Breaking Noah

by Missy Johnson

  “So why are you here, Noah?” I ask, glancing down as he takes another step, like a current is pushing him in my direction and at the same time pulling me closer to him.

  His brow furrows. “Because you invited me inside.” He’s eyeing me like I’ve lost my mind. I laugh and shake my head.

  “That doesn’t explain why you said yes,” I say breathily, hooking a finger at the hem of his shirt, giving a slight tug, and then he all-too-smoothly takes yet another step, my knees at his waist. His pained expression makes it clear that he doesn’t know what he wants. Let me rephrase that. He knows exactly what he wants, but he knows it’s wrong and he’s fighting it every step of the way. With my defenses down, I should be fighting it as well, but being close to him feels too right. “Why did you say yes? Do you want to be here with me?”

  I lean slightly forward, and my lips brush against his. I run my fingers over his soft stubble as his strong hands grab on to my waist, and, as if on their own accord, struggle to free me of my top. It feels like he’s having a realization of what’s going on and tries to pull away, but I recover quickly and hold him close. With my legs around his body, I use my heels to pull him into me and hold him there. When he rolls his hips against mine, I know I’ve won. There’s no way he’s backing out now.

  “Noah,” I softly moan, fumbling with the button on his pants.

  “This is so wrong. You’re going to get me in a lot of trouble.” He plants wet kisses down my jaw and neck until he reaches my lace-covered breasts. Pulling the fabric away and my tit out, his hot mouth comes down on my nipple. I arch my back, giving him better access. His free hand gives attention to the other breast.

  Getting a brilliant idea, I release my hold on his waist and push him back. I climb off the counter and he gives me a strange look. “Zara,” he whispers, starting to retreat back to the place in his mind that tells him we can’t.

  I act fast, pushing him down onto the dining room chair. Grabbing my phone and hitting play on the last song I was listening to, my devilish smile gleams, knowing I’m about to ruin him for all other women. The strong beat and the sounds of Marilyn Manson’s voice stream through the kitchen.

  “What are you—”

  I cut him off mid-sentence, climbing onto his lap, straddling his legs. His lips search out mine, but I’m in control and I have a plan. My hips start grinding against his slowly. Ripping the bra from my body, I quicken my pace. As the chorus begins, I arch my back and lean away from Noah, giving him a fantastic view of my body…my head thrown back in ecstasy.

  I stand, pressing a button on my phone to switch to the next song. Turning my back to Noah, I step between his legs, bringing my ass to rest against his crotch. Dragging my body up and down slowly, confidently, I push my hand inside the waistband of my yoga pants. The Divinyls continue singing as I touch myself.

  “Fuck, Zara,” Noah hisses, trying to replace my hand with his. I keep the rhythm with my gyrations and slap his greedy fingers away.

  “I got this. You just sit back and enjoy.” I find my clit with ease. Weeks without sex even though I have a perfectly good dick sleeping beside me each night have fucked with my head. But now I get to get off, work him up, and make Noah want me more than he ever thought he would.

  Hoping the words from the song seep into his head, giving him the idea that I rub one out anytime I think of him, I let him rest his hand over mine, leading him to believe he’s setting the pace. Nope. Not even close.

  Resting my head on his shoulder, making sure my lips are right at his ear, I snake out my tongue, softly licking the lobe. In this position he’s going to hear every hitch in my breath, every quiet moan…it’s so fucking erotic. And don’t think for one second that I’m not going all in. If I’m going to attempt using this kind of tactic to secure him, I’m gonna get mine.

  While my fingers run circles, I momentarily get lost in my own pleasure and I don’t realize that he’s moved his hand down slightly. It’s when he pushes a finger inside of me that I completely lose it. I try to move my hand faster, but it’s trapped under his, and he’s compensating with another finger and angling them to hit that perfect spot.

  I decide to let him have this moment. I pull my hand out, placing it on his thigh. The heel of Noah’s hand massages me while his digits do their job diligently. It’s a matter of seconds and I’m firing off onto his hand.

  “Oh, fuck.” I pant, trying to catch my breath.

