Page 8 of Biblical Knowledge (Divine Temptations #3)

Chapter Seven

Henry

* * *

I was a wreck.

Sitting in that cramped study room, Noah’s hand covering mine, I felt like every nerve in my body had been lit on fire. My heart thudded against my ribs so hard I was sure he could hear it. He was too close, too beautiful, too much.

Noah was everything I wasn’t. Confident.

Magnetic. His body moved with an ease that made me feel like I’d spent my entire life stumbling.

Even now, sitting beside me in a plain chair, he radiated heat and charisma as if he belonged to some higher order of being.

He was the embodiment of every single thing I had ever secretly, shamefully admired in a man. And it terrified me.

I swallowed, my throat dry as paper. His hand was still on mine, and the weight of it made my thoughts scatter.

“I’m not denying I saw you at Babylon,” I managed, though my voice cracked.

I stared at the notebook on the table because I couldn’t bear to look into his eyes just yet.

“It’s just… I thought you were a bartender.

Not a—” My face burned hot. I couldn’t say the word.

My mouth went dry around it. “—not a dancer. It took me by surprise, that’s all. ”

He hummed, a low, dangerous sound that made my stomach knot. “Why’d you come to Babylon, Henry?”

The truth tumbled out before I could stop it.

“Yesterday we were having such a wonderful conversation here in the library, and when you were called away… I thought… maybe if I went to the bar where you worked, we could continue.” I winced at my own honesty.

“When I saw you wearing… well, very little clothing—” My ears burned so hot I thought they might catch fire. “—it took me by surprise.”

Finally, I forced myself to look at him.

Noah was smiling, slow and wicked. His eyes, dark and gleaming, pinned me in place. He squeezed my hand gently, the warmth of it seeping into my skin until it felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“I’d love to keep talking to you,” he murmured, voice low and intimate, “and so much more.”

The words slid into me like a spark, catching dry tinder. My chest tightened, heat blooming low in my stomach, spreading thick and heavy. I gulped, struggling to hold myself together, but it was useless. I was coming apart under the sheer force of him.

God, he was gorgeous. His skin glowed golden under the fluorescent light, his jaw sharp, his lips soft and full and entirely too close to mine.

I noticed the little curve at the corner of his mouth, the way his lashes curled against his cheekbones, the way his shoulders strained the fabric of his shirt.

My pulse roared in my ears. I was so turned on it was painful.

His thumb brushed my knuckles, slow, deliberate. His gaze dipped to my mouth, and I forgot how to breathe.

“You saw me almost naked,” he whispered, and the devilish grin returned. “And you liked it. Didn’t you?”

“No,” I said, far too quickly, my voice breaking.

But my body betrayed me. I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop my thighs from tensing, couldn’t hide the hard truth straining beneath the table. Heat flooded my face, and I knew he could see it all over me.

Before I could protest again, before I could think of some excuse, he leaned in and kissed me.

It was fierce, unguarded, and demanding.

My world exploded.

I gasped into his mouth, but then I was kissing him back, hard, desperate, like I’d been waiting my whole life for this and hadn’t known it until now.

His lips were soft but demanding, his tongue brushing mine, coaxing, tasting, taking.

The kiss went on and on, obliterating every thought, every shred of self-control.

My hand clutched at his wrist, clinging, while his hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me in place as if he’d never let me go. I moaned into his mouth, the sound shocking me, raw and needy, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

When he finally broke away, I was gasping for breath, my body trembling, my lips swollen and wet.

Noah stood, his chest rising and falling, eyes blazing with something wild. He jerked his head toward the glass walls of the study room. “We need to go somewhere more private.”

The reality of the library rushed back—the rows of tables, the possible eyes on us, the fact that anyone could’ve seen. My stomach flipped, shame and thrill tangled into one dangerous cocktail.

Noah was already shoving his notebook into his bag, efficient, determined. I scrambled to do the same, my hands clumsy, shaking.

This couldn’t be happening.

Except it was.

And though part of me screamed to stop, to retreat, to throw up the walls I’d spent years building, the louder part—the reckless, hungry, undeniable part—was already following him out the door.

* * *

Noah’s key turned in the lock, and suddenly I was inside his apartment.

My chest felt tight, like I’d run a mile uphill.

