Page 137 of Almost Ravaged

He’s so quiet and stoic. Reserved and serious.

I worry he’s punishing himself. Depriving himself of a relaxing, sensual moment to connect.

As if he has something to atone for.

He was feral in the field, gripping the back of my head and driving into my mouth over and over with abandon.

But when we stepped inside the house, a switch flipped.

He insisted Mercer and I come upstairs so he could run a bath for us, then adamantly refused to join us.

Mercer brushes his fingertips against the side of my ribcage, the soothing gesture bringing me back to the present moment.

Clear-headed once more, an idea strikes.

“Would you get in if it was just me?” As I ask, my lip quivers, a lilt of vulnerability clinging to the question.

With an exasperated sigh, Noah releases my hand and hangs his head.

The loss is like a sharpened skate to my chest.

I just made it worse.

Behind me, as if reading my mind, Mercer squeezes my hip and pulls gently, urging me to settle back in the tub.

Clearly, he thinks I should leave Noah alone.

But the pain Noah is experiencing doesn’t sit right with me. I’m not giving up on him just yet.

What we just did? It wasn’t nothing.

The connection Noah and I have is palpable. It’s been brewing since the day we met. Our mutual attraction and all the little moments of interest existed between us before I showed up here tonight.

Those feelings and that connection are worth fighting for.

I refuse to let us backslide.

Rather than retreat, like Mercer probably wants me to do, I push my top half even farther out of the tub and cup Noah’s jaw. I rub my thumb over his cheek, relishing the prickly sensation of his short beard.

He’s not alone.

Even if he can’t be present, I want him to know I’m here.

That is, as long as he wants me to stay.

“Noah.”

He peeks up without truly lifting his head.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to get in. I won’t ask again. But I’m worried that you’re regretting what we did.” My voice cracks on the last word.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, willing myself not to tear up. The last thing I want to do is weaponize my emotions against him. But if he’s regrettingme less than an hour after our first sexual encounter, it would be easier on all of us if he just called it right now.

He straightens, grimacing. With a quick shake of his head, he banishes the expression and sits even taller, his irises brighter and the virility I’ve become so accustomed to returning as he blinks.

Of his own volition, he reaches for me. He brings my hand back to his face and places a kiss on the center of my palm. Then he rests it on his cheek, right where it was before.

“I could never regret you, honey.”