  “You’re trouble,” he growls, moving his head to catch my lips with his. Wet and sloppy, our kisses fill the kitchen, echoing off the tile. “Never in all my life…” he starts to say when I come down from my orgasmic high. Reaching behind me, I pull at his zipper, needing so much more than I just got. If he’s this good with his fingers, I’m going to get everything out of him that I can.

  We both hear the front door at the same time. I jump off his lap and scramble for my clothes as he fumbles with his pants.

  “Quick,” I whisper, throwing his coat in his arms. “Go out the sliding glass door.”

  “I thought you said he wouldn’t be home for a while,” Noah mutters. His eyes are wide with fear, as if the realization of what we are doing has just hit him. His deer-in-the-headlights look really is adorable, and I’d find it amusing except for the fact that my boyfriend, my hotheaded boyfriend, will be walking in the apartment in a second. Having Dillon catch me with another man in our dining room doesn’t do anything to bring Karly justice. It’ll only land me on the streets with nowhere to sleep.

  I plant a kiss on his lips, then put my finger, the one that’s still coated with my arousal, in his mouth, letting him suck off my essence, before pushing him out the door and sliding it closed in his face. I turn around just in time to see Dillon stumble into the kitchen. Lucky for me, he’s so damn drunk, he just grabs a soda from the fridge and stumbles into the living room. I laugh. I’m standing by the door, half naked and no doubt reeking of sweat, and the scent of my arousal is thick in the air, and he doesn’t even notice I’m there?

  I want to be surprised, but I’m not. I could’ve been fucking Noah on the counter when he walked in and he still probably wouldn’t have noticed.

  Leaning over to pick up a sock, I spy a small black box peeking out from behind the lip of the counter. I pick it up, noting its soft, velvety exterior. It’s a jewelry box. For a moment I consider that maybe Dillon has brought me a gift.

  No. He hasn’t so much as given you flowers in all the time you’ve been with him. Why would he start now?

  I crack open the lid. My heart begins to pound as I realize what I’m holding. Suddenly it’s all beginning to make sense. The perfectly set table, how much trouble he had gone to preparing dinner…how annoyed he was at me for ruining everything.

  I slip my hand inside the box and let the ring slide down my finger. The single diamond sparkles back at me, stunning in its beauty. I smile, because I honestly can’t believe this. He was going to propose to her.

  The asshole was going to propose, then he took me home and would’ve fucked me on my kitchen counter—if my boyfriend hadn’t come home. Was this the mistake he almost made? Asking Shannon to marry him? It couldn’t be. Men don’t go through all the trouble of buying a ring if they’re not sure, right?

  Crawling in bed next to an extremely drunk Dillon, I curl up in a ball, facing away from him. Dillon’s hand comes around my waist, dragging me across the sheets so our bodies are flush. He clumsily drags that same hand down my stomach until he reaches the still-sensitive flesh between my thighs. Forcing his fingers inside me, realization crashes over me.

  The way he’s touching me, it’s nothing like the way Noah touches me. My body isn’t even responding to Dillon. I decide to lie there and get this over with instead of backing away. If I don’t, he’ll know something is off and will push me for answers I’m not ready to give.

  After a few minutes of what Dillon considers foreplay—enough to get me hot and ready for him—his latex-sheathed cock is pressed against my
center, my leg hitched up over his. Without any further consideration, he pushes inside of me, panting drunk ramblings in my ear.

  “I love you…you feel like heaven…so wet and ready for me…” I don’t have the heart to tell him the only reason that I’m wet is because of what happened just a little while ago. I try to block out his voice and replace it with Noah’s, but it’s not working. Noah would fuck me the way I need to be fucked and not just try to get off. I already know this and haven’t even slept with the guy.

  Luckily, a few short pumps and Dillon spills into the latex and rolls over. Clutching the blanket around myself, I contemplate getting myself off, but I kill the thought almost immediately. I’ll see Noah again soon and he’ll finish what Dillon can’t.

  When did this become about me having an orgasm and not about ruining him for what he did to Karly? Shit, I’m falling for the same stuff she did. Time to refocus and get my head back in the game.

