by Eden Finley
The voice that should be telling me to quit checking him out is drowned out by his words repeating in my head.
“Wait. Pack?” I ask.
Noah’s smile, blinding and cocky, sends warmth to my gut, and when the words “I got permission from Damon to take you back to New York early” fall out his mouth, I want to swallow concrete to keep my feet planted to the spot. Otherwise, I run the serious risk of crossing the room and kissing the fuck out of him.
“You … what?”
He has to say it again or I might not believe it. “You’re welcome.”
“Why? I mean, why did you do that?”
Noah shrugs. “Well, shit, if you want to stay and endure more of being trapped in this room and trying to ignore the assholes with cellphones taking photos of you on the ship like they did at the cigar bar last night, by all means, we can stay.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I want to go. I just … I—”
His grin widens. “You suck at saying thank you. Just so you know. But hey, if you can’t find the words, I can think of other ways you can thank me.”
And there he goes bringing out the wiseass again. Only, this time, I’m this close to taking him up on the offer. “Thank you,” I grumble.
“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Bad news is I did promise Damon we’ll still get to know each other. So, you’re stuck with me, but it’ll be in my four-bedroom townhouse where you can have your own bed.”
“I can totally deal with that.”
He continues his way to the bathroom, and I start and finish packing before Noah even finishes his quick shower