It Was Always Love (Taboo Love Book 2)

by V. Theia

  I thought it was the best extreme shit ever.

  Maybe it’s the sugar talking.

  I’m at present mid-pint of ice cream, but I’m onto something here.

  Can Noah love me? Ask again later. Is Tom a giant bag of dicks? All signs point to yes. Am I going to be the best mom in the world? My sources say no.

  Cruel Magic 8. It giveth and it taketh.

  I loved the Hamptons. Already I was sixty percent more relaxed. With a half-baked plan when I’m old I’d retire here to bask in the beach life off and on season, but maybe not in a mansion as I am now, because I’m never likely to be a millionaire. I’d need to sell a lung and become a surrogate for a wealthy celeb couple before I can afford a rental cottage.

  It’s the off season and everywhere looked like a ghost town when I arrived earlier. But in the summer, that one golden month of everyone leaving the city it’s wall to wall parties of the rich.

  My first time here was three years ago with Noah, naturally.

  It appeared all my memories started and ended with Noah Fierro.

  I’d been among the six friends he’d brought that summer for seven amazing days. I lazed on the beach like a sloth and loved every moment of it.

  His house was nothing short of perfection.

  Usually his parents and sisters came in July for a big Independence Day bash. Since I typically tried to make it home to Beaufort, Carolina, for the major holidays I haven’t been to their party, but Noah always sent me pics and we’d facetime when they let off the fireworks.

  I was camped out in one of the three living rooms.

  Three. Who in the frick needed three living rooms?

  It’s so excessive I love it.

  As big as the house is, it’s comfortable and welcoming, even to burglars like me. It’s sprawling wood and glass and very modern looking over the Atlantic Ocean. The deck was gorgeous, maybe if it turned warmer tomorrow morning I’d eat breakfast out there and contemplate my life decisions as a southern drama queen did. It even had a walkway from the deck directly down to the sand. Now that’s some fancy extreme crap right there.

  The love of my miserable life knew his properties.

  Just as Noah’s penthouse, my favorite room was the kitchen (it’s where the food is kept. Naturally it’s my favorite) It’s spaciously open, warm and inviting and family friendly. With its long table and chairs and chrome units and high ceiling it’s picture perfect.

  A clutch of nostalgia tackled my belly casting my gaze down there. We came out here in the last days of Summer for one of his friend’s opening a new Irish pub and when we got back to the house we popped two big bags of popcorn on the stove and watched some cheesy horror movie. Turned out when you’re drunk you dip salted popcorn into peanut butter and strawberry jam and not give a fuck.

  The kitchen looked like a hectic murder scene the next morning.

  It’s while I’m mid episode and working on a series book cover for an author I’ve worked with before, the laptop perched on my legs and a cup of ginger tea at my right hand that I heard a clicking noise loud enough to warrant my slight curiosity. I thought nothing of it at first then there it went again, and it sounded like the front door this time.

  Only it’s nearing 10pm and I didn’t know a soul in the area.

  I foraged for the remote I was sitting on, hitting the mute button while my heart sped up, imagining all sorts of scenarios of home invasions and just how the cops would find my chopped corpse in the cellar.

  And that’s when I caught the door closing for sure this time, there’s no mistaking the echoed noise of the hallway.

  The fucking door closed!

  I didn’t even think about the expense of my MacBook when I tossed it aside, luckily the soft gray cushions take the brunt of the hit.

  If someone was in the house, I’m sure to be murdered. I’ve hardly got any muscle mass to speak of, I’m mostly gristle and ass fat and I could barely survive an hour long hot yoga class staring at the hot instructor so my chances of chasing off a home invader is slim to fucking I’m in big trouble.

  My arms were noodle limp, hardly weapons of mass destruction.

  With my heart pounding in my throat I frantically looked around for any kind of heavy item I could throw at the intruder, while my mind goes into panic mode.

  I hadn’t heard a car pull into the long driveway, but then I’d been in the zone with gradients and fonts on the fucking book cover.

