Cruel Intentions: Chapter 15

What a shit day. The absolute fucking worst. First, there’s the drama with Tia—her smug face still haunts me—then getting suspended for a week. Like I didn’t already have enough shit to deal with.

My dad got dragged into school for a sit-down with the asshole principal, and the second we left, he tore into me. His words were like knives, sharp and cutting, telling me I’m nothing but trouble, and that I’ll always be a fucking disappointment. That kind of shit hurts, no matter how much I pretend it doesn’t.

Now here I am, trudging through this storm, rain pouring down like the universe itself is taking a piss on me. I’m soaked, head to toe, after watching Noah’s little circus act with those two girls. He couldn’t have made it clearer if he’d had a neon sign flashing I’ve moved on.

And yeah, I shouldn’t care—I don’t care—but fuck, it stings. Not just the girls. It’s him. He’s not the same. He’s hollow now, like all the parts of him I used to know have been stripped away.

The rain pounds into me, icy and relentless, every drop soaking through my clothes. My boots squelch with each step, water creeping through the seams like betrayal. They were supposed to be waterproof. Figures. Just another lie in a day full of them. Fuck my life.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, the vibration faint under the storm’s roar. I wrestle it out, fingers clumsy and wet, almost dropping it before I catch the damn thing. I mutter a curse, squinting at the screen.

Noah.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

I stare at his name like it’s some kind of sick joke. What the hell does he want?

One minute he’s putting on a show like he’s the fucking king of the world, and now he’s calling me?

What is this? Guilt? Regret? Or did his little spectacle get boring already?

My thumb hovers over the answer button, indecision gnawing at me. Every rational part of me is screaming to ignore it. Let it ring. Let him deal with whatever shitstorm he’s got going on. But there’s that other part of me—the pathetic, hopeful part—that remembers who he used to be.

A bitter laugh escapes me as I realize he still has my number. After all this time, he’s kept it. But then again, what good is that? He’s had it for months and never once used it. Now, out of nowhere, he thinks he can call me. Like I’ll just pick up and pretend everything’s fine. Fuck that and fuck him.

I jab the decline button with a force that could crack the screen and shove my phone back into my pocket. The rain doesn’t let up—it’s like the storm knows it’s got me beat and keeps hammering down, soaking through every layer until I feel like a walking puddle. My hood’s useless, my hair sticks to my face, and every inch of me feels weighed down by wet, clinging fabric. But I grit my teeth and push forward. One goal: get the hell out of this storm.

A bolt of lightning slashes across the sky behind me, lighting up the street in a harsh, white glare.

For a moment, everything looks like a scene from a nightmare—shadows stretching into twisted shapes, the wet pavement shining like black glass, the park benches glinting like hollow ghosts. Then the thunder hits, loud enough to rattle my bones and echo in my chest.

I pick up my pace, boots slapping against the pavement, water splashing up my legs with every step. The storm is relentless, the rain icy as it needles into my skin. My jacket is soaked straight through, offering as much protection as tissue paper. Every step feels heavier, colder, like the storm’s dragging me down, daring me to stop.

The park looms ahead, dark and deserted. Cutting through it will save me three blocks, and right now, every shortcut counts.

I veer into the shadows, ignoring the way the darkness presses in around me. My breath comes in sharp bursts as I jog through, boots skidding against the slick ground. Overhead, the thunder roars again, a jagged crack that feels too close, making my heart jolt.

The wind cuts through me, raw and biting, but I keep moving. I have to. No one’s looking out for me—never has been. Stopping isn’t an option. If I stop, if I let myself feel any of it—the anger, the hurt—it’ll swallow me whole. And I can’t afford that. Not tonight.

By the time I reach my street, my legs are burning. The wind howls behind me, like it’s driving me forward just to get rid of me. All I can think about is getting inside—away from the storm, the cold, and everything else crashing down on me.

I charge up the front path, nearly slipping on the slick pavement, and grab the door handle with trembling hands. Relief floods through me as I twist it—then it vanishes just as quickly.

The handle doesn’t budge.

“What the fuck?” I mutter, twisting it harder, my stomach sinking.

