“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” I teased.
Noah grunted softly under his breath and pulled me closer, until my back pressed hard against his muscled chest. I could feel his heart beating against my ribs. “I’m not, but we could change that very quickly.”
Fuck, he was dirty. I loved the way he talked to me. My clit pulsed in my jeans, aching to feel the strength of his dexterous hands. I bit my lip. “I’m all for that.”
Kevin came back over with the two shots and put them in front of me. Noah barely seemed to notice the man’s presence. He kept his face pressed against the side of mine, breathing against me, one hand laying on my flat tummy dangerously close to my pussy. It took all my composure to turn away from him enough to take one of the shots. He watched me take it, and then took the second one himself.
Noah unwrapped himself from around my body and took the stool next to me. Kevin set us both up with another round and then, as if through some unspoken communication, left us alone after exchanging a greeting with Noah. When I saw the heaviness in Noah’s eyes, I knew why. Despite the welcome warmth of his greeting, there was a storm raging inside him.
Noah took the next shot and drank half his beer before he looked back at me again. The quiet, sad tone of the indie music playing tonight only made him seem more melancholy.
Obviously, it didn’t take an investigative journalist to know that he was probably rotting from hearing about Duke’s bullshit interview. All the chatter online, both in the journalist circles and in the general public, agreed that what Duke was doing was cold as ice. Of course, there was no agreement on whether he was a giant asshole for doing it. Some defended his ruthless, capitalistic business sense, and others wanted to see him burned at the stake for betraying his artistic brothers. It was that kind of divisiveness that kept people glued to the story.
But what they didn’t see—and what I, until that moment, hadn’t really considered—was how that same divisiveness cut Noah to his core. To have someone betray you like that is horrible enough; to have a chorus of people not just forgiving, but cheering it on? That was a whole different hell. Just one look at Noah made that clear.
I hoped inside that Noah had stayed away from the chatter. It would only make him feel worse. Even still, part of keeping up this cover meant I had to seem convincing, and there was just no realistic way a girl sleeping with Noah Hardy was going to not ask him something about what was happening. I had to bring it up; my job depended on it.
“Hey,” I said softly. I waited until he looked at me. “Look, I know this…” It was not hard to act uncomfortable at that moment. “I saw the thing with Duke.”
Noah’s expression darkened, but he said nothing.
Quickly, I continued. “I just wanted to say—if you want to talk about it, I’m a good listener. But I get it if you don’t want to.”
Noah watched me, blinking slowly, thinking. I held his gaze for a second, but soon it just became too intense. There was so much raging behind his eyes. I turned back to my beer and hoped I hadn’t struck a nerve with him.
His voice came quiet. “Thanks.”
I nodded, turning to look at him just for a flash of a second as I did.
He said, “I really don’t want to even think about it.”
“I understand that,” I said. “You don’t have to.”
His laugh was more sour than genuine. “I wish that was true.”
“I just meant… I meant we can try and get your mind off it,” I said. I turned to look at him. Lust lit up in the depths of his gaze.
Noah licked his lips and looked at mine. “I think we should.” He leaned forward and took my face in his hands with one fluid motion. His kiss was deep, and there was a quiet need in the way his hands held my face next to his. When his tongue swept around my mouth, I couldn’t help but let out a little sigh against his lips.
Something stirred in my chest, and it wasn’t just arousal.
Noah pulled away and met my gaze with his big blue eyes. “You wanna get out of here?”
“Yeah,” I said without missing a beat. “Like crazy.”
Chapter 8
Noah
I loved the feel of Laurel next to me in my truck as I drove us back to my place. She pressed her sweet body up against mine and tangled up our arms and fingers like she’d been doing it for years. I had almost considered cancelling my night out, bailing on her like she was afraid I would… like I had done to many, many other women over the years, truth be told. My reputation wasn’t fake.
She was right to be afraid. But then, I couldn’t actually imagine doing it to her.
I pulled into the garage and led her in through the kitchen. As she looked around like the curious little kitten she clearly was, she made some joke about getting a tour, but all I could do was stand against the closed garage door and watch her move. The entire drive back I’d been half-hard, ecstatic to have another adventure in the wonderland of her body. Now, I was so hard I could barely stand it.
When she leaned against the counter near the sink to get a good look outside the kitchen window and into the backyard, I finally gave in to my impulses. I came up behind her and pressed against her hard, my dick twitching at the little cry of surprise that escaped her lips.
Laurel shivered and melted at my touch. I pushed myself against her like I could meld us together, and she responded by writhing her ass against the bulge in my jeans and leaning her beautiful neck back to meet my face.
