“Explain this to me again.”
Noah walked out of the bathroom, his fingers pinching his brow and water droplets running down his bare chest. It was enough to make me forget most of this conversation. Thank god for the towel around his waist.
Actually, no, that towel wasn’t doing me any favors. Not with that barely-contained bulge staring me down.
“Shay.” I blinked up—and away from Noah’s towel—in time to watch him yank the damn thing clear off as he strolled into his closet. “What’s the deal with the school event?”
I cleared my throat. I could get away with that because I was just barely over the cold-and-flumaggedon that’d lingered for six solid weeks with incessant, barking coughs and the kind of sinus congestion that made it hard to swallow large gulps of water without suffocating myself. Some people might’ve been able to power through that junk, but I was not one of them. Not only had I been too tired for any kind of play in the bedroom, but there’d been no getting around the ick of it all. Not for me. I’d just felt so gross for so long that playtime simply hadn’t crossed my mind.
Noah, of course, had been a champ through it all. He was the only one in the house who hadn’t picked up this bug—classic Noah—and he’d managed me and Gennie through the worst of it. She’d bounced back within a week the way kids always did, but this was one of those years when I grabbed every single virus my students brought to school, and January had damn near sucked the soul out of me.
But I was on the mend now and it seemed like the rest of my body was coming back online too.
Finally.
A palm came down on my forehead, then my cheeks. “You feel fine,” Noah murmured. “What’s going on here? Is your head stuffed up again?”
“No.” I shook my head, but that didn’t dislodge his hand. The metal of his ring was cool against my face. “No. Just thinking. About the Valentine’s family tea.”
He tipped my chin up, his eyes crinkling as he studied me. It was obvious that excuse wasn’t going to fly. “No, you’re not.”
“Okay. Yeah. You caught me. I was checking you out. Honestly, it’s your own fault. Walking around here wet and ripping towels off like that. This isn’t the locker room set of Top Gun, you know.”
“What…does that even mean?”
“Nothing. It’s fine. I’m fine. Back to the tea.”
“Wait a damn second, wife.”
He brought his hands to his hips. He’d pulled on a pair of boxer briefs. The navy blue ones I’d picked up before the holidays. It was a great color on him and they fit like a dream.
A filthy dream.
Noah pushed my legs apart and stepped between them, his palm on my shoulder and his fingers stroking the back of my neck. “I need you to explain to me whether you’re feeling much better or you’re back to delirious fevers because you’ve got me worried.”
“Not a fever.” I dropped my head to his chest and looped my arms around his waist. I hadn’t done this in so long. His back was still damp in spots. “No need to worry.”
Aside from trying to keep the germs contained, I hadn’t wanted to be touched for the past few weeks. Everything hurt from all the coughing, I was sleeping with eighty-seven pillows, an industrial humidifier, and several layers of corrective nasal strips, and I was exhausted all the way to my bones. Add to that a truly hellacious cycle that long outstayed its welcome and all I’d wanted was to be miserable and alone.
“Then…you’re…” He pressed a thumb into the base of my neck, rubbing at a tight muscle there. “You’re all right?”
I took a minute to breathe through my nose. No rattling, no stopped-up sewer sounds. “Yeah, I think I am.” I traced the band of those navy blue boxers. Feeling bold, I skimmed a finger down the length of him. “Is that okay?”
For a moment, the only sound was the rustle of our breathing. And then, before I understood what was happening, I was flat on my back, my at-home leggings stripped right off, and a rough, possessive hand between my thighs. I never wore undies with the at-home leggings. No point. “Get that sweatshirt off,” he growled. “I want to watch those pretty tits bouncing while I fuck you.”
He was inside me before I could get an arm out of the sweatshirt. I was lost inside the fabric when he pressed a hand low on my belly. His fingers traced my seam, parting me in a way that I knew was gratuitous even without seeing it. I could feel myself spread wide and exposed. I could feel him staring at me.
“Don’t make me ask you twice,” he growled, his thumb passing over my clit like he didn’t care whether it did anything for me. “I want you naked. Now.”