I yank on the handle again and again, as if sheer force will change the outcome, but it’s no use. It’s locked. He’s locked me out.

I stand there, frozen, rain dripping off my face, my fingers clenched around the cold metal like holding it tighter will make it open. My heart sinks as the truth settles in, cold and sharp.

My dad was furious earlier—furious in a way I haven’t seen in years. His words from the parking lot replay in my head, cruel and cutting: You’re nothing but trouble. A fucking disappointment.

That’s why I went to the party, why I stayed out. Anything to avoid being here, facing him when he’s like this. But now, standing in the storm with no way in, it feels like there’s no escaping it. Not him. Not this. Not tonight.

But locking me out?

My hand drops from the handle, my fingers stiff and trembling from the cold. I don’t even realize I’m shaking until I try to steady myself, my breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.

Lights flash behind me, slicing through the pounding rain. My stomach twists, and I whip around instinctively.

A car pulls into the driveway next door.

Noah’s car.

Of fucking course.

The universe just couldn’t resist throwing one more punch tonight, could it? I watch him park, the headlights cutting harsh beams through the storm. I dart off the front step without thinking, the rain needling into my skin.

As I round the corner of the house, I glance back over my shoulder—a stupid, reflexive move I instantly regret.

Through the windshield, his eyes meet mine. I freeze for half a second, every muscle in my body betraying me.

I can feel his stare, sharp and invasive, dissecting me, laying bare all the raw, miserable pieces I don’t want anyone—especially him—to see.

The rational part of me waits for the headlights to flicker off, for him to get out of the car and leave me alone. But they don’t. They just stay on, burning into me, refusing to grant me even the small mercy of darkness.

Is this some kind of sick fucking game to him? Does he get off on seeing me like this, standing in the freezing rain, drenched and humiliated?

I force myself to keep moving, sloshing through the muddy path to the side of the house. My boots stick with every step, water squelching up through the seams.

When I reach my window, my fingers scrabble at the wet glass, searching for any sign that it will open. I know it’s locked—of course it’s locked—but I try anyway, desperation driving me to cling to the tiniest thread of hope.

It doesn’t budge.

“Fuck!”

The word rips out of me, raw and guttural, swallowed immediately by the storm. My teeth clench as anger floods my chest, a sharp, bitter heat against the cold. For a split second, I imagine smashing the window, the satisfying sound of shattering glass. But what then? Bleed out in the rain?

Brilliant idea, Aubrey. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Where the fuck am I supposed to go?

I stand there, shaking and defeated, arms wrapped around myself in a useless attempt to ward off the cold. It doesn’t help. Nothing does.

The weight of everything presses down on me—the storm, the locked door, Noah’s headlights still burning in the background like a cruel spotlight. Every shitty moment in my life feels like it’s led to this, dragging me down into this suffocating pit.

For a moment, I consider giving up. Just lying down right here in the mud, letting the rain drown me out. No one would notice. No one would care.

The thought festers for a heartbeat too long before I’m jolted out of it.

Noah’s voice cuts through the storm, pulling me back to reality.

“What the fuck are you doing out here in the storm?”

His tone is biting, but there’s something else beneath it—concern, maybe. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want him here.

Straightening my shoulders, I swipe at my face, pretending the tears aren’t there, even though the rain’s already taken care of them. He can’t know. I won’t let him.

“Just go away, Noah,” I mutter, my teeth chattering so hard I can barely get the words out. My whole body is trembling, and I hate that he’s here to see me like this—raw and fucking ruined.

“Not until you tell me what the hell is going on,” he snaps back, stepping closer, his voice cutting through the storm. “Why are you standing out here in the rain?”

I glare at him, my anger rising like a shield to block out the ache inside me. “Why do you even care?”

“Because I give a fuck, alright?” he barks, striding toward me.

The words hit harder than I expect, and before I can shove him away, his hands grip my shoulders. He’s strong, his touch firm and grounding, and I hate how it feels like a lifeline I didn’t ask for.

His eyes lock on mine. There’s no escaping his gaze, no hiding from him, no matter how much I want to.

I hold my ground for a moment, trying to keep the walls up, but they’re already crumbling. My body feels heavy, too tired to keep fighting, and the truth slips out before I can stop it.

