Breaking the Rules
Page 22
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Noah’s lips slowly form into that wicked grin I’m way too familiar with. Oh, crap. Just crap. “I’m cold, Echo, and so are you. A hot shower sounds nice, doesn’t it?”
I nod, too frightened I’ll squeak instead of speak. Noah and I have messed around, a lot. We’ve kissed and touched and shed clothes in moments where things became as hot as an inferno, but there’s always been a discreet air surrounding us.
Certain things stayed on when other things came off. Hands would wander below instead of a complete unveiling. And the times that we pushed beyond our normal boundaries and our blood rushed too hot for too long...there would be a blanket and one night, his black leather jacket.
After that delicious night, I will never smell leather again without blushing.
But now, this, standing in the middle of a hotel bathroom, Noah is suggesting that we strip ourselves of everything and huddle together behind a shower curtain and...well...bathe. That’s just...intimate.
“I...”
And Noah unzips his jeans. I spin on my heel, and my reflection in the mirror confirms the shock exploding in my body. My green eyes are too bright against my pale skin, and my drenched hair molds to my head and cheeks. Goose pimples outline my skin, and my body quakes.
Because they’re wet, Noah’s jeans are a bit stubborn sliding down, but he’s successful, and in the mirror I’m drawn to his naked body. I love the raw power of his shoulder blades and the curve of his back that trails lower to his...my mouth dries out...oh, crap...his butt is...how do I describe something so exquisite?
Everything about Noah is sexy, and as he bends to pull the jeans off his foot—
“If you get in the shower with me, Echo, you’d get a better look and you’d warm up.”
“I should get...my pj’s...so that they’re in here...when we...finish.” Or something.
“Finish?” he repeats with a tease. “I’m all about finishing.”
Internally screaming, I half turn and throw myself into what I believe is the doorway and instead ram into the corner of the wall. “Ow!”
My hands fly up to my bang line to cover the now possibly dented and crushed area of my skull. I am the most impaired person on the face of the planet.
“Echo?” Noah’s concern leaks into his voice, but I wave him off—without peeking.
“Go. I’m fine. I’m just...go.”
Instead, a warm hand settles on my shoulder, and my fingers slip down to hide my entire face. At least my cheeks are now hot. “You’re naked, Noah.”
“Yeah. I am. Nothing you haven’t seen before—now let me see how bad it is.”
“I’m fine.”
“You cracked your head, and I want to look.”
“I haven’t.”
“Haven’t what?”
“Seen you.” The words are muffled through my fingers. “Down there. All the way. I’ve...avoided it.”
Water continues to pour into the tub, and I distantly wonder if the drain is open, otherwise we’ll flood the room. Noah brushes his thumb against my neck. “But you’ve—”
“I know,” I cut him off. I’ve touched him, but no need to get all conversational about it.
“And you haven’t—”
“No.” I really, really don’t want to discuss this or hear him say out loud what I’ve done or haven’t done because it’s like pointing out that I overplucked one eyebrow or that my bangs are uneven or, I don’t know, it’s embarrassing!
“Have you ever seen a guy’s—”
Oh. My. God. “Yes.”
“You have?”
Crap and I wish I would melt into a puddle on the floor. “No.”
Noah’s hands ease down my arms, then he folds me into him. His front heating my back. He dips his head to my ear and whispers. “Lower your hands.”
“Nuh-uh.” My mind chants, can’t make me, followed by, la, la, la.
“Baby, I’ve got no problem turning you around, propping you up on the sink and kissing you until you look at me.”
And he wins. I drop my hands and catch his eyes in the mirror.
“It’s okay,” he says.
“I’m...” What am I? Damaged? Idiotic? Twelve and playing spin the bottle? “I wish I wasn’t like this.”
“I like how you are just fine.” He kisses the side of my neck, and my knees literally go weak with the warmth of his lips against my cold skin. “You take a shower. I’ll lay my clothes out to dry then take one after.”
He releases me, and I snag his hand. “No. Wait. I want to do this.”
“Echo—”
“No!” I spin and come close to stomping my foot. I crave this, and I’m done with him excusing my stupid fears because that’s all they are—stupid.
I methodically stare straight into Noah’s eyes because I’ll probably go into anaphylactic shock or seize if I outright gawk lower. The normally smooth patch of skin between Noah’s eyebrows wrinkles as he checks out the pounding spot on my forehead. I tremble when his fingers lightly trace the area, but this time, it’s not because I’m cold.
“Well?” I ask to fill the silence because the running water creates this weird vacuum effect. “Am I dying?” The answer is yes. I’m dying of embarrassment.
Noah cups my face with both hands, kisses my wound, and something inside me gives. A thawing of frozen muscles. His lips skim lower—a kiss to the end of my nose—then he tips my face up, and he gently presses his mouth to mine.
It’s a slow kiss. One that causes my heart to stop, and when it starts again, it doesn’t resume at a normal pace. It’s the type that washes away my fears and where I automatically tilt my head in a silent plea for more.
His tongue slides against my lips, and I part them. Every inch of me springs to life. Each caress of his hand on my back, along the sides of my waist, near my thighs, stokes a fire that, over the past two months, has been rising in intensity.
Noah rests both of his hands below my butt, and before I can move closer to him, he lifts me and props me onto the sink. I suck in a breath and pop open my eyes. Noah smiles at me in a way that makes me fall in love with him all over again.
“You said you’d only do that if I didn’t lower my hands and look at you,” I tease.
“What can I say? After I spoke the words, it was a done deal. I’m all about making my fantasies realities with you, Echo.”
