Page 16

FIFTEEN

Olivia

Something has changed between me and Noah. That afternoon he’s softer, quieter.

We find a sunny spot to dry off before collecting our clothes and dressing. I still can’t believe I dared to go skinny dipping in the middle of the day. And do…other things in public!

I’m sliding my leg over the back of his bike when he twists to look back at me. “You want to come back to mine for a while?”

I try to cover up the moment where my voice refuses to work and simply stare and make choked noises low in my throat with a cough.

“Oh, well if you’re not busy. I wouldn’t say no to another Noah Wilson meal.

” I waggle my brows suggestively at him, hoping he’ll assume I’m in it for the food, rather than because I might be quickly growing addicted to his company.

Once he’s checked that I have my helmet on securely, he takes off. This time I enjoy the trip a whole lot more. I lean with him into the turns. I cling tight around his waist and breathe in the salty manly scent of him. I’m not sure I’ve ever noticed a man’s scent the way I notice Noah’s.

He pulls up at the block of units and leads me to his, opening the door and stepping aside for me to enter. It’s just as neat as the last time I was here, the kitchen is spotlessly clean and even his shoes are lined up on a shoe rack by the door.

I slide mine off and add them to the rack, smiling quietly to myself at how much smaller they look next to his.

“Want a shower?”

Oh, is that what this is? Am I about to be sent to shower and taken home? Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. I mean that is kinda what I signed up for, but I hoped…

Noah pulls his shirt over his head. “Olivia, I said are you coming?”

I nearly trip trying to take off my shorts at the same time as following him to the shower.

Noah turns on the water and strips completely, and it doesn't matter that we were just swimming naked together, I still can't drag my eyes away.

When he steps into the shower and transforms, the sight of his skin changing to the vibrant green blue of his kraken form is mesmerizing.

His butt is taut and rounded and I spend a long time gazing at that too before I realize I'm growing cold.

“Are you just going to stand there and perv on my ass, Zeston, or are you getting in?”

Cheeks hot, I hurry into the shower only to discover it's so small there's no way to be here with Noah without at least some part of our bodies touching and as long as that's happening, it's like half my brain is switched off.

Noah laughs at me when he hands me the soap and I just stand there looking at him.

Then he takes it back and lathers his hands and starts rubbing them over my body until the other half of my brain switches off too.

His hands feel so good. They slide over my breasts, grazing over tight, sensitive nipples, making me sigh and lean back against him.

They glide down my belly and over my hips, and when he finally slides them between my legs, I squirm at the feeling of being washed somewhere so intimate, but I'm too invested in feeling his touch there to stop him.

It's not a sexual touch. Rather, it's sensual, pleasure giving without demand for more, slow and firm and unhurried.

Tentacles wind around my legs and ankles. Then my waist and arms.

When his fingers push into my hair, I almost melt onto the tiles. It feels so good to have him gently massaging my head, washing shampoo through my salty, messy tangles. He's gentle too, despite what a matted mess my hair must be after the water and the helmet.

I'm stunned when he's finished rinsing the shampoo out and he lathers his hands with conditioner and begins again.

I don't think Justin knew what conditioner was and he would never have thought to wash my hair for me, let alone use conditioner on it.

I'll probably still end up with a frizzy mess since I don't have any of my normal curl products with me, but this feels too nice to care.

“I like your hair.”

I'm tempted to tip my head to the side to check if there's water stuck in my ear. Did I hear that right? “You do?”

“Mmm. I always loved long hair on a woman and yours is so thick and fluffy.”

I can't help the snort laugh that bursts from me and I cover my face with my hands. “Fluffy! No girl wants fluffy hair!”

“Why not? I think it's nice. It suits you.”

I just shake my head. I guess even monsters are just men sometimes. I'm smiling though, as he teases gentle fingers through it. “Add more conditioner or it really will be fluffy.”

He does as I ask, working through another large dollop of conditioner.

When we get out, I find that Noah has hair gel and I use some to scrunch through my hair and hope for the best. I dress again while he wraps his towel around his waist and goes to the kitchen.

While I'm squeezing as much moisture as I can from my hair with my t-shirt, the delicious smell of frying onions and garlic draws me to join him.