“My dad lost his shit at school earlier,” I admit, my voice breaking as I look down, unable to meet his eyes anymore. “He’s locked me out of the house. I can’t get inside.”

The words feel like shards of glass coming out, each one cutting deeper than the last. I feel so fucking small, so goddamn defeated, like the weight of everything is going to crush me right here.

Noah doesn’t say anything at first. He just reaches out, his hand wrapping around mine. His grip is steady, solid, and it almost breaks me all over again.

“Come on,” he says, like he’s already made up his mind.

He pulls me forward, his touch anchoring me as he leads me back down the side of the house. The storm rages on, but with each step, I feel a tiny bit less alone.

When we reach his car, Noah swiftly yanks open the driver’s door and cuts the headlights. Lightning rips through the sky, briefly painting the soaked world in stark white light. The storm’s fury pushes us toward his house, rain drenching us with every hurried step.

Noah’s place is nothing like mine—where mine feels like a prison, his has life, warmth. The sprawling patio is cluttered with chairs and a porch swing that creaks softly under the weight of the storm. It feels like another world; one I don’t belong in.

It’s the kind of place that feels cared for—everything my own home isn’t. A world where people actually give a shit.

We climb the steps, water streaming off us in relentless rivulets, and I let go of his hand, severing the fleeting connection.

Noah turns, his expression obscured in the storm’s shadows, but the weight of his stare is unmistakable.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demands, yelling out over the storm.

I step further onto the patio, my soaked clothes plastered to me like a second skin.

“I’ll tough it out here,” I manage, my teeth chattering so hard it garbles the words. I try to sound indifferent, but the tremor in my voice betrays me. Wrapping my arms around myself, I brace against the cold gnawing at my bones. It’s useless—I’m trembling so violently I can barely stand.

“No fucking way,” Noah says, stepping closer. “You’re freezing your ass off. You’re not staying out here like this. Let’s go.”

Before I can protest, before I can even think, his hand finds mine again. His grip should burn against my icy skin, but I’m too numb to feel it. All I know is the unrelenting pull as he tugs me toward the door.

He fumbles with his keys, the storm pounding around us, and with a low creak, the front door swings open. Noah flips on the light, flooding the space with brightness, and we step inside.

The warmth hits immediately, sinking into my frozen skin, and for a moment, I just stand there, breathing it in. It feels alien, like I’ve stepped into another world.

Noah’s house has always been different—alive in a way mine never was. The faint smell of woodsmoke and something warm—cinnamon, maybe—lingers in the air.

His dad always made this place feel like more than just four walls. When we were kids, I’d watch the way he’d ruffle Noah’s hair or call him “kiddo” with an ease that felt impossible in my own home. I’d go back to my house after, pretending my dad might one day do the same. He never did. Love from my dad came with strings, with rules, with impossible conditions I could never meet.

A loud thunk jolts me back to the present. Noah’s kicked off his boots by the door, water pooling beneath them in shimmering puddles. Without thinking, I do the same, tugging off my soggy boots and setting them next to his.

Straightening up, I catch his gaze. He’s watching me, his eyes steady, unflinching. It’s not pity—I can tell that much. It’s heavier, sharper, like he’s trying to see past the surface, to uncover the shit I’ve worked so hard to keep buried.

“What?” I snap, harsher than I intend. The vulnerability crawling up my spine is too much, clawing at me, leaving me raw.

He doesn’t flinch. “Nothing,” he says softly, but his eyes don’t waver. They linger, steady and relentless, peeling me apart piece by piece. Like he’s trying to figure out what’s broken and whether he can fix it.

“Come on,” he says, his voice low as he turns and heads down the hall.

I follow, my steps hesitant, unsure, while he moves with effortless confidence. Without a second thought, he pulls off his hoodie and shirt in one fluid motion, leaving his skin gleaming faintly in the low light.

My steps falter as he disappears into his room, leaving me stranded in the doorway.

I should look away. I know I should. But I don’t.

