Page 18 of Spicy or Sweet (Wintermore #2)

SHAY

Noelle takes a step back, like she’s trying to take in the full picture of me. She’s still close enough to touch me, though, and she reaches out, running her finger over the tattoo that covers my ribs.

“This is pretty,” she says, tracing the edges of the little mouse holding a bunch of forget-me-nots. “For Georgie?”

It’s such a small thing. “Georgie,” not “your sister.” Her identity is so often stripped away, even years after her death, and it feels nice to have Noelle acknowledge her.

“Yeah. Our dad called us his three little mice growing up, and these were her favorite flowers. Nico has the same tattoo on his arm.”

Noelle leans in and presses her lips against the flowers. “It’s a beautiful way to honor her.”

Most people get awkward and dance around the subject of my dead sister, but Noelle moves on seamlessly, dragging her lips over my skin, kissing every freckle, every stretch mark. She unbuttons my jeans, pushing the band down, and kisses the indents left behind.

It’s soft and tender—relaxing. Every brush across my skin leaves behind warmth, like a sunbeam shining on me.

I’m so focused on the trajectory of her mouth that I don’t notice her wiggling my jeans down my hips, my body lifting automatically to help her, until I feel the cool granite against my bare thighs.

I hiss, and Noelle looks up at me with a wicked smile.

Up at me because, without me noticing, she kneeled between my legs.

I wouldn’t be tall enough to reach in her position, but she certainly is.

She slowly takes off my boots, then pulls my jeans off, my socks.

She makes her way up my legs, one kiss after another, alternating left and right.

When she reaches my thighs, she runs her nose along the inside of my right thigh with a sigh. She presses a kiss to the top, her fingers digging into my skin, like she’s branding me mine.

She says something, but my mind is hazy and her words are muffled because her mouth is pressed against my thigh.

“Huh?”

“Can I take these off? Please,” she begs, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of my basic black underwear. I should’ve chosen something sexier this morning; they don’t even match my pale pink lacy bra. But how could I have known that this is how the day would go?

I nod, but Noelle shakes her head.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Jesus. Her voice is low and goes straight to my head, curling around me like smoke.

“Please take them off. Do whatever you want to me. I just need you to touch me.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. Have I ever sounded so desperate? I’m not sure I’ve ever been so desperate.

Whatever I sound like, I can tell Noelle likes it by the way her fingers twitch against me.

It’s been a long time since anyone has seen me bare, and I might feel self-conscious if she weren’t looking at me like a wonder of the world as she pulls my underwear down. Noelle’s eyes widen as she gets her eyes on me, her lips parting.

“I can’t believe I wasted so much time not liking you, when I could’ve had your beautiful pussy all over my face,” she says, shaking her head.

I don’t have time to process the words—she leans in and runs her tongue over my clit. It’s not a slow build of pleasure; it’s an explosion. Fireworks burst inside me in quick succession, and I fist my hand in Noelle’s hair as she lavishes me with her tongue.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I cry, wrapping my legs around her head.

I’m trapping her, but too lost in the sensation of it all to do anything about it.

And Noelle doesn’t seem to mind. She alternates flicking her tongue, pressing it hard against me, then closing her lips around my clit and sucking.

She moves from soft and gentle to desperate and messy and back again, over and over, until I’m practically fucking her face because I can’t stop myself from moving.

She sits back on her knees, pressing her thumb to my clit in place of her tongue. The change in sensation has me slamming my hand down on the island, trying to stay upright, because I don’t want to miss a second of this.

“Do I get to touch you now?” I ask as she catches her breath.

Noelle’s answer is a breathy laugh. “I’m nowhere near done with you, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. That’s the second time she’s called me that.

I’ve never been one for pet names. As a kid, I dreamed of having a nickname—I was the only one of my siblings without a name that could be shortened.

Nicolas has always been Nico, and Georgina was always Georgie.

But I was just Shay. I’ve liked my name from some tongues more than others, and it’s pretty when Noelle says it, but I might like “sweetheart” even more.

“Here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to make you come, and we’re both going to enjoy it. Then I’m going to take you upstairs, we’ll order dinner, eat, then you can touch me, I’m going to make you come again, and we’re both going to enjoy it. Sound good?”

So good. “Mhmm. But I need to feed my cat before we go upstairs.”

Noelle frowns. “You have a cat?”

“Not really. Kind of. It’s complicated.”

She looks no less confused, but shrugs. “Alright. Let’s just go to your place.”

“That works.”

“Great. Can I make you come now?”

Jesus. My breath catches in my throat. “Have at it.”

Noelle’s eyes light up.

She teases my entrance with a finger. “This okay?”

“Yeah.”

Slowly, she slides one finger inside me, and my head falls back.

She curls her finger, massaging gently, while her thumb puts pressure on my clit.

It’s been so long since I had any part of someone else inside me, and longer since it felt this good.

