Page 15

Chapter 15

What Comes Next

Noah

H ot water hammers over my shoulders, but my pulse is already spiking—like I’m strapped into the cockpit, five red lights blinking overhead. Not anxious. Primed. Heart pounding. Muscles braced. Ready for lights out.Because she’s coming over tonight.To my place for the first time—technically Lily’s Sugar Mills Loft, but mine for the past four weeks.And because I bought her something that terrifies me—and electrifies me even more.

Two weeks ago, I blurted out that I’d fallen in love with her.

She was asleep when I said it, curled up against me after the kind of night that changes everything. I said it then, quietly. Like it might seep into her dreams and stay.

And now I want to say it again.

Louder and of course, while she's awake this time.

I cut the water and step out, yanking a towel off the hook, dragging it over my hair, my body. I don’t bother wrapping it around my waist.

I hear the knock before I’m fully dry.

Right on time.

I cross the hardwood floors, leaving wet footprints behind me. The loft is dim, lit by the warm twinkle of string lights Lily left up. There’s a small tree in the corner, a little crooked, but I kind of like it that way. Like it’s trying too hard. Like me.

I open the door, completely naked.

Her lashes flutter, like she’s rebooting. Her lips part slightly, eyes dropping before she jerks them back up to my face. Her cheeks flush, her breath catches—and yeah. That’s the reaction I was going for.

“Merry Christmas,” I murmur.

“You’re naked.”

“I’m festive in my birthday suit.”

She swallows. She’s holding a box—medium-sized, awkwardly wrapped, probably something sweet or meaningful she brought from the caroling event she just came from. There’s a bit of glitter on her cheek.

She exhales hard. “I'm just dropping something off.”

I lean a shoulder against the doorframe, one eyebrow cocked. "Get in here, woman, or we're about to start a Hallmark movie where the hot guy answers the door naked and the girl drops her... cookies?"

She makes a strangled sound like she just bit into a jalapeno she thought was a gumdrop, mutters, "I guess I can use a drink."

Unable to stop myself, I thrust my hips slightly, cocky as hell. "Got a bottle right here for your sweet lips."

She snorts, whacks me on the arm with her glitter-covered box, and marches inside like the room owes her dignity and she’s here to collect.

The door clicks shut and I don’t give her a second to overthink it—I pull her in. I hug her, bare and unapologetic, and she lets out a breathless laugh.

"You’re very happy to see me," she mutters, arching a brow at what’s definitely pressing against her hip.

"I missed you," I say, deadpan. "All of me missed you."

She groans and thwaps my chest with the back of her hand.

I kiss her—hungrily, completely, until she melts against me with a moan that makes every part of me throb.

And then I pull back.

Her eyes flutter once, lips still parted. Like she forgot the script.

"I need a shirt," I murmur, brushing my thumb across her jaw.

She huffs, eyes still dazed. "You're such a tease. Come back with a shirt, and a pair of pants too. You're too distracting."

Her eyes meet mine, heat blooming behind her lashes. But she’s still cautious. Still pretending this isn’t what it is.

I reach out, tuck her hair behind her ear.

“You want me, Songbird. Say it.”

She hesitates—just long enough to make me wonder if I’ve misread the entire world.

Then she whispers it. “I want you.”

That’s all I need.

I crash my mouth over hers.

We don’t make it to the bed. Not at first.

I start to pick her off the floor, but her hands press against my chest, halting me.

"Can I take a shower first?" she asks, breathless. "Since you're so clean and I'm... well, not."

"Sure," I say, voice low. "But I'm coming with you."

She opens her mouth, maybe to protest. She doesn’t get the chance.

I peel her shirt up slowly, kissing every new inch of skin I reveal. Her jeans follow, sliding down her legs as she steps out of them, flushed and breathless.

Then I lead her into the stall, flick the water back on, and pull her in with me.

The second the spray hits us, I press her against the warm tiles, my hands on her hips, my mouth on her neck.

She whimpers so deliciously, her fingers gripping my shoulders tightly.

I lift her leg around my waist, the steam curling around us as I slide into her. Her head falls back, lips parted, body already trembling.

And because I want to impress her with my multitasking skills—or maybe just drive her completely wild—I reach for the soap. My hands move over her slick, flushed skin, lathering her shoulders, her back, down the curve of her waist. Each thrust is deep and slow, perfectly timed with the way my hands explore her body.

She gasps, then laughs, breathless. "Are you seriously washing me right now?"

"Efficiency," I groan against her neck. "Plus, you smell like pine sap and sugar cookies. I like it. But I like you better like this."

Her nails dig into my biceps, her lips catching on a moan. "You're unreal."

"Only for you."

We move together, every stroke slow, deep, claiming. My name is a gasp on her tongue. Her moans echo off the tile, and I can barely hold it together.

She comes with a shudder, and I follow with a curse into her shoulder, her name a groan against her skin.

She leans into me, slick and boneless, and I hold her under the water until neither of us can tell where the heat ends and we begin.