His wet jeans hit the floor, landing in a careless heap by the hamper. My gaze betrays me, drawn to the hard lines of his body, the way every muscle seems carved, honed. He’s all sharp edges and solid strength—broad shoulders, defined arms, the sharp plane of his chest. He’s not the Noah I grew up with anymore; he’s something darker, more dangerous.

My eyes dip lower, entirely against my will, to where the damp fabric of his boxers clings to him, outlines his cock, leaving nothing to the imagination. Heat surges through me, sharp and unwelcome, stirring something deep, something primal and raw.

Then his eyes snap up to meet mine.

Shit.

I turn away so fast I nearly stumble, my pulse hammering. My chest tightens, and I try to push the heat away, bury it beneath every warning I’ve ever given myself.

He’s still Noah—beautiful, infuriating—but he’s not mine. Not anymore. He belongs to other girls now, girls I don’t want to think about. He’s no longer the boy who used to dream too big and make me feel like I could do the same. That Noah is gone. What’s left is harder, colder. A man who takes what he wants, no matter the cost.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I turn my focus to his room.

It’s not the same. The boyish chaos is gone, replaced by something cleaner, more deliberate—but it feels emptier too. Like him.

The sound of the shower starting snaps me back, grounding me for a moment.

I should leave. I should.

Head back to the patio.

Before I can move, Noah strides back into the room.

My gaze lifts, instinctual, locking with his. There’s something there—intense, unrelenting—that pins me in place.

He closes the distance between us with the same quiet confidence, and I don’t move, can’t move.

He stops right in front of me, and his hand reaches out, gripping the edge of my jacket. The fabric clings to me, soaked and stubborn, but he doesn’t hesitate. Slowly, deliberately, he peels it away, leaving my skin cold and exposed to the air, to him.

His fingers slide under the hem of my shirt, brushing against my skin—a tease that sends a shiver racing through me—before he pulls it over my head in one fluid motion.

His eyes drop, lingering on my chest, and I can see it—the raw hunger simmering just beneath the surface. It burns, sharp and unapologetic, making my breath hitch in my throat.

Fuck him. Fuck this.

He swallows hard, his jaw tight as though he’s barely keeping himself together. His hands move to my jeans next, deliberate and unhurried. The button pops open, the zipper dragged down in a way that feels far too intimate. My pulse pounds, a relentless drumbeat, loud and insistent.

He’s not just undressing me; he’s dismantling me, one piece at a time.

His hands remain steady as he pushes the wet denim past my hips, peeling it down my legs.

I should stop him. I should say something. But I don’t. I can’t. My thoughts are a whirlwind, crashing into one another, and his touch only feeds the storm, igniting a wildfire that spreads through me, wild and uncontrollable.

For fuck sake, keep it together Aubrey.

When he drops to his knees in front of me, the air leaves my lungs in a sharp rush.

It’s too much. The intimacy of it, the way his fingers skim my skin like he has a right to—it’s fucking unbearable. My hands clench into fists at my sides, the urge to push him away warring with the need to pull him closer.

Why does he still have this hold on me? Why does the sight of him, like this, on his knees make my heart race and my chest ache all at once?

His gaze is heavy, dark, dragging over every inch of exposed skin like he’s memorizing it. It’s possessive, infuriating, and all-consuming. My chest heaves, and a scream builds in my throat, aimed at him, at myself, at everything that’s brought me here.

Rising to his feet, his hand finds mine, warm and steady, and pulls me toward the bathroom. He doesn’t say a word. And I hate that he doesn’t need to. The silence between us is louder than any argument, sharper than any insult.

Steam greets us as we step inside, thick and oppressive. Noah doesn’t pause. He guides me into the shower with him, my bra and panties still plastered to my body, drenched and heavy with rain and regret.

The water hits me, warm and soothing, cascading over my skin and washing away the worst of the chill. But it can’t reach the cold lodged deep in my chest.

Noah steps out of the stream, giving me space, but his presence lingers, heavy and inescapable. He’s watching me. I can feel it. His gaze burns through the glass panel, as if it can pierce every wall I’ve built.

And then it fucking happens.

The sob tears out of me, raw and unrestrained, breaking through the barrier I’ve been struggling to hold together for too long. It rips through my chest, echoing off the walls, ugly and guttural. I’m breaking—splintering under the weight of too much, too fast, too real.