I rock my hips to the motion of her finger, gasping when she pulls out and pushes two inside.

“Fuck, baby,” I cry when she presses them against my G-spot, and she goes still for a moment.

Shit. I didn’t mean to call her baby. I open my mouth to apologize, but stop when my gaze follows me. Her jaw is slack, her eyes practically black, and I only have a second to clock the lust in her expression before she’s on me.

Gone is the gentle Noelle of thirty seconds ago; she catches my clit between her lips and sucks hard while rolling her fingers roughly inside me. My whole body feels like it’s on fire, engulfed in flames, with ginger-scented smoke choking the air from my lungs.

Without thinking, I knot my hands in Noelle’s lilac hair, and though I try not to pull, I fail miserably when she moans against me.

I swear I can feel the sound in the marrow of my bones, like a zap of electricity tipping my world off its axis and sending me tumbling into beautiful oblivion that’s somehow everything and nothing at all.

I fall off the cliff’s edge, my mouth open in a silent scream as the orgasm ripples through me, wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure.

And Noelle eats it up. Literally. If anything, my orgasm pushes her to devour me even more intensely, her tongue lavishing me like she’s scared to miss a spot.

I can’t hear her over the blood pounding in my ears, but I can feel the vibrations as she groans against me.

Hours pass—or that’s what it feels like anyway. It’s only one orgasm, but Noelle drags it out beyond any I’ve ever had before, until my bones feel like jelly.

She pulls back, and it takes a second for my hazy vision to focus.

Her face is glistening. “That was quite the appetizer,” Noelle says, licking her lips.

I almost come again at the sight. I’m fucking spent, but desperate to get her in my bed—desperate to get my hands on her.

“My apartment.” It’s a struggle to get the words out because I still haven’t caught my breath, but if the grin that lights Noelle’s face is anything to go by, she likes seeing what she’s done to me.

“Your place,” she agrees.

She helps me down, frowning as she hands me my clothes. I’ve never regretted my choice of pants as much as I do trying to wriggle into jeans when I’m so fucked.

Noelle tuts. “What a waste, considering I’m taking those off you again the second we get in the door.”

“What about the takeout?”

“They can leave it at the door,” Noelle says, grabbing her bag. “Do you have everything?”

Almost certainly not, I think, as I look around the kitchen. I feel like my head is full of cotton balls.

“I have no idea,” I admit. “I think you fried my brain.”

Noelle laughs, the sound soft and twinkly like jingle bells. Fitting.

“Keys?” she prompts.

I pat my jeans pocket and nod.

“Purse?”

I pick it up from where I unceremoniously dumped it on the floor this morning.

“Phone?”

I grab it from the counter, both relieved and a little disappointed that I wasn’t filming B-roll. I wouldn’t mind having that to watch back in slow motion. I say as much as Noelle leads me out of the kitchen, locking the door behind us.

“Do you always watch porn in slow-mo?” she questions, drawing a laugh that takes more energy than I realize I have from me.

“Can you do that?”

She shrugs. “Probably. Sometimes I watch at double speed when I’m in a rush.”

I follow her across the street, gaping at her back. “Are you serious? Tell me you’re messing with me.”

“I’m a busy girl!”

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.

We climb the stairs to my apartment, and Cat appears, as always, like he’s just been waiting for me.

He has access to my apartment when I’m gone—I always leave a small window open, and he can access it via the patio—and I know he hangs out on my couch and my bed based on the indents he leaves.

Sometimes, I think he greets me at the door just to make me feel guilty for leaving him all day.

Not that he seems all that excited to see me this evening. He stops short, chirping at the sight of Noelle, and promptly flops over on her feet.

“Oh my god!” she squeals, practically tossing her bag aside in favor of picking him up. “Look at you, sweet baby. What’s your name?”

I pick up her bag and shoulder it as I unlock the apartment door. “I don’t know his name, so I just call him Cat,” I explain, and she removes her face from Cat’s belly—where she appears to be blowing raspberries—to stare at me with a horrified expression.

“And that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. What the hell, Shay? Name your cat!”

“He’s not actually my cat. He just showed up and moved in one day.”

I pour his food into his bowl, and he meows until Noelle lets him down. You’d think he’d never been fed.

“You just described owning a cat,” Noelle says, smiling fondly at Cat. “Sounds like he chose you to be his mom.”

Maybe she’s right. Not just about naming him—he deserves something a little more permanent. And maybe I could stop referring to him as “not actually my cat.” If he wants to be my cat, I could be his human, I suppose.

“Moving on from Cat,” I say, leaning against the kitchen counter and taking in Noelle in my space.

I realize, with a jolt, that she’s the first person I’ve had in here since I’ve moved in.

And she… Fuck, she fits well. I swallow.

“So, what was it you said about ordering food and me getting to touch you?”