  Would a burglar drive around here? Probably.

  The house was not in walking distance of anywhere, even the local deli was a few miles away and, oh my days, why am I thinking of the fucking deli when a murderer is in the house!

  I’ve seen my fair share of horror movies, I know how this scenario ended.

  My heart clanked deafeningly, and I held a table lamp still attached to the plug when I crept to the door and yanked it open with enough noise in hopes to have the element of surprise when I hurled the ceramic lamp and have time to run and—

  My belly plummeted with relief.

  It’s then in the preparation of lamp tossing I recognized the shapely black figure down the far end of the entryway dumping a bag on the floor.

  Each ounce of adrenaline oozed out through my toes.

  God.

  Noah.

  Jesus.

  It’s only Noah.

  And for a hot second, I’m so wildly delirious to know it’s him and not a mass murderer who would take my ear as a trophy.

  Knowing it’s not a crazed killer and only the love of my life does nothing to ease the way my system essentially went into shutdown mode. I am terrible in a crisis, as much as my fireman daddy tried to implant all the emergency tactics into me, he knew better than most that I needed someone to hold my hand and drag me out of the fire rather than be the one who is leading the charge.

  We all have our strengths and me in a life or death situation it’s more than likely I’m gonna die.

  It’s Noah. It’s Noah.

  Once my brain went through the switch from danger to safety I began breathing funny for a whole new reason.

  The cause of all my sleepless nights was larger than life and twice as big as I remembered. How was it possible?

  Leather boots squeaked on the tiled flooring as he advanced.

  We spotted each other at the same time, and he was probably wondering why I cradled his expensive lamp.

  Butterflies awakened in my already turbulent belly.

  Flutter. Flutter. Backstroke.

  I felt like I hadn’t laid eyes on him in a month of Sundays.

  I took him all in with one hefty streak of my gaze from top to toe.

  Was his hair longer? He never went a week without clipping it to the one inch he’s meticulous about grooming it to.

  It sure does look darker, but it could just be the lighting.

  He doesn’t look staggered to see me in his summer house. A house I’ve technically broken into, even though I technically have a spare key if we’re being precise.

  Not a hint of amazement on that attractive face, almost as if he anticipated I’d be here. But that can’t be. I didn’t tell anyone.

  He’s always been drop-dead-on-the-spot attractive in a way that riveted both sexes to his villainous aura but put him in leather and denim while he walked in that masculine way of his; power and sexual ooze, it swept oxygen from my lungs.

  Black brows pulled into pensive slashes above remarkably blue eyes the closer he got to me. If there was a man to have the perfect, most beautiful build for provoking maximum arousal it’s Noah.

  He’s lean and built all at the same time. Ropey arms with swimmer’s shoulders. Just looking at him you could guess correctly he worked out, that he’s a runner and a weight lifter. I’ve watched him do hundreds of chin lifts on one of those bar-thingies in his home gym and hardly broke a sweat doing it.

  He could do one handed push-ups like it’s no big deal.

  Simply perfect.

  And my body fizzled
and popped despite my trepidation for seeing him.

  It's too soon.

  I'm not ready.

  Oh god.

  I can’t look.

  But I looked at him, my eyes dragged towards wherever Noah was like two hazel colored traitors.

  And so, began my inner war.

  Just a few short weeks ago I would have beamed a grin at him and jumped into his arms. We’d been brand new to our intimate relationship where every glance and touch turned me to dust. So, I might have offered my mouth shyly in hopes he would kiss me.

  Glued to the floor. My belly flopped.

  My depraved gaze roamed wantonly from his defined face to the dark destressed jeans, white T-shirt and brown leather biker jacket as he advanced towards me, never stalling in his step, his eyes on me.

  I felt the touch deep inside.

  His cologne reached me first, he always smelled incredible.

  I experience the entire two weeks and two days of our absence in that one look.

  I’ve missed you so much.

