Cruel Intentions: Chapter 28

It’s been a few days since Noah met his mother, and things between us have been… off. He’s quieter than usual, more withdrawn, like he’s carrying something too heavy to put down. I see it in the way his jaw tenses, the way his hands flex at his sides like he’s itching for a fight with something he can’t name.

He hasn’t said much about what happened that day. I haven’t pushed, even though it’s been eating me alive to sit back and wait.

I know him, though. Noah doesn’t respond well to pressure—it’s like trying to hold a flame in your hands. He’ll talk when he’s ready, but the silence. It’s fucking killing me.

I head out to the garage, where he’s been spending most of his afternoons. The faint sound of tools clinking filters through the open door, and when I step inside, I see him. He’s shirtless, his back to me, earbuds in, completely immersed in his motorcycle.

I lean against the doorway, taking him in.

The way his muscles flex as he tightens a bolt, the grease streaked across his skin—it’s mesmerizing. His cap is on backward, and there’s a smudge of oil on his shoulder. He looks raw, rugged, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Noah,” I call out, but he doesn’t hear me over the music.

I stay where I am, watching the way he moves with that quiet intensity of his.

Here, in the garage, it’s like all the chaos inside him finds an outlet. It’s focused, controlled—a sharp contrast to the storm I know he’s bottling up.

When he finally glances up and notices me, he pulls out an earbud, his lips curling into that lazy smirk that never fails to make my heart skip.

“Enjoying the show?” he teases, wiping his hands on a rag before tossing it onto the bench.

“Maybe,” I admit, stepping further inside. “You’re kind of hard to ignore.”

He laughs out loud. “You just gonna stand there and stare, or are you gonna help?”

“Help with what?” I challenge, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve got it all under control.” I take another step closer. “You’ve been out here a lot.”

“Yeah.” He picks up a wrench and turns it in his hands. “Gotta keep busy, you know? Better than sitting around, thinking about all the shit I can’t change.”

“You don’t have to do this alone, Noah,” I say softly, keeping my voice steady.

He pauses, his fingers tightening around the tool. “I know,” he says, his voice rough and quiet. “But some things, Aub… some things are just too heavy to share.”

I step closer, close enough to touch him, but I don’t. Not yet. “You’re strong, Noah, but even you can’t carry the world on your shoulders forever.”

I lean in, pressing my lips to his, and Noah melts into me. The kiss is wild and unrestrained, like he’s pouring every ounce of himself into it—every flicker of anger, every shred of pain, and every raw drop of love.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his breath hot and uneven against my skin.

“Fuck, Aub,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, every word igniting something deep inside me. “If my dad wasn’t inside right now, knowing he could walk out here any second, I’d fuck you right here on that bench—make you scream so loud the whole neighborhood would know exactly who you belong to.”

My heart stumbles, heat surging through me as I meet his smoldering gaze. I smirk, my voice dipping into a teasing tone. “Then maybe we should go somewhere you can.”

Noah doesn’t hesitate. He tosses the tool in his hand onto the workbench with a loud clang, grabs his shirt, and pulls it over his head in one smooth, almost aggressive motion.

Without another word, he grabs my hand and leads me out of the garage, his grip firm and unrelenting.

The engine roars to life as I slip into his car, and before I can ask where we’re going, we’re flying down the street, the wind whipping through the open windows. I barely manage to keep my hair out of my face, but my attention isn’t on that. It’s on him.

Every now and then, I catch him glancing at me, his eyes dark with unfiltered need.

The way he keeps shifting in his seat, his jaw clenched, tells me everything I need to know. His cock is hard, straining against his jeans, and it’s driving him crazy. It’s like he’s fighting the urge to pull the car over, drag me out, and fuck me.

He looks over and catches me, my gaze locked on him. Noticing the way I’m watching, his smirk widens. It’s that cocky, knowing grin that tells me he’s fully aware of the effect he’s having on me. He owns me in this moment, and he knows it.

“I can pull over here,” he says, his voice thick with amusement and something darker, rougher. His gaze flicks to mine, daring me, taunting me. “If you can’t fucking wait.”

My heart hammers, a thrill rushing through me at the raw challenge in his tone. I know exactly where he’s taking me—to the lake. But the way his voice drips with promise makes me wonder if we’ll even make it there.

“So impatient, eh?” I tease, my voice light but tinged with heat, each word laced with challenge. My pulse thunders in my ears, my skin buzzing under the weight of his gaze.

His lips curl into a smirk, his focus shifting back to the road as the muscles in his jaw flex. “When I know what I want, I don’t fuck around, Aub,” he growls, his voice a deep rumble that makes my stomach flip. “And right now, I want to fuck you.”