  Chapter 16

  Noah

  Flying out of the parking lot, I’m to the corner, hands still shaking and breathing erratically. Idling at a stop sign, I wait for the minimal traffic to clear before speeding through and pulling to the curb. Throwing the car in park, I’m out the door, pacing the length of my car, scrubbing at my face.

  “What the fuck did you do?” I question myself, feeling every bit as confused as I look.

  “She’s your student,” I reiterate. “You’re going to lose your fucking job. How the hell am I supposed to tell Shannon?”

  I’m fucked. Literally, figuratively, emotionally…any which way you can think of using the word, that’s exactly what I am.

  Knowing I can’t go straight home smelling like Zara, I get back in my car and race off toward the gym. Thankfully, they’re still open for an hour. Grabbing my duffel from the backseat, I walk through the door and head straight for the locker room. I quickly change into a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt.

  The treadmill. I see the row as soon as I walk out of the locker room. Running always clears my head. I’ll give myself a half hour of jogging, and when I’m done I hope I’ll have a plan of action.

  My feet pound against the rubber belt harder and faster than they ever have before. My earbuds are in, and my phone streams a constant wave of heavy metal. Nothing can drown out everything else like the unknown words of Slipknot. My pace keeps time with the song bleeding into my ears, and everything except my current situation falls to the back of my brain.

  It leaves me with my only problem. Zara. My mind races with ideas and theories to get her out of my life, but none make any sense…nothing logical, anyway. She’s going to be a constant in my world, at least for the next few months. I’ll have summer break, but then I’m back at it again in the fall. I have to find a way to make this situation work.

  But then the truth leaks out into my thoughts. I don’t want to get rid of her. I feel more alive when I’m with Zara than I ever have with Shannon. With Zara, we have chemistry, passion, and enough anger to make everything amazing. She’s perfect. And the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. God, when she was giving me a lap dance in her kitchen, it took everything in me to not come in my pants like some teenage boy. Shannon…well, we don’t have any of that. We used to once upon a time, but recently it’s more like we’re roommates who occasionally have sex.

  I was going to propose to Shannon tonight. It’s crazy how things actually work out. I don’t want to marry Shannon and be with her for the rest of my life, but I figured that was the next logical step in our relationship. Was I guilty about my repressed feelings for Zara and wanting to prove to myself that I was happy with Shannon? I should have been a fucking therapist.

  When the alarm on my phone goes off, alerting me that the thirty-minute run is complete, I jump off the treadmill with unsteady legs, nearly falling on my face. Back inside the locker room, I wash quickly in the communal showers and re-dress in the clothes I was wearing when I arrived.

  As I’m tossing my gym clothes inside the duffel, I pat my pockets to make sure I have my car keys, and that’s when I notice something more important is missing.

  Shannon’s ring.

  Searching my bag, locker, and the surrounding area, I can’t find it. A three-thousand-dollar ring is missing. How the fuck? Panicking, I rush to the front desk and ask if anyone returned a velvet box and I’m told no. Not that I actually thought someone would turn in an expensive piece of jewelry, but it was worth a shot.

  I don’t remember having it when I got into the car after leaving Zara’s, but then again, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was more concerned with getting the hell out of there before her boyfriend caught me pants-down with his girlfriend and called the cops or the school board on me. Fuck. It has to be there. In Zara’s apartment.

  Of all the times I should call Zara, I can’t make myself do it. I’ll need to catch up with her another way. If I hear her voice, I’ll just find a way to be with her tonight. But if she doesn’t find it and Dillon does, this could go really badly.

  When I’m back in my car, I search frantically around there as well, praying that it possibly fell out of my pocket and is nestled between or under the seats. When I come up empty-handed, I slap the steering wheel. I had to have dropped it at Zara’s. Shit. The only good thing about the situation is Shannon doesn’t have access to view the account statements online, so she’ll never know the money was gone and I have nothing to show for it.

