took a mug from the cupboard. “How do you take your coffee?”
“With cream if you have it.”
“I do.” Moments later, she was sipping an aromatic French roast lightened with a generous slosh of cream.