“I want you so fucking bad,” I growled against her skin. My hands roamed her body, squeezing her cute little tits and rubbing her pussy outside her jeans until her knees started shaking and she had to lean against me to stand upright.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night,” she gasped, leaning back to kiss me hard. She wrapped a backwards hand around my head and pulled me close. Her kisses, sweet and devouring, made me ache.
“Oh, yeah?” I couldn’t even wait to get her to the bedroom. My hands slid around her hips and undid the buttons on her jeans, yanking them down, along with her panties, until they were around her knees. With one arm I bent her over the sink, and with the other, I ran two fingers up and down her slit. With special pressure on her clit, I could see her wetness already growing.
“Fuck, Noah,” she whimpered.
My fingers found her delicate warm hole and pushed inside deeply, drawing a cry of pleasure and quiver from deep within her core. “Have you been thinking about my cock as much as I’ve been thinking about this pussy?”
“Oh, God,” she said. “I dreamt about your cock all night.”
Reaching underneath her to grope her tits, I pumped my fingers in and out of her once more, slowly but deeply. “Did you dream about fucking it again?”
“Yes,” she said, grasping at my arms.
I pushed even deeper and her begging became more desperate.
“Did you dream about sucking it?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said without hesitation, and I leaned down to bite her neck, fingers still buried deep inside her. She pushed against my hand until I withdrew and turned her to face me. After smothering her mouth with hungry kisses, I undid my jeans and pulled out my erection.
“I want to see this cock in your mouth,” I said as I pulled my shirt over my head. Laurel’s eyes devoured the view in front of her, hands running up and down my chest.
My dick only got harder when she sank down to her knees on my kitchen floor, stopping only when she was eye-level with its pink, oozing head. A flick of her tongue stole the drop of pre-cum from my tip as if it was a piece of candy, and the feel of her hot mouth on me was almost too much to take.
Taking as much of its length in her mouth as she could while stroking the rest with her hands, Laurel didn’t show an ounce of apprehension at the size of the cock in her mouth; in fact, she almost seemed eager to take it. Worked it like it was a challenge. I ran my hands through her hair and pushed it out of her face so I could watch my hardness disappear between
her red lips. When she looked up at me with those big, blue eyes, I almost came right there in her mouth, but that wasn’t how I wanted this to end.
I wasn’t about to cum until I fucked her again. I pulled my cock out of her mouth, wet with spit, and brought Laurel to her feet. In one quick motion I had her bent over the sink again, and made her wait there while I fished a condom out of my wallet.
Instead of my cock, first Laurel’s pussy felt my fingers again. I pumped them hard and fast until she was crying out, and then swiftly replaced them with my shaft. Laurel’s cry of pleasure echoed against the kitchen window, and it was erotic music to my ears. In fact, I got off on the sound so much that I didn’t last long after that, but I didn’t give a fuck. I slammed my dick into her quickly, and as soon as I felt her pussy squeezing me as she came, I let my own orgasm loose.
We panted against each other as our euphoria subsided, kissing deeply between hard breaths. Laurel’s wet tongue danced in my mouth and threatened to harden me all over again.
“Hope you had a good meal today,” I said as I turned her around to face me and wrapped one hand around her ass. “Because I am nowhere near finished with you.”
Laurel smiled, skin bright and flushed. “Promises, promises,” she said with a smirk. But she could only cry out and laugh when I picked her up and threw her naked body over my shoulder and took her, playfully kicking, to the bedroom.
We fucked twice more before the both of us were finally ready for a break. She wiggled her sexy ass into the kitchen to gather us up a couple beers while I carefully rolled a fat joint on a copy of Planet Guitar magazine that was balanced precariously on the mattress. I was already leaning back on the bed and puffing smoke into the air when Laurel returned. She immediately cuddled back up into my side with her beer and took the joint for a few hits.
After a few quiet minutes, I realized I didn’t have a thought in my head. Everything just felt… right. Was this what peace felt like?
“Is it bad that I didn’t expect you to be so good in bed?” she asked with a giggle.
I grinned down at her and pinched her ass. “I would say yes, but you’re not an idiot. Lots of dudes talk big without being able to back it up.”
“You’re not kidding,” she said, glancing at my dick that was finally getting a rest.
“You’re dirty,” I said. “I like it.”
“I’ve always been kind of a perv. I can’t help it.”
“Are you from Seattle?”
Laurel shook her head. “Nah, I’m a band photographer. I’m here for work. I’ve been here before, though. I always did like it up here. It feels….” She took a deep breath. “It feels homey.”
“I obviously tend to agree. Where did you grow up?”
“I was actually born in Texas, and my family moved to the East Coast when I was just a kid. Did most of my growing up outside of Boston.”
“Fuck, now there’s a scene to grow up in,” I groaned jealously.
“It was pretty goddamn sweet,” she said with a nod.