It’s everything. Tia. The guilt eating me alive, the shitty choices I’ve made that turned me into someone I can’t even recognize. My father’s cutting words that still echo, tearing me open in ways that feel irreparable. The ache of my mother’s silence—every unanswered call, every ignored message—that burrows deeper, a constant reminder of my worthlessness.

And Noah. Fucking Noah. Seeing him tonight, laughing, touching those girls like it was the easiest thing in the world, felt like a knife twisting in my gut. It’s a reminder of exactly what I am: nothing. Replaceable. Forgotten.

The tears mix with the water streaming down my face, indistinguishable, but I can feel every single one. The sobs wrack my body, pulling me under, and I let them. Because for once, there’s no point in pretending. No point in holding it together when I’m already shattered.

The truth is suffocating: I’m fucking alone. No safety net, no one to catch me when I fall. Not even Noah—the guy who once knew every part of me.

The tears come faster now, hot and relentless, blurring my vision and choking the air from my lungs. The weight of it all presses down on me until it’s almost unbearable. I don’t hear the glass door slide open or feel the change in the air—until his arms wrap around me.

Noah.

He pulls me to him, strong and steady, his chest against my back, warm and solid. For the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel like I’m about to completely fall apart. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t try to fix me with empty promises. He just holds me, anchoring me as my body shakes with the force of my sobs.

I collapse against him, the flood I’ve been holding back finally breaking free. Every ounce of pain, regret, and heartbreak pours out of me, mixing with the water streaming down my face. I cry for everything I’ve lost, everything I’ve fucked up, and every piece of myself I don’t recognize anymore.

Noah doesn’t let go.

His silence says everything his words never could. He holds me like he knows I’ve already shattered, his face pressing gently into the curve of my neck, his breath warm against my skin. His arms don’t tighten; they just hold, steady and unyielding, like he’s afraid to let me go I don’t know how long we stand there. Time feels meaningless, the minutes blurring together as I cling to him, letting his presence ground me.

Little by little, the storm inside me quiets, the chaos easing until it’s just a dull ache in my chest.

His hands don’t wander. They stay firm and steady, one flat against my stomach, the other resting lightly on my arm. His grip is enough to remind me that I’m still here. That I’m still standing.

Then, softly, his lips brush against the curve of my neck, careful and fleeting, like he’s afraid to break me all over again. His voice follows, low and rough, barely more than a whisper.

“Are you okay?”

It’s such a simple question, but it hits me harder than anything else tonight.

I swallow against the knot in my throat, the truth burning inside me. No. Fuck, no, I’m not okay.

But I can’t say that. So I nod instead, the lie tangling in my chest like barbed wire. Noah doesn’t push, doesn’t call me out on the bullshit. Instead, he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my shoulder before stepping around me.

I blink, trying to pull myself back into the moment, as he grabs the shampoo bottle from the shelf. The sound of it clicking open feels almost surreal, grounding me in the strangest way. I watch, frozen, as he squeezes a dollop into his palm, setting the bottle back before turning to me.

His hands move to my hair, working the shampoo into my scalp with slow, deliberate care. The touch is gentle but sure, his fingers weaving through my wet strands like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s disarming—intimate in a way that steals the breath from my lungs.

I stand there, rooted in place, my skin tingling under the heat of his touch, my head spinning with the closeness of him.

As he works, I study his face, searching for any signs of tension, anger, or hostility that’s defined us for so long. But it’s not there. Not even a trace.

His calm and focused expression softens the lines of his face, a stark contrast to the tension I’ve noticed since stepping back into his life. His eyes meet mine, and everything around us seems to freeze, his hands pausing in my hair. There’s something raw in his eyes, something that unravels me.

Hunger. Heat. A need that leaves me breathless.

It’s like a switch flips inside me. Fuck the mess between us. My hands move with ease, unhooking my bra. As the soaked fabric slithers down my arms and falls in a heap, a heavy silence descends upon us, and it feels like the world has stopped spinning.

Noah’s gaze drops, his jaw clenching as his eyes linger on my tits. The sudden hitch in his breath sparks something electric in me—my chest tightens, and the pounding of blood roars in my ears. His throat bobs with a hard swallow, and I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing, but I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.