The raw intensity of his words hits like a lightning bolt, sending a surge of heat straight to my core. My breath hitches, and I press my thighs together, trying to anchor myself. But I don’t back down. Instead, I lean closer, my voice dropping to a whisper, deliberately provocative. “Then stop talking about it and show me.”

His smirk sharpens, dark and feral. “Careful what you wish for,” he warns, his voice a low growl that vibrates through me.

Without another word, Noah slows the car, his foot easing off the gas as he steers us toward the side of the road.

The tires crunch over gravel, and he pulls us behind a cluster of trees, the cover just enough to shield us from prying eyes.

The car jerks to a halt, the engine cutting off with a jolt. Before I can react, his door flies open, slamming shut with a force that echoes through the stillness.

I watch him stride around the car, his movements deliberate, every step radiating a quiet, searing intensity. When he reaches my door, he yanks it open, his eyes blazing as they meet mine.

“Out,” he commands, his voice rough, leaving no room for argument.

His hand clamps around mine, his grip firm, and he pulls me from the car like he can’t stand another second of distance between us.

Noah doesn’t stop—he leads me to the front of the car, his pace unrelenting.

Before I can catch my breath, his hands are on my waist, strong and sure, lifting me like I weigh nothing. He puts me down on the warm metal of the hood.

His lips meet mine with a ferocity that steals the air from my lungs. There’s no hesitation, no gentle buildup—just raw, unfiltered hunger as his tongue slides past my lips, claiming me like I’m the only thing that matters.

One hand grips my waist, his fingers digging into my skin possessively, while the other cups my face. His touch is firm, not rough, a deliberate statement that I’m his.

The scent of him—oil, and pure, unadulterated Noah—wraps around me, clouding my senses until all I can focus on is him. His body presses against mine, his heat bleeding into me, his movements demanding yet utterly intoxicating.

I surrender, my body arching into his, my hands clutching at his shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth.

Every touch, every kiss, ignites my skin like wildfire, and I can’t stop myself from melting under him.

Noah knows exactly what he’s doing—how to make my body respond with a precision that leaves me trembling. I let him. Fuck, I want him to. Because when Noah touches me, the rest of the world fades to nothing.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes locked on mine, burning with raw intensity.

His hand moves to my shirt, yanking it over my head in one swift, fluid motion. “Take it off,” he growls, his voice rough and commanding as his gaze drops to my bra.

There’s no mistaking the hunger in his eyes, like he’s already seeing through the thin barrier of my bra.

I bite my lip, as I reach behind to unclasp it. The second the straps slip loose, he’s on me, tugging it off and tossing it aside without hesitation. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, and the simple gesture sends a shiver racing through me, tightening the knot of desire coiled in my chest.

Without breaking his gaze, he crouches down, his hands moving to my boots. One by one, he pulls them off, taking his time like he’s savoring every second of stripping me.

When he’s finished, his hands are on me again—rough, deliberate—pushing me back until my spine meets the metal of the car hood.

His fingers find the button of my jeans, the practiced flick of his hand undoing it in a heartbeat.

The zipper follows next. Then he grips the waistband firmly, dragging both my jeans and panties down my legs in a slow, unhurried motion that makes every inch of uncovered skin feel like it’s burning.

As he tosses the fabric aside, his eyes drop to my bare pussy, and the way he looks at me—like it’s his favorite fucking meal—sends a jolt through me.

His lips part slightly, his tongue darting out to wet them as his gaze rakes over me, dark and insatiable.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, his voice low and gravelly, dripping with unrestrained desire.

His hands grip my knees, spreading my legs wide. He doesn’t look away—doesn’t even blink—as his eyes take in every inch of me. The heat in his stare burns like a physical touch, leaving me raw, exposed, and completely at his mercy.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he growls, his voice thick and rough, his fingers pressing into my thighs just enough to make me gasp. “And I’m gonna make sure you feel every fucking second of this.”

His fingers slide through my slick folds, slow and deliberate, teasing me with a maddening precision that leaves me arching off the car hood.

A sharp gasp escapes my lips as the ache intensifies, and he lets out a low, feral sound, his jaw tightening like he’s barely keeping himself in check.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his voice raw as his dark, wild eyes lock onto mine. His fingers move deeper, spreading my wetness, and a wicked smirk tugs at his lips. “You’re so fucking drenched for me,” he murmurs, his tone rough and filled with dangerous satisfaction. “This pussy’s begging to be fucked.”

He leans forward, pressing a soft, almost tender kiss to my stomach, and the contrast only makes the ache worse.

“You’re mine, Aubrey,” he whispers, his voice dark and possessive, every word a claim that sinks deep into my soul. His lips brush against my skin again, his breath hot and tantalizing. “And I’m gonna take my time fucking you.”