Noah’s lips slowly form into that wicked grin I’m way too familiar with. Oh, crap. Just crap. “I’m cold, Echo, and so are you. A hot shower sounds nice, doesn’t it?”
I nod, too frightened I’ll squeak instead of speak. Noah and I have messed around, a lot. We’ve kissed and touched and shed clothes in moments where things became as hot as an inferno, but there’s always been a discreet air surrounding us.
Certain things stayed on when other things came off. Hands would wander below instead of a complete unveiling. And the times that we pushed beyond our normal boundaries and our blood rushed too hot for too long...there would be a blanket and one night, his black leather jacket.
After that delicious night, I will never smell leather again without blushing.
But now, this, standing in the middle of a hotel bathroom, Noah is suggesting that we strip ourselves of everything and huddle together behind a shower curtain and...well...bathe. That’s just...intimate.
“I...”
And Noah unzips his jeans. I spin on my heel, and my reflection in the mirror confirms the shock exploding in my body. My green eyes are too bright against my pale skin, and my drenched hair molds to my head and cheeks. Goose pimples outline my skin, and my body quakes.
Because they’re wet, Noah’s jeans are a bit stubborn sliding down, but he’s successful, and in the mirror I’m drawn to his naked body. I love the raw power of his shoulder blades and the curve of his back that trails lower to his...my mouth dries out...oh, crap...his butt is...how do I describe something so exquisite?
Everything about Noah is sexy, and as he bends to pull the jeans off his foot—
“If you get in the shower with me, Echo, you’d get a better look and you’d warm up.”
“I should get...my pj’s...so that they’re in here...when we...finish.” Or something.
“Finish?” he repeats with a tease. “I’m all about finishing.”
Internally screaming, I half turn and throw myself into what I believe is the doorway and instead ram into the corner of the wall. “Ow!”
My hands fly up to my bang line to cover the now possibly dented and crushed area of my skull. I am the most impaired person on the face of the planet.
“Echo?” Noah’s concern leaks into his voice, but I wave him off—without peeking.
“Go. I’m fine. I’m just...go.”
Instead, a warm hand settles on my shoulder, and my fingers slip down to hide my entire face. At least my cheeks are now hot. “You’re naked, Noah.”
“Yeah. I am. Nothing you haven’t seen before—now let me see how bad it is.”
“I’m fine.”
“You cracked your head, and I want to look.”
“I haven’t.”
“Haven’t what?”
“Seen you.” The words are muffled through my fingers. “Down there. All the way. I’ve...avoided it.”
Water continues to pour into the tub, and I distantly wonder if the drain is open, otherwise we’ll flood the room. Noah brushes his thumb against my neck. “But you’ve—”
“I know,” I cut him off. I’ve touched him, but no need to get all conversational about it.
“And you haven’t—”
“No.” I really, really don’t want to discuss this or hear him say out loud what I’ve done or haven’t done because it’s like pointing out that I overplucked one eyebrow or that my bangs are uneven or, I don’t know, it’s embarrassing!
“Have you ever seen a guy’s—”
Oh. My. God. “Yes.”
“You have?”
Crap and I wish I would melt into a puddle on the floor. “No.”
Noah’s hands ease down my arms, then he folds me into him. His front heating my back. He dips his head to my ear and whispers. “Lower your hands.”
“Nuh-uh.” My mind chants, can’t make me, followed by, la, la, la.
“Baby, I’ve got no problem turning you around, propping you up on the sink and kissing you until you look at me.”
And he wins. I drop my hands and catch his eyes in the mirror.
“It’s okay,” he says.
“I’m...” What am I? Damaged? Idiotic? Twelve and playing spin the bottle? “I wish I wasn’t like this.”
“I like how you are just fine.” He kisses the side of my neck, and my knees literally go weak with the warmth of his lips against my cold skin. “You take a shower. I’ll lay my clothes out to dry then take one after.”
He releases me, and I snag his hand. “No. Wait. I want to do this.”
“Echo—”
“No!” I spin and come close to stomping my foot. I crave this, and I’m done with him excusing my stupid fears because that’s all they are—stupid.
I methodically stare straight into Noah’s eyes because I’ll probably go into anaphylactic shock or seize if I outright gawk lower. The normally smooth patch of skin between Noah’s eyebrows wrinkles as he checks out the pounding spot on my forehead. I tremble when his fingers lightly trace the area, but this time, it’s not because I’m cold.
“Well?” I ask to fill the silence because the running water creates this weird vacuum effect. “Am I dying?” The answer is yes. I’m dying of embarrassment.
Noah cups my face with both hands, kisses my wound, and something inside me gives. A thawing of frozen muscles. His lips skim lower—a kiss to the end of my nose—then he tips my face up, and he gently presses his mouth to mine.
It’s a slow kiss. One that causes my heart to stop, and when it starts again, it doesn’t resume at a normal pace. It’s the type that washes away my fears and where I automatically tilt my head in a silent plea for more.
His tongue slides against my lips, and I part them. Every inch of me springs to life. Each caress of his hand on my back, along the sides of my waist, near my thighs, stokes a fire that, over the past two months, has been rising in intensity.
Noah rests both of his hands below my butt, and before I can move closer to him, he lifts me and props me onto the sink. I suck in a breath and pop open my eyes. Noah smiles at me in a way that makes me fall in love with him all over again.
“You said you’d only do that if I didn’t lower my hands and look at you,” I tease.
“What can I say? After I spoke the words, it was a done deal. I’m all about making my fantasies realities with you, Echo.”