I take my time to dry her off. Every glide of the towel earns a little gasp or sigh, especially when I drag the plush cotton between her thighs. Her breath hitches—yeah, she likes the friction more than she’s ready to admit. I file that away for later while I linger a little longer than necessary.

She mutters something about being clean already, but her hips shift just enough to betray her.

So I lift her into my arms and carry her across the room, both of us damp and flushed, her legs curled around me as if her body already knows where it wants to end up.

The sheets are warm, the air full of candlelight and pine. She clings tighter when I lower her onto the mattress, and I swear she’s never looked more perfect than in this moment—hair damp, lips kiss-swollen, skin flushed with satisfaction and surprise.

My mouth blazes a trail down her throat, her chest, her belly. Her thighs part like she’s been waiting all damn night to be devoured—and I give her exactly that. I don’t just go down on her. I press a kiss just above her mound and murmur, "So soft down here… you bare this perfect pussy like you knew I’d want to memorize every inch."

Her hips roll, her fingers digging into my scalp. "Talk dirty to me, Noah," she moans, voice thick with need. "Tell me how good I taste. Tell me you want to stay down there forever."

I glance up, lips slick, cock twitching at the sound of her voice all breathy and unguarded. “You love when I suck on your clit like this, don’t you? Love how I make you fall apart with just my mouth.”

She gasps, nodding frantically. “Yes—yes, just like that. You make me feel so good. Keep going, baby. Please.”

Her fingers twist in my hair, desperate and clawing, her cries breaking into the air like she’s trying to hold back and failing miserably.

“You want to come again, don’t you?” I growl, licking a slow, torturous circle. “Let go for me, darling. Make a mess on my mouth.”

My hands slide up, greedy and sure, palms full of her heavy breasts. I roll her nipples between my fingers, and tug and pinch hard, hungry, just the way she begged for last time. Her back arches, a wild sound escaping her throat.

"You’re so sensitive. I love making you lose control.” I rasp, flicking my tongue faster over her clit now, relentless.

She’s writhing under my tongue, trying to hold back—but I can feel it. The way her thighs quiver. The way her hips jerk. She’s close.

“Don’t hold it,” I growl into her soaked heat. “I want all of it. Give it to me, baby.”

She shudders violently—and then she squirts, soaking my mouth with a gasping cry. Her thighs lock around my head, her entire body shaking as I ride it out with her, licking through the aftershocks like I can drink her down.

I love it.

The taste of her. The way she gives in. The way her body pulses for me, wild and uncontrollable.

I want it etched into her. I want her to feel it later— remember it. Know it was me who took her apart like this. Who made her burn so deep she’ll never forget who she gave it to.

She’s trembling. Breathing hard. Her entire body twitching with aftershocks. And I don’t stop until I’ve wrung out every last wave of pleasure from her.

June's hands slides down weakly like she’s trying to grab hold of anything. I kiss the inside of her thigh once more, slow and possessive, and whisper, “That’s mine now.”

I brace myself over her, watching every flicker of emotion that crosses her face. Her chest is still rising fast, her body buzzing from release. I press a kiss to her collarbone, then her shoulder, then trail down her arm slowly.

Instead of taking her, I let her calm down. My hand glides over her belly, the curve of her hip, then back up to stroke between her breasts, gentle now. Her eyes flutter open, wide and seeking.

“I love you, Juniper Kennedy,” I murmur, my voice low and certain.

June doesn’t blink away this time. Doesn’t look scared.

She just reaches up, touches my cheek, and parts her lips like she wants to say something—wants to give it back to me. But she doesn’t have to.

I see the question in her eyes, the softness tangled with hesitation. So I hush her with a kiss to her forehead.

"Let’s just sleep," I whisper. "You’re safe here. With me."

The next morning, she stirs beside me, and my whole body responds instantly, like she's the center of everything, and I’ve been holding myself still just waiting for her to move.

I love her morning look. The way her eyes flutter open, dazed and still dream-heavy. It stuns me every time. I thought maybe it was just the setting in Italy—new, exciting, foreign. But now, here in my bed, it still feels like magic. Like no matter where we are, waking up beside her might always feel like this.

She purrs and stretches, and I harden at the sight—lazy and plush, the sleepy haze making her even more beautiful than she has any right to be.

“Morning,” I murmur, my voice hoarse from sleep—and maybe from everything else I’m still feeling in my chest.

She gazes up, eyes glittering, then narrows them a little. Like she’s not sure this is real.

“You’re here,” she whispers, like she’s the one waking up from a dream in my bed, still not convinced I’m real and this is actually happening.

I lean over, press a kiss to her shoulder. “Where else would I be? You're at my place.”

A beat. Then she says it—what’s clearly been buzzing in her chest since last night.

“What happens next?”

I lift onto my elbow, enjoying this moment of intimacy while tracing my fingers on her skin. “What do you mean?”

She looks away. “School starts again next week. And you…”

She trails off, but I know what she means.

That’s what held her back last night—the reality pressing in around the edges.

My season’s still a month out, but the prep, the commitments—they don’t exactly scream small-town boyfriend. We’re on two different clocks, and neither of us knows how to sync them. Yet.

