Page 103 of Almost Rotten

“I do,” I tell him.

Wholeheartedly.

“We’re headed two towns over,” he says. “Hampton. Mercer’s grandparents used to live out this way. Their old neighborhood connects to a park with a pedestrian bridge over the railroad tracks.”

He refocuses on the road, his expression pensive for a moment.

“It’s a good place to think,” he says eventually. “A good place to reset.”

With the declaration, he reaches over and laces our fingers together.

“This okay?” He holds up our hands while staying focused on the road.

I marvel at his genuineness. At the way he’s always checking in and prioritizing my needs.

“Yes,” I assure him with a squeeze. “It’s more than okay.”

We sit quietly for a while, nothing but the wind and the faint melody on the radio filling the cabin.

“You don’t have to ask me things like that,” I tell him after several minutes.

His face screws up in confusion. “I do. Merce always does, so I’m taking a play out of his book.”

I press my lips together, connecting the dots. Mercer always asks? Is he thinking about the way Mercer asks for my consent or reminds me of my safe word before sex? If so…

Cheeks flushed, I mumble, “That’s different.”

Noah emits a lighthearted chuckle. “Believe me, honey. I’m aware. It’s like you two have this unspoken language. I don’t know how to operate like that.” He lifts our hands to his mouth and kisses my knuckles.

I lean into the console, eager to be as close as I can get.

“I trust you just as much as I trust Mercer,” I assure him.

Noah smiles—though it doesn’t reach his eyes—and puts both hands on the steering wheel.

My heart sinks a fraction. Shit. Does he feel excluded? God, I hope not. I could leave this alone and let it go, but he’s gone to great lengths over the last twenty-four hours to care for me, and I want to give him the same.

Mercer Eden is kinky as fuck, and that is absolutely my vibe. But Noah’s steadiness—his softness and the effortless safety he inspires—feels just as good to my soul.

Clearing my throat, I squeeze his hand. “The dynamic Mercer and I share involves blanket consent. We trust each otherenough to know ourselves and to use a safe word if we need to slow down or stop.”

Noah grips the wheel a bit tighter, his head shaking slightly. “That’s not going to cut it for me, honey.”

My insides twist a little.

“I don’t totally get it,” he says. “The safe words and the limits you two talk about. I can respect it, of course. I can and I will. But I don’t want that with you.”

The twisting turns into full-on nausea. If he doesn’t want that, does that mean he doesn’t want me?

“Noah—”

With a steady, tender touch, he cups the back of my neck. “I want you to know I’m always going to ask. Call me old-fashioned, but I need an emphatic yes every time. I need to hear it. I don’t ever want to assume or take anything for granted. I want you to trust that your well-being is always top of mind for me.”

Good grief.

This man.

I’ve never felt as safe, protected, cared for, or seen as I do when he’s focused on me.