by Hannah Ford
But as soon as Noah saw me, his eyes smoldered.
“You’re going to have to pay for coming out here in that little t-shirt, Charlotte.” He sat up and gathered his papers, setting them on his night table.
“Pay?” I sild onto the bed, crawling over to him, playing innocent. “What do you mean?”
He didn’t answer, instead pushing my shirt up over my hips. His hands slid over my stomach to my breasts, his thumbs sliding over my nipples.
Then he pulled me down toward him, so that my back was to his front. I could feel his dick, hard through his boxers, against my ass.
There was no pretense this time, no build up.
He pushed my t-shirt all the way up, pulled my panties down, and pulled me toward him.
“Open your legs,” he commanded.
He pushed in between them from behind and entered me in one long stroke. He grabbed my arm and pulled it back toward him, wrapping his other hand around my neck, his index finger slipping into my mouth.
He fucked me hard and fast.
“Come for me,” he said. “Come for me, baby.”
It was fast and dirty and the thought of him using my body was a turn on. So I did as he said. I came.
After it was over, he reached over and shut off the light, pulled me close to him, so that we were spooning.
“Charlotte,” he whispered. “What the hell are you doing to me?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.”
He ran his fingers over my arm softly, slowly.
We were silent for a few moments and then I said, “Are you sleeping?”
“No. Are you?”
“No.” I giggled. “I just… don’t you think it’s weird that I hardly know anything about you?”
“You know plenty about me.”
“Not really.” I swallowed. “I don’t know where you’re from or if you have any brothers and sisters.”
“I’m from a very small town. I have one brother. We’re not close.” He pushed my hair off the back of my neck and kissed me. “Is that enough?”
“No,” I said honestly. “I feel so close to you, and yet that seems crazy. Because I don’t know anything about you. It’s frustrating.”
“It is extremely difficult for me to get close to people,” he said.
I thought about that woman, Nora, his ex-fiance, who died. I wondered if she was the reason he was afraid to get close to people. I intertwined my fingers with his. I wanted to ask him about her, but I sensed he would cause him to become more shut down than he already was.
“Is that why you wanted to bring me to that club?” I asked. “Because you feel like if you maintain control physically, you can maintain control emotionally?”
“Perhaps.”
I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.
I wanted more.
I wanted him to tell me about his childhood, about where he grew up, about college, his parents, his favorite foods, his favorite cases, just… I wanted to talk to him.
In another sense, though, this was enough, the way he was being with me. The fact that he was holding me close, our bodies perfectly meshed together, felt like some kind of victory, some kind of tiny progress when it came to getting close to him.
“Goodnight, Charlotte,” he said.
“Goodnight, Noah.”
A second later, I was asleep.
***
I woke before it was light out, blinking groggily in the dark.
“Morning,” Noah said. He was standing on his side of the bed, dressed in a hooded sweatshirt and running pants. Even in his running clothes, fresh out of bed, he looked amazing. I shivered. “I’m going for a run,” he said. “It’s too early for you to be awake. Go back to sleep.”
He kissed me on my cheek and I slipped back off to sleep.
I was dimly aware of him coming back, of the sound of the shower running, of him emerging wearing only a towel, a flash of him in a suit, carrying a briefcase.
When I finally woke up, sun was streaming through the window and the clock next to me said 10:07. So much for getting up early.
I had a text on my phone from Noah.
At the office. Call me when you get this.
I sighed and lied back on the bed. The text was so perfunctory, so brief. I’d felt close to him last night, at least for a moment, and now I felt distant again.
I was just about to call him when my phone rang.
Professor Worthington.
“Charlotte?” he barked when I answered.
“Yes,” I said, trying to infuse my voice with enough energy so that he’d think I’d been awake for hours instead of sleeping in the bed of our client, a potential murderer.
“You need to get down to the park right now,” he said.
“Okay.” I sat up. “Is everything okay?”
“No, Charlotte, everything is not okay. They’ve found another body.”
“Another body?” My heart pounded in my ears.
“Yes. It’s Katie. Noah’s secretary. She’s dead.”
End of Book Three Click here for Book Four, WHAT HE NEEDS, available now!