When he reaches out and his fingertips brush against the curve of my breast, I feel a shiver shoot down my spine. There’s an electric sensation in his touch, stirring something wild and reckless inside me. As his thumb grazes over my nipple, my breathing becomes erratic, my chest heaving in uneven, shallow breaths.

As he looks up, his eyes meet mine once more, and time seems to freeze. The space between us feels suffocating, as if the weight of unspoken words and pent-up emotions are fighting to be heard. His lips collide with mine, the impact so strong that I stagger backwards, his hands quickly reaching out to grasp my waist to steady me.

The kiss is raw, desperate, his mouth claiming mine like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

The first swipe of his tongue ignites a fire so fierce it feels like it could consume me entirely. My knees threaten to buckle, but Noah’s palms press firmly against the tiles on either side of me, trapping me against the cold surface. The chill bites at my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from him. Every nerve in me sparks to life, heightened by the undeniable press of his hard cock against my stomach—a visceral reminder of how far we’ve crossed the line.

My heart races, frantic and wild, as he alternates between soft, teasing kisses and deep, deliberate strokes of his tongue. It’s maddening how well he plays me, how he seems to know exactly where to touch, how to unravel me piece by piece. His rough hands slide up my sides, his calloused fingertips skimming wet skin before settling on my hips. His grip tightens, coaxing me closer, silently urging me to arch into him. I can’t resist—I don’t want to. My body molds to his like it’s where I’ve always belonged.

Without thinking, my hand moves between us, wrapping around his cock. The groan that rumbles from his chest is low and sinful. His forehead drops against mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps as I stroke him, slow and deliberate, matching the rhythm of his kisses.

The way he moans against my mouth sends a fresh wave of heat pooling low in my belly, and I can’t stop the guttural sound that escapes me when his hands find my breasts.

His thumb brushes over my nipple before he pinches it just hard enough to make my back bow off the tiles. My head falls back, baring my neck to him, and he takes full advantage of the invitation.

His lips trail down, hot and demanding, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Each kiss, each nip of his teeth, draws a gasp from me, my hands clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

I’m a live wire, every inch of me alive with need, every thought obliterated by the feel of his hands and mouth on my skin. It’s reckless, dangerous, a line we can’t uncross—and I don’t care. Not when his touch feels like this. Not when my voice betrays me, whispering his name like a prayer I didn’t realize I was saying.

With a wicked smirk playing on his lips, Noah’s fingers glide down my stomach, slow and deliberate, stopping just above the waistband of my panties. His touch sends sparks skittering down my spine, my breath hitching as his voice cuts through the sound of the cascading water.

“Take them off,” he commands, his tone rough and unyielding, his eyes darkened with lust. There’s no hesitation in his words, no room for argument, and the sheer dominance in his voice sends a jolt of heat straight to my core.

I should stop this. I know I should. The memory of him with those two girls earlier tonight flashes through my mind—a cruel reminder of the kind of man he is and the heartbreak waiting for me on the other side of this. But right now, none of that matters.

Right now, I don’t care about the consequences. I just want to feel something—anything—that isn’t the suffocating weight of my own emotions. I want to lose myself in him and let him burn away the ache clawing at my chest.

Tomorrow, I’ll face the fallout. I’ll deal with the regret, the guilt, the self-loathing. But tonight? Tonight, I need this. I need him.

Noah steps back, his gaze locked on me, unwavering and maddeningly confident.

My hands tremble as I hook my fingers into the waistband of my panties, sliding them down my legs and kicking them aside. The sound of the soaked fabric hitting the floor barely registers over the pounding in my ears. When I look up, he’s already rid himself of his boxers, his hard cock standing proudly between us and the sight of him steals the air from my lungs. Every ridge, every line of him stands stark under the soft light filtering through the steam, raw and unapologetically masculine.

His eyes meet mine, and his voice drops to a rasp, heavy with unguarded honesty. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Aub,” he murmurs, and the way he says my name undoes me.

It’s not just a compliment; it’s a claim.

