We end up spending the entire afternoon in my bed.
My bedroom suite is up a small set of stairs in its own nook with two large French-style windows, one in the
bedroom and one in my bathroom. Both of them open outward and there’s a tall tree with leaves that frame the
quirky little water tower on the building next door. So if you ignore the noise of the honking cars down below, you
can pretend to be somewhere out in the breezy French countryside instead of right here in the middle of New York
City.
My European Summer walls and my decorating choices only enhance the vibe.
It’s romantic. It’s even more romantic with a big, warm, well-hung, hair-dusted, sweet-talking and extremely
virile sex addict in my bed. The man has crazy stamina and there’s nothing he won’t do, I’m learning. Turns out
there’s nothing I won’t do either. I’m new at this so he’s careful with me when it becomes too much, but no less
thorough. We can’t seem to get close enough, or high enough.
If there was nothing else to this, I think I’d still be in love with him just because of all those orgasms. They
change you. They make you feel like you have no choice but to fully realize yourself, when all along you doubted
you would.
Like you’ve sprouted wings.
Like your entire being is one big pulsing heartbeat that’s perfectly in sync with the pumping twin heartbeat of
the brand new love of your life.
Like you’ll never be alone again because your body will always remember what it feels like to be made love to
in the most sincere, ravenous and soul-touching way.
It’s a lot. And it’s the best feeling I’ve ever had by a magnitude of around a quadrillion.
After Noah made me come three times in the kitchen, he asked me again to initial the contract he wrote and I
did. He took a photo of it and emailed it to his lawyers, and then sent them a few other emails.
Then he carried me up my little staircase and has made me come a total of twelve more times. I counted.
I never knew I could even get into the positions he gets me into. All I know is that the man is a beast who
hands out life-changing climaxes like Santa hands out presents. And I’ve just had four dedicated hours of
Christmas morning.
Wrapped in Noah’s arms, my limbs feel both heavy and light. I’m so sated I might be floating on a bed of
clouds.
After a while he gets up and runs the shower. Then he carries me into it and he lifts me, leans me up against
the Italian Celeste tiles and makes love to me again. I have tears in my eyes I come so hard. I’m very sore. I have
bruises from his fingers and his mouth. My thighs are streaked with his overflowing cum.
“Hey.” Noah sets me down on my feet carefully, tipping my chin up with two fingers so I’m gazing up at him.
“I’m sorry. I’m pushing you too hard. I’m just so fucking hot for you, baby. You drive me crazy. I’ll slow down.”
“It’s okay, Noah. I wanted you to. I needed you. Every single time.” It’s true. I’m addicted to him. Not just
how good he feels but the way he banishes all the fears. All the loneliness. When he’s inside me, they’re gone.
Just, poof. They’re outside somewhere and they can’t get in. Because my body, my heart and my soul are so full of
him and what he gives me. The lust and the pleasure. The spilling, gushing warmth. The fun and the laughter. The
searing intimacy and the obsessive connection.
There’s simply no room for anything else. He kisses me softly and washes me like I’m breakable. Then he
turns off the shower and dries me, carrying me into my bedroom. “I’m taking you
back to my place. We’re going to meet with my lawyer and go through the details.”
I’ve forgiven him, if there was anything to forgive. Either way, I think he might be about to far more than
make up for it, if he’s true to his word. And he’s a Noah—he’s the Noah—so I’m guessing his word is as good as
it gets.
I know now that he has a gruff side. His grizzly bear. But when we’re alone, all I get is sex god teddy bear
with a sweet-and-filthy mouth. When his grizzly shows its face, like now, it reminds me of the Real World, the one
we’re about to go back into.
Honestly, I’m kind of tired. “There’s no rush.” “We’ll have some dinner and we can stay there tonight. If you
want to.” I touch his face, brushing my fingers against the stubble on his square jaw, so familiar to me now. I kiss
his mouth because it’s heartbreakingly perfect.
It’s all very overwhelming to think about, the whirlwind of the past four days. So much has happened, it’s
hard to chew on the enormity of any one thing, let alone all of it.
I could refuse. Part of me wants to. To sle ep for a solid twelve hours, work through some of this stuff
rationally and regroup in the morning. But a much more fervent part of me wants to believe him and trust him and
be with him for the rest of time. Because I’m starting to suspect that I’d let my entire empire—the existential one
and the emotional one as well as the business one—burn to the ground just to ke ep him.
“Lucky?” He lets me kiss him. Then he holds my face and gazes into my eyes. “Please come with me. I’ll
bring you home later if you want me to. I’ll take such good care of you. Say yes.”
It’s scary as hell to fall this hard and this fast. But it feels so good it’s impossible to slow it down or to resist it.
So I let my heart lead me. “Okay.”