He went on stroking my clit without the pressure or precision I needed while I fought my way out of the sweatshirt. No bra. Again, no point. I flung it off, saying, “Happy now?”
Immediately, my nipple was in his mouth and I didn’t know how it was possible, but every nerve in my body was in that nipple. Right there, all in one spot, but also inside me where my muscles clasped around his shaft and my clit too with my flesh held open and his pelvis rasping over me and everywhere, all at once.
“This is gonna be quick,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Yes,” I groaned. It was a wonder I hadn’t come yet. I was there, wobbling on the tightrope, just waiting to fall.
“Do you know how much I’ve missed you?” he asked, each word punctuated with a thrust, a lick, a stroke so perfect that I couldn’t believe my body hadn’t given up the fight yet. “Now, be a good girl for me and pinch those nipples while I take care of this pussy.”
I did as I was told. It didn’t occur to me to do anything else.
“You—ahhh, fuck, Shay.” He dug his fingers into my hip, his mouth on my neck and his groan vibrating through my muscles as I nodded. I nodded because I knew what he meant, what he wanted, what we needed. And I knew all I had to do was wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold him tight. “Fuck. You just—fuuuck.”
And then I fell off that tight rope. Just falling and falling and falling until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.
“I felt that.” He said this like it was a real problem for him and if I’d had the presence of mind, I would’ve laughed. “Give me a little more, sweetheart. Come on. You know you can.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I clenched around him as he stroked my clit. There was no chance I could come again, not right this instant, but it was enough to keep the good times rolling. And for Noah, that little more was everything he needed. If the nonsensical string of profanity and the fingertip bruises I’d have on my hips tomorrow could be trusted, of course.
“Wife,” he panted, his head bowed between my breasts. “My god.”
I rubbed his back while he recovered, his fingers still busy teasing me. I liked that he never stopped, was never finished with me. Even when we were finished.
After a quick dash to the bathroom, I climbed into bed—under the blankets and sheets this time—and circled up beside Noah.
“I don’t mean to imply anything about what just happened here,” he said, a hand covering the thick of my thigh, “but it’s damn good to have you back, wife. All of you.“
I snuggled deeper into him. “It’s good to be back. I’m sorry it was so long and messy, and—”
“No apologies,” he said. “You were sick. It happens. I only wish I could’ve done more for you.”
More than pumping me full of hot tea, homemade soup, and cold medicine around the clock for weeks? More than hand-delivering green smoothies to my classroom when I was convinced all I needed to kick this junk was the right combo of fruits and veggies? More than putting up with my middle-of-the-night coughing fits and chainsaw snoring? More than keeping a straight face while I threw back shot glasses of honey because ‘Everyone says this is the best remedy for coughs’? More than insisting I stay in our bedroom regardless of whether he picked up my cold because he wanted to be close by in case I needed him?
No, there was nothing more he could’ve done for me. Just like always.
“You did everything.” I waved a hand at our tangled limbs. “Including this, which was quite spectacular.”
“Trust me, you were the spectacular one.”
Laughing, I said, “I think we’re even.”
“All right now.” A deep, guttural sigh rumbled through him. “What’s the deal with this tea party?”
I blinked up at him. As if this was the moment to discuss school activities. As if this was the moment for anything more than drifting off to sleep. “It’s a thing. Tea. With families. For Valentine’s Day. Instead of traditional father-daughter or mother-son events. We know how much those things suck for some kids,” I managed. “On the drive home, Gennie said the whole concept was ‘some real pink bullshit’ and she thinks Valentine’s Day is pointless and she doesn’t want anyone there because it will be ‘super fucking embarrassing.’ But I’m pretty sure she wants you to come.”
“Then I’ll come,” Noah said simply. “How much would she hate it if I wore a pink shirt?”
“So much,” I said. “And she’d love it.”
“If I brought some flowers for her? Would that be super fucking embarrassing too?”
“Probably, but only if they could pass for pirate flowers. Weird, unusual, not exactly pretty. And dark purple or deep, deep red. She’d have to work so hard being unimpressed.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Thank you,” he said, “for doing this with me. Not just this”—he slapped my thigh—“but everything else too. We make a good team, wife.”
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