Before I can catch my breath, his hands are on me, strong and possessive as they grip my ass and lift me like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, the heat of him pressing against me, branding me. He pins me against the wall, the cold tiles a sharp contrast to the furnace of his body.

But all I can feel is him—his strength, his intensity, his mouth crashing into mine with a ferocity that leaves me breathless.

The kiss is wild, desperate, like he’s trying to devour me whole. His fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just enough to tilt my head back and expose my neck to him. He doesn’t hesitate, his lips trailing fire along my skin, claiming every inch.

There’s no escape from him, no room to breathe, and I don’t want either. Not now. Not when this feels so impossibly good.

Doubt claws at the edges of my mind, whispering warnings I don’t want to hear. I know how this ends—with me shattered and him walking away like none of this ever happened.

His lips move with purpose, his tongue claiming mine in a way that leaves me trembling. The sound of my own moan startles me, raw and needy as I press closer to him, my fingers tangling in his hair to keep him near. I don’t care that he’s not mine to hold onto. I don’t care that I’ll be left with nothing but memories and scars. All that fucking matters is the way he feels right now, the way he’s making me feel.

Noah’s hands roam over my body with a purpose that’s both maddening and electrifying. His rough fingertips trace over my skin, leaving a trail of fire and goosebumps in their wake.

My body arches into his touch, desperate for more—more of him, more of this reckless, consuming need that’s burning through every rational thought I have left.

His hips press forward, his cock sliding through my folds, the hard length of him brushing against my clit with each tantalizing thrust. Each stroke sends a sharp bolt of pleasure racing through me, too intense to ignore, and I can’t stop myself from grinding against him, desperate for the friction that lights every nerve on fire. Fuck, It’s too much and not nearly enough, the hunger inside me clawing at my sanity, threatening to tear me apart.

A low growl rumbles from Noah’s throat, rough and primal, sending a fresh surge of heat pooling between my thighs. His hands grip my hips with a possessive force, dragging me closer until there’s nothing left between us—no space, no hesitation, no escape. His body presses into mine, solid and unyielding, every inch of him aligning perfectly with me. The hard planes of his chest, the strength of his hands, the unrelenting slide of his cock through my folds—it all consumes me, leaving no room for thought, only feeling.

Every shift of his hips floods me with pleasure, overwhelming my senses as I lose myself in the rhythm he sets.

The hot spray of the shower, the slick heat of his skin against mine, the unbearable tension coiling tighter with each movement—it blurs together into a haze of need so powerful it leaves me trembling.

Then he pauses, his hips going still as his hands remain firm on my waist. His eyes lock onto mine, and the intensity in his gaze robs me of what little breath I have left. He looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world, his focus unwavering, his hunger palpable. It’s like he’s savoring every reaction, every gasp, every tremor, and I feel laid bare under his stare.

Noah moves with a purpose that’s both merciless and intoxicating, his cock sliding through my folds with deliberate precision. The slick heat of him teases me endlessly, brushing against my clit, not yet giving me the release I crave.

His restraint is maddening, every calculated movement designed to keep me hovering on the edge without crossing the line. His jaw is tight, his breaths ragged, and I can see the sheer effort it’s taking him not to bury his cock inside me and fuck me into oblivion.

It’s a game of control, and he’s winning. The tension he’s building feels unbearable, every second dragging out the torment until I’m nearly begging for him. He knows exactly what he’s doing, attuned to my every gasp, every shiver, every broken moan.

His body responds to mine like he can read the silent pleas I’m too far gone to voice, adjusting his movements to give me just enough to keep me craving more.

The friction of his cock gliding over my clit is devastating, the pleasure so exquisitely torturous that my legs tremble against him. And yet, it’s his eyes that undo me—the way he watches me with an intensity that borders on reverence. It’s as if he’s memorizing every reaction, every twitch of my body, cataloging them for himself. His gaze is a command, an unspoken demand for me to give in completely, to surrender to the tension winding tighter and tighter inside me.

He can feel it, see it, the way I’m unraveling beneath his touch. He’s waiting for that moment, holding me there, pushing me to the brink, until there’s no turning back. I’m so close—so fucking close—that I can almost taste the release, and I know it will be nothing short of devastating when I finally let go.