It was him—Noah—that had me wrecked. Every step we took here, every glance, every kiss we’d shared in the library was echoing in my veins, louder than blood rushing, louder than thought itself.

I barely had time to notice the shelves—row after row of books, hundreds of spines, colors and textures like some living cathedral of knowledge—before Noah was on me again.

His arms went around me, and his mouth pressed to mine, hot and certain, and my knees nearly buckled.

I grabbed onto him because if I didn’t, I would’ve collapsed.

I thought the kiss at the library had undone me, but this…

this kiss was my ruin. His lips tasted like heat and promise, his tongue coaxing mine like he’d known me for years instead of a days.

I clutched his shirt, dragging him closer, desperate, dizzy.

My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to break out and find its way into his chest instead.

When Noah finally pulled back, I was gasping. He leaned in close, his breath brushing against my cheek, and whispered, “I’m going to make love to you now, Henry.”

The words nearly unmade me. They were beautiful, terrifying, irresistible. I froze, trembling. “I… I’ve never—” My voice cracked, shame washing over me. I forced the words out, a whisper almost too quiet to hear. “I’ve never made love to anyone.”

He smiled at me then—slow, tender, knowing. It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t pity. It was reverence, like I’d just given him the rarest gift in the world. “Then I’ll make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

Before I could argue, before I could retreat back into fear, he caught my hand and pulled me gently but firmly down the hall.

His bedroom swallowed me whole—soft light, rumpled sheets, the faintest scent of cedar and soap—but none of it mattered, because Noah was there.

And then his mouth was on mine again, his tongue demanding, his kiss bruising.

My whole body shook. Desire and dread warred inside me, tangled up so tight I couldn’t tell one from the other. I put my hands on his chest, meaning to push him back, but it was weak, helpless. “Noah, I—I don’t…”

He caught my wrists, held them between us, and his eyes—God, his eyes—burned into me. “God made you who you are. Don’t feel guilty for wanting me, for wanting this.” His voice dropped low, rough, like a prayer. “Don’t feel guilty for wanting love.”

Then his mouth claimed mine again, hotter, deeper, until I moaned into him, until the last of my resistance melted.

His hands were everywhere—my face, my hair, sliding down my sides—and suddenly I was tearing at his shirt, desperate to feel skin against skin.

He pulled mine over my head in one motion, and then it was a frenzy, fabric tossed aside, kisses searing down my throat, and across my chest.

We stumbled onto the bed, tangled and breathless, until I was on my back and he was above me, his body heavy, solid, and perfect. He kissed me like he wanted to devour me, and murmured against my lips, “You’re so beautiful, Henry. Do you know how lucky I am? To be your first… and maybe your only.”

The words should’ve terrified me, but instead they sent fire down my spine.

My hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging in.

My hips lifted of their own accord, seeking him.

And in that moment, with his body covering mine, with his voice low and reverent, I wanted nothing else in the world but to let him.

His mouth moved to my ear, breath hot, voice a hushed growl.

“Tell me you want this, Henry. Tell me you want me.”

I shivered, my body arching into his, craving more of his touch, his heat. The words were stuck in my throat, choked by years of suppressed longing and fear. But his eyes, fierce and tender, demanded the truth.

“I… I want you, Noah,” I whispered, the confession torn from some raw, hidden place inside me. “I want this.”

A low groan escaped him, and his mouth crashed back onto mine, hungry and triumphant. His hands roamed my body, tracing lines of fire along my skin. I gasped as he found sensitive spots I never knew existed, my body writhing beneath his expert touch.

He broke away from my lips, trailing kisses down my neck, my chest, lingering on the planes of my stomach. I squirmed, ticklish and aroused, each touch igniting new sparks of desire. When he reached the waistband of my jeans, he looked up at me, a question in his eyes.

I nodded, breath hitching, and he slowly slid them off, along with my boxers, leaving me bare and vulnerable. But there was no judgment in his gaze, only hunger and admiration. He kissed the inside of my thigh, and I jolted, a soft moan escaping me.

“Easy,” he murmured, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “We have all night, Henry.”

His words sent a thrill through me, even as they stoked the flames of my desire higher. He continued his exploration, his touch gentle yet firm, until I was a writhing, panting mess beneath him. When he finally wrapped his hand around my shaft, I cried out, my body bucking into his touch.