A memory jumped up and I couldn’t stop myself from sharing. “Oh, man, did you know the band Bleeding Bones? I think they were from Boston…”
With wide eyes, Laurel sat up and playfully slapped my abs. “Shut up. You’ve heard of Bleeding Bones?”
“I love Bleeding Bones! Their pit was the first one I ever got seriously injured in!” I turned my right forearm over where she could see it, and traced the scar line beneath my colorful tattoos. “Compound fracture, baby. I could not keep the pussy off of me for two weeks after that.”
Laurel’s fingers followed the line of the scar, her mouth a surprised open O. “You are not going to believe this,” she said, staring at my arm. “Did you break this at El Corazon?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s where they played on their 2003 tour. How did you know that?”
“Noah, I was at that show!” She grinned. “That was the tour I went on with the band!”
This was unreal. Her smile beamed at me and there wasn’t anything bragging or bullshit about the look in her eyes. “No fucking way.”
“Seriously! Their merch guy was one of my best friends in junior high, and he convinced them to bring me on as the tour photographer. That Seattle show, it wasn’t supposed to go down at El Corazon, I remember—the show got moved there last minute from a bigger venue.”
“Yes!” I said, sitting up to face her. “Fuck, Quinn called me at seven in the goddamn morning and I had the biggest hangover, and he was losing his shit because we had to go exchange our tickets before the space at the smaller venue sold out.” I started laughing as the memory rose fresh in my mind. “We waited in the rain for six goddamn hours that day just to make sure we got in.”
“That place smelled horrible,” laughed Laurel. “Remember that? You fuckers waiting in the rain in your cotton jackets, and then getting all packed together in that tiny room like a bunch of mean, wet dogs. Ugh, it was such a shit show!” She hunched over, giggling at the story.
“Fuck, that is unbelievable,” I said, pushing her hair out of her face. “What are the odds of that?”
“Pretty fucking small,” said Laurel. “Though I don’t remember seeing you break your arm in the pit—I just heard about it from the band afterwards. Ugh, their drummer was such a puss about blood… he would not shut up about how gross it was.” She ran her hand down the scar on my arm again. “I can’t believe that was you.”
“And here you are, back again in my fair city to watch me suffer a different kind of injury,” I said. I meant it as a joke, and it even came out lightly with a laugh, but the words cut deep through the mood like I had dropped a rock into a lake. Laurel looked uncomfortable.
“Sorry,” I said. “Forget it; that was a bad joke.”
“We can talk about it, if you want,” she offered.
“I don’t,” I said. Part of me meant it.
“Okay,” said Laurel. She paused for a moment, and then asked with a big grin, “Can I tell you something weird?”
I laughed. “Sure.”
She ran a teasing fingertip over the inked muscles of my chest. “Licking your tattoos reminds me of that scene in Willy Wonka where they lick the wallpaper.” She licked my chest. “Is this what snozberries taste like?”
Maybe I was just way too stoned, but I couldn’t stop laughing. “You are a fucking weirdo.” Laurel lost it with me and I wrapped her in playful roughhouse hug until she squealed against my skin. She threw a leg over me and sidled up against my side again.
“Speaking of tats, I wanted to ask you about that,” I said. My left arm was wrapped around her beautiful body, and I stretched the hand out to rub softly on the delicate script tattoo on her upper thigh. It was so close to her hipbone that unless she was near-naked, the ink would stay hidden—so much different from my approach to body art, but I liked it. Finding it, touching it, and even licking it felt like I had found a secret treasure. “What does it say?”
Laurel stretched her leg out and immediately I could see why I couldn’t read the ink before—she had had it done in such a way that only she could read it from her angle. “It’s lyrics. Tracy Chapman.”
I smiled. “No shit?”
“Yeah,” said Laurel. She seemed a little self-conscious as she talked. “We gotta make a decision: leave tonight, or live and die this way.”
Chills ran down my body. I lay my face against Laurel’s head. “Why did you get it?”
Laurel paused. Her breathing slowed down a little, like she was doing it on purpose to stay calm. “I grew up in a family completely different from me. Conservative… religious… boring,” she said with a self-effacing laugh. “I was the black sheep. We didn’t hate each other, but I just never belonged. And I always promised myself I would get out and make something of myself on my own terms. I got this tattoo to make myself remember… so that when things got dark and I got scared, I’d remember…”
“Remember what?”
“Remember that as complicated as
things seem, there’s only ever really two choices. Leave what you’re doing if it’s wrong, or live and die with it.”
My heart actually ached, listening to her talk. She understood so much of the isolation I had felt in my life.
“I love that,” I told her. “That’s really fucking beautiful, Laurel.”
She shrugged and took a drink of beer. “Yeah, everyone says that.”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She looked up at me with worried eyes. “I just mean… I don’t know. I don’t want to offend you.”
“Try me,” I said.
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