I'm only wearing my bra and my denim shorts since I used my shirt to dry my hair, and now it’s damp and cold.

I watch Noah cook. He moves with the same fluid grace in his human form as he did in the kitchen of The Snapper in his kraken form. It's a pleasure to watch. I could dedicate a whole video just to that.

Today he's frying minute steaks. He sets them aside while he fixes a relish with beetroot and sour cream and then plates it all up with fried onion, cabbage, and toasted sourdough.

It's too early to really be dinner and we technically already ate lunch, but I don’t care.

I am licking my fingers after finishing the last bite when he takes my plate and puts it with his in the sink.

“I guess I wouldn't mind if you stay a little longer.” He leans casually on the counter, but for some reason, the look on his face is anything but casual.

His gaze slides away and he turns his back to wash the dishes.

“Well I guess I could put up with you a little longer,” I tell him laughingly. “The food is good at least.”

That earns me a quiet laugh. Noah finishes the washing up and wipes down the benches and stove swiftly like a reflex action.

“Ok, but it's my place so I'm choosing what we watch.”

We end up watching a documentary about crazy conspiracy theories and Doomsday preppers, something I never would have pegged Noah being interested in.

We sit side by side, not touching, but about halfway through he pulls my feet, which are tucked on the sofa, into his lap and turns to look at me. “Your feet are like blocks of ice, Zeston! Are you trying to single handedly combat global warming?”

I have gotten a bit cold since I'm sitting here with wet hair and no top on. Noah gets up and gets a blanket from the bedroom, wraps me like a burrito, and pulls me against his side into a half cuddle with his arm around me. “Better?”

“A little.” It feels amazing, but I'll never admit that. He'll probably stop.

I cheat my way into two episodes of cuddles, and by the time the credits are rolling for a second time, I'm feeling pretty smug.

I'm also feeling like it's getting harder and harder not to get feelings for this grumpy sea monster.

He's trying so hard to be a fuck boy, but I'm starting to see there's more beneath the surface than he'd like to admit.

I'm still curious about exactly what happened back at Tuross. Whatever it was, he got really intense there for a minute and seems almost shaken since. I keep getting glimpses of this deeper side to him. Like a puppy that’s been left alone too long and won’t allow himself to get excited when he sees someone coming. Only his wagging tail gives him away.

“Hey, Noah?”

“Hm?”

I’m just going to come right out and say it. “What happened today?”

He stiffens, his body going tense next to me. But then he sighs. “I dunno really.” I think he’s not going to say any more, but to my surprise, he continues. “I saw someone I know. Two people. From my past…”

“Your ex?”

He makes a grunt of assent. I twist, lifting my legs over his lap to look at him properly, but he won’t meet my eyes. “Hey.” His eyes flick to mine, only to dart away again when I ask, “Is a hug against the rules?”

His mouth opens and closes, then he shakes his head.

I climb into his lap, wrap my arms and legs around him, and just hold him for a while. I don’t know if this is doing anything for him, but it makes me feel better, and after all, he told me to ask for what I want.

After a little longer, Noah’s arms close around me and we sit like that for a long time.

He lets out another deep sigh into my neck, and it might be my imagination, but a hint of moisture makes me wonder if he is crying. I’m too scared to look and ruin the moment.

Eventually he coughs. “I guess I should drive you home.”

I release him, standing and self-consciously running a hand through my hair to loosen my now-dry curls. “Thanks.”

I’m searching for my shirt when Noah surprises me again by holding out a folded black garment. I stare.

“Take this one. I don’t like it very much anyway.”

I accept his shirt, unfolding it and slipping it over my head. It doesn’t matter what he said, it makes me smile when his familiar scent surrounds me, and when he’s not looking, I lift the collar to my nose to breathe it in.

He’s quiet on the way home and all I get by way of a goodbye is a brisk, “See you.”

But when I’m tucked up in bed still wearing his shirt, just about to switch off the light on the nightstand, a message pops up on my phone.

Noah: thanks for today. I’m sorry I’m such a shit

I hold the phone to my chest for a long moment, running his words over in my head. Why does his gruff apology feel so much more meaningful than a whole sonnet from another guy would?