I study her face. “You’re wondering how this works—with your school, my season."

She nods, her fingers twisting in the blanket.

I get up and head for the drawer. I glance back at her—still curled in the sheets, eyes searching mine like she’s trying to solve a puzzle she’s scared to finish.

“I meant to give you my early Christmas gift last night,” I say, pulling it out and walking back. “Here.”She sits up, brows knit with curiosity as I hand an envelope to her.

She opens it slowly.

“A land deed?” she says, eyes scanning the paper like she’s not convinced it’s real. “This is… your name and mine?”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas, my love.” I smile at her.

“You don’t just… put someone’s name on a property deed, Noah.”

“You’re not someone, June.”

“But… you bought me land!? Is this how billionaires do Christmas?” she asks, stunned.

“Not to impress you as a flex,” I say, voice lower now. “But because I want you to know I see a future here—with you. Not just a season. A home. A place we build together.”

I could’ve given her a bracelet, a key, some symbolic token. But it had to be land. Something real. Rooted. Permanent. Because for the first time, I don’t just want her to visit my world—I want to build one together.

She stares at me, mouth parted. “This is—near the lake?”

“It’s ours, if you want. I mean it, I want to build a home with you. When you're ready.”

She’s quiet for a long time. And something in her softens. “Is this a proposal?”

I grin. “Not marriage. Not yet. This is more like… the teaser trailer. The prequel to the real one.”

She lets out a breath that’s half laugh, half panic. “Noah, this is crazy.”

“Don’t look at the dollar amount,” I say, voice steady. “Just look at my intention. I need you to know—I mean every word. I love you. And I want us to be permanent.”

I watch her closely, and my heart skips a beat when I catch the shift in her expression. Her eyes clear, steady now, and she looks right at me.

"Your job..." she says, like it’s the next logical question. The one standing between us and what our hearts want.

I nod slowly. She’s not wrong. Because if we’re going to make this real, we have to talk about my job. “My job’s not exactly a nine-to-five. You’ve seen what it looks like. Travel. Pressure. Constant prep. It’s not just about race weekends.”

She meets my gaze, her voice quiet but firm. “It’s a whole new world, Noah. And I don’t want to be a distraction. I don’t want to hold you back.”

“I know.”

But the next words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Do you think you can be with me, June?” I reach for her hand without thinking, my fingers curling around hers, needing the contact. Needing her to feel the truth in the question.

She doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes drop, then lift back to mine with something raw and vulnerable in them.

“I don’t know what it looks like yet,” she says softly. “Those few intense days in Italy only offered a glimpse—but I know how I felt. I was excited, Noah. Like maybe I could be part of it. Like maybe I could belong in that world—with you. And I want to try. I want to figure it out. With you.”

The words hit me hard. Not perfect. Not a promise. But it’s something. It’s real. And it makes something shift in my chest—tight and aching in the best way.

My whole body reacts to her answer, to the hope she just gave me. It's more than I expected, and exactly what I needed. I squeeze her hand, and it takes everything not to drag her into my arms, kiss her until she forgets to breathe.

She bites her lip. Then gets serious. “You know I can’t just quit teaching. The school year’s only halfway done. There’s still another five months ahead—but with the breaks in between, like Presidents’ Day, spring break, maybe even a couple long weekends… maybe that’s enough. A real window to see how this could work. Maybe it’s a good trial period—for us.”

Hope punches me in the chest. I reach out and gently smooth my fingers through her silky black hair, tucking it behind her ear. She leans into the touch, and my heart nearly stumbles in my chest.

“You’d really consider coming with me?” I ask.

She nods slowly. "Maybe. Italy was fast—just a flash—but I liked it. I liked seeing you in that world. The tech. The speed. The way your brain shifts gears like it's part of the machine. And I like traveling. I pack light. But I felt something there... like maybe this could work."

I cup her jaw, tilt her face to mine, and she reaches up, placing her palm right over my heart. The gesture is simple—but it levels me.

"Thank you," she whispers, eyes searching mine. "For all of it. But especially for meaning it."

Her hand stays there, steady. And for a second, the world goes quiet around us.

"Thank you for trying to show me how serious you are. But, Noah… I don’t need the land. I just need you."

Her words gut me in the best way—because they’re real. Honest. Pure June.

“You have me,” I say softly.

She nods. “Then I’m in. Not because of what’s on paper. Because of what I felt in Italy. Because of what I feel right now. With you.”

I nuzzle into her neck, breathing her in like I need her in my lungs. "I'm so glad," I whisper, the words sinking into her skin. "So damn glad."

Then I kiss her collarbone, slow and reverent, letting my hands explore the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist. I take my time, tasting her, touching her, letting the heat between us build all over again. This time, there’s no rush—just the soft rhythm of skin against skin, her breath mingling with mine as I slide into her with aching tenderness.

We make love slowly, completely. Every kiss, every thrust, is a promise.

And when she falls asleep in my arms, curled into me like she’s made to fit there, I know.

Whatever comes next—we’ve already started building it.

And I know I’ve never wanted anything more than this.