  My system screamed at me to throw myself at him.

  To touch and soak him in.

  I remained rooted to the floor, my heart eating him up as he grew closer.

  “Sena.” Step. Just that. My name and shivers racked me. Step.

  How he managed to make walking sexy I didn’t know, but he does. I’m near panting by the time he reached me. Fingers clasped so tightly they began to hurt.

  The distance grew smaller, his strides and gait purposeful.

  Nothing gets in Noah’s way. Ever.

  The air sucked out of the room.

  Twenty feet.

  Fifteen.

  Ten.

  Five.

  And then three.

  My oestrogen levels skyrocketed, pregnancy hormones tingled on vibrate.

  Everything about him demanded attention.

  He had mine.

  He always had mine.

  Am I the dumbest woman alive? I don’t know. I feel too much all at once.

  He’s made me feel good and sadly he’s also made me feel terrible in equal measure and coward I am didn’t stop to confront it head on.

  I swallowed around emotions lodged in my throat.

  I wanted to remind him he couldn’t just waltz in and ambush me.

  Not when I’m not wearing a stitch of makeup, nor moisturiser and the T-shirt I have on has a distinct cherry yogurt stain on my right boob.

  He has no right to catch me by surprise when my guard was down.

  When I was just starting to relax and think clearly.

  And then I reconsider, technically this is his Hamptons home.

  I’m the trespasser.

  I’m breathless by the time he got to me, my body’s reaction was something I stopped controlling around him and when my clit pulsed I didn’t want to change my reaction at all.

  Whatever the situation, I’m never more alive than when I have Noah’s attention.

  The intoxicating sensations rushed through me, warm water over hot coals making steam of my hormones.

  I got good over the years, Pre-Sex, masking how my emotions were all for him, for good reason, but these last few weeks, not so much.

  I’m an open book as I stared at Noah and he saw my reactions to his presence.

  He saw and smiled. Smirked, really. Bastard. I didn’t believe for one second, he’s calm nor meant his warm smile, not when he looked like an angry dragon puffing out air.

  “Nice to see you too, kitten.” His head dropped low on his corded neck I see peeking out from his leather jacket, he kissed my forehead and then another, more intimate greeting on my lips. He lingered, and I longed to go up on my toes and open my mouth for a deeper taste. Unfortunately, he’d already backed up a step, only his dark stare remained on me.

  The sparks shooting down my legs and pooling in my mid-section were hard to ignore.

  No matter my level of anger, my body loved Noah.

  My heart fucking adores him.

  We react at the same time to his nearness.

  How polite is it to ask someone what they’re doing in their own house?

  “You can’t be here.” My voice trembled, forcing my chin to lift snootily.

  Noah replied what I expected. His brow arched like he can’t believe I said it.

  “It’s my house.” His voice rubbed over me.

  “H-how did you know I was here?”

  His stare struck right through me. Hard. “Security alerted me.”

  Damn. I hadn’t thought of that since an alarm hadn’t gone off.

  He is utterly…overwhelming.

  Unapproachable.

  Daunting.

  With an arrogance in its own zip-code.

  Oh, how I’ve missed him.

  He earned his reputation through no fault of his own other than that is who he is. And yet to me he’s simply Lion. The friend I watched college football with. The guy I picked on for being so grouchy in the mornings before his 72 espressos.

  Only, now I sensed his aura in hot and cold waves.

  It clawed out across the floor like a mist and curled around my throat, willing my feet to move towards him almost.

  The love for him was real. It’s real and it tasted like burnt oranges saturating my Sahara Desert dry tongue, it thumped inside my head making me dizzy.

  Why do I have to be the only idiot to fall for the unattainable?

  Why am I the one who is miserable?

  Without even knowing it, by not allowing me a second to talk, because the moment he’s towered over me my tongue knotted. The instant I smelled his woodsy, clean fragrance, his large hand palmed the back of my neck and he dragged me into his chest and in an orchestrated move his mouth dipped down at the same time and caught my gaped gasp the moment my mouth dropped open.

