Page 66 of One Killer Night

Noah drops the last of the moving boxes by the front door, then wipes his brow with the bottom of his T-shirt, exposing that perfectly chiseled stomach of his.

Damn, my man is fine.

“We already got some mail.” He motions to an envelope on top of the box and grins as I objectify him from our new kitchen before stripping himself of the shirt altogether, reading me too well. “Is that what you want?”

“Oh yeah. Give it to me, baby,” I tease back.

That is what I want because honestly, he’s legitimately mouthwatering. At least, that’s what mine’s doing as I watch him become the most effective ad for hiring movers.

It’d be a billion-dollar industry if tatted, shirtless men built like gods showed up to pack your boxes. The number of women who’d move on a weekly basis would be staggering. There really is a missed opportunity for someone to have a business named Dick and a Box, with a motto “All the Richards you need to pack yourcomingsand goings.”

I smile over my dirty joke, still glancing at him as I open the fridge and pull out a bottle of champagne. I ran out to buy it after he called with his news today.

I’ve been waiting to open it until after Chase and Evie left. Which was about five minutes ago, when she almost killed him for asking why people win Oscars for special effects. However, the silver lining to the almost-homicide is that now Noah and I can celebrate without our new place getting taped off as a crime scene.

“Hey, you ... fancy-pants shoe designer,” I call from across the open-floor plan, holding up the bottle. “It’s time to celebrate.”

His head tilts before he looks adorably embarrassed while scratching over the skull taking up real estate on his rib cage. “I haven’t even gotten it yet.”

He’s a rottweiler with a golden retriever heart ... How did I get so lucky?

I position the thick bottom of the bottle on my tummy before I push the cork with both thumbs, straining my words. “But you’re going to.”

The pop makes my shoulders jump as I squeal because the champagne bubbles over the bottle, cascading onto the floor and countertop with a flourish.

“Oh my god.” I look around for something to help stop it. “I guess we’re christening the whole place ... shit.”

Noah weaves around all our shit, grinning as he jogs to me, but as soon as he’s close, I thinkFuck itand shake the bottle, making it erupt all over again as I aim it at him.

“Soak it in, stud. This is your moment.”

“Oh, you fucked up,” he bellows, putting his hand in front of him before he wraps his other around my waist and lifts me off the ground.

Laughter bounds between us as he plops my ass up onto the counter and settles himself between my legs, the fizzing bottle clunking against the granite.

We’re staring at each other, covered in champagne, drops of it making my eyelashes heavy. But no matter the mess, we’ve got matching grins, and it feels like time’s slowed down around us to just Noahand me in a bubble of us, where it’s quiet and we’re the only two people who exist to have ever been in love.

I lift the bottle and bring two of my fingers to his lips, urging them to part so I can let him take a drink. But he circles my wrist before the flat of his warm tongue laves between the seam of them, licking the champagne off.

Damn.

“How’s it taste?”

Noah gently steals the bottle and juts his chin for me to put my head back. “Open and find out.”

I press my palms against the wet counter, my back arching as I tilt my head back and part my lips. He lifts the almost-empty bottle above my head, and I glance at him before only a drop falls on my tongue.

“I think,” he says in his deep gravel, and a smile graces my waiting mouth as he smirks, “that it tastes a lot like champagne”—Noah grabs the front of my shorts and tugs them open—“and not enough like you.”

Bubbles spill past my lips, straight past the center of my body to my underwear.

“Oh my god,” I squeal, my stomach contracting from the cold, but he grabs the back of my neck and pulls me into a kiss, silencing me.

We’re already getting sticky as our bodies crash into each other. My arms wrap around his rib cage as I hook my ankles above his ass.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet,” he breathes out, cradling my face roughly.

“I love you,” I whisper, tilting my head to deepen our kiss as his hand comes to my throat.