  The only thing I can do is go home and hope that Zara works at the diner tomorrow so I can get the ring back. The drive home is quick, and when I walk in the front door, I’m met by Gio as usual, and it appears that Shannon is already in bed for the night. Kicking off my shoes, I toss my bag in the laundry room and find a spot on the couch. There’s no way I’m going to be able to crawl in bed with Shannon after what happened tonight with Zara and not feel extremely guilty.

  Pulling the quilt from the back of the sofa over my body, I lie motionless, staring at the ceiling, trying to rid Zara from my mind. It doesn’t work. I barely sleep, and when I finally fade away into the night, it’s Zara and her perfect body that plague my dreams.

  —

  “God, Noah, don’t stop,” Zara cries, as I roughly thrust in and out of her petite body. The warmth of her pussy enveloping me, dragging me in, making me want to hit depths I’ve never hit before.

  “Fuck. You’re so damn tight.” Rolling my hips, I angle my dick up to stroke against that spot inside of her. When her legs begin to quiver and her nails dig into my ass I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

  “Harder. Please,” she begs.

  I kiss her aggressively on the lips and flip her body over. Raising her hips to meet mine, Zara grabs a pillow to place under her stomach. Stroking my cock a few times while I stare at her glistening pussy, my mouth waters to taste her, but my dick begs for release. Aligning myself, I slam home, making her body jump forward. She tries to brace herself against the headboard, but it’s a lost cause. I’m too ramped up and I might just put her through the damn thing.

  Forcefully gripping her hip with my left hand, I use my right to twist her long blond hair around my fist, effectively using her own body for leverage against her. God, it’s fucking amazing.

  Her tight cunt starts convulsing around my imbedded cock. I’m so into the moment I don’t register the evidence of her arousal leaking down my shaft and onto my balls until her small hand comes between our bodies from underneath, massaging her arousal onto my sensitive flesh.

  Zara’s cries and moans could wake the dead. Each time she calls my name, my ego gets bigger. By the time she’s coming down from her orgasm, I’m thrusting so hard she might have bruises on the backs of her thighs. With a growl, I thrust my hips forward a few more times, spilling inside of her.

  Suddenly waking up from the most amazing dream, I look down to see that I’m fisting my own cock and I’ve come all over myself.

  If only wet dreams could have been that great when I was a teenager.

 
—

  I wake the next morning to the smell of bacon and coffee. In all the years Shannon and I have lived together, I can count on one hand how many times she’s actually cooked for me, and of all days to do it, today must be that day.

  “Morning. Why didn’t you come to bed last night?” Shannon asks, pouring me a cup of coffee as I walk into the kitchen, taking a seat at the small table.

  “It was pretty late when I got home from the gym. You were sprawled across the entire bed and I didn’t have the heart to wake you,” I lie, because that sounds better than “I couldn’t get in bed with you while thinking about fucking my student.”

  “That was sweet,” she coos. “Hungry?”

  “I’ll have a bit, but I’m going to meet Derrick in town later. We’ve gotta plan Rick’s bachelor party.”

  “Are you going to have strippers there?” she asks, scrunching up her nose and rolling her eyes.

  “Probably,” I say with a laugh. “You know how these things go.”

  “If we ever get married, are you going to have naked whores dancing all over you?” I’m slapped back to reality. She’s expecting marriage from me. Of course she is, you idiot. She wouldn’t be with you this long otherwise. The ring.

  “It all depends on what the guys put together. You know that. I won’t have a say when it’s my bachelor party.” Feeling content in my answer, I snatch a few pieces of bacon off the plate and walk into the bedroom to change.

  Since it’s pretty mild out, I opt for a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a light jacket, and I’m out the door before I swallow the last bite of bacon, briefly saying goodbye to Shannon. On my way to the diner to wait for Zara, I text Derrick and tell him to meet me at the bar on the edge of town in a few hours. His reply is almost immediate, informing me that he’ll be there by noon.

  Pulling into the parking lot of the diner, I don’t see Zara’s car. Deciding to wait it out, I head inside and order some pancakes and coffee. After polishing off my plate, I’m about to give up and go to the bar a little earlier when Zara whips into the lot, nearly taking off my passenger-side mirror.