  I’m reminded how masculine and virile he is. And solid.

  His form loomed cocooning me in the scent of night he’d brought in with him. I fought back an enthusiastic whimper when his hand loosely fingered my nape.

  He’s so damn handsome it tortured my weak heart.

  Weak against my will to stay away from him.

  I don’t know who moved first, maybe we both closed that last inch.

  There’s no space to ask what the fuck he’s doing because Noah’s tongue was inside my mouth. Licking and stroking and teasing me into a hot frenzy. Oh, god.

  Noah trembled, groaning into my mouth, crowding into me, kissing me hard and rough.

  It’s completely electric.

  Our mouths opened, and it wasn’t so innocent any longer, he chased in the same vein he demanded I take it. His kiss punished, he didn’t let up, barely afforded me a second to grasp at air, not that I cared about something as asinine as breathing.

  We kissed. Not so sweet. His tongue, my tongue.

  Gently. Hungrily. Demanding.

  Words failed me.

  I’m sensation and feeling and pounding, rushing blood. Noah’s taste eviscerated everything from my mind, just like his kiss took me over.

  And, oh, god, his hands in my hair, tugging me to the slants he wanted, stroking through the silky strands lying in a messy uncombed cascade.

  Rubbing them between the tips of his fingers, using them to anchor me closer.

  He twisted his strong torso at the waist, sort-of bending over me, encasing me in his utter size and I lost an inner battle, my body all but purring.

  That fucking traitor.

  I couldn’t help a lot of things right then.

  Couldn’t help wrapping my fingers around the back of Noah’s neck to pull him down to me.

  Couldn’t help reaching up on my toes to better access his mouth.

  Couldn’t help sucking on his tongue and whimpering like it was the only thing I ever wanted in my mouth for the rest of eternity.

  And I couldn’t help the bombardment of love and want and need I felt when he hauled me in, plastering us together from chest to stomach to groins.

  All th
e crying of the past two weeks feeling crappy and disordered melted away. Drained out of my toes and left behind this hot, pulsing want for Noah.

  I didn’t have to think about it.

  My body directed the charge and dared——just dared my brain to switch us off.

  Somewhere in the recess of my mind was a stifled voice drenched in overwhelming lust saying; no, you don’t get to have me, too.

  I wanted him to kiss me.

  I needed him to kiss me.

  More than anything, I realized. I was willing to forget everything for this.

  It was vital I know if the connection building between us these last few weeks was real and not all in my fabricated imagination.

  It wasn’t only me who was feeling.

  Painfully slow I reached further up on my toes. I’m still shorter than him no matter the distance I stretched, his lips part the barest of a fraction—barely—inviting me inside, like he’s waited for me to get the courage to take something for myself. His kiss initially was angry, now it almost felt coaxing.

  It’s me who was tentative. Me who took my time with it.

  Messy, wet, tangled tongues.

  I wanted to sob when his mouth took over again, delving hard and deep, controlling how fast and thorough I’m kissed, like he knew how I need it.

  We’re shrouded in darkness. It’s only really the flicker of the muted tv that gave off any light.

  With my head held in his hands, my calves screaming, Noah kissed and kissed me, long, open mouthed, wet and addicting kisses. Then more. The soft whisper of our kisses magnified by the shock of his sudden appearance along with the hammering of my hormones.

  His head slanted for a better angle, I dropped down to my feet and he followed that lost inch without breaking our lips.

  He grunted into my mouth and licked over my teeth, my cheek.

  The truth was; I wanted him so fucking bad.

  Despite of and because of everything. I wanted Noah.

  Always and never-ending need.

  He backed me into a table, his groan vibrated my lips, an angry possessive noise. My hip protested, but my body didn’t give a shit. I’m pinned, his pelvis—his hard dick felt like it was ready to detonate—pressed into my belly, and I did the only thing I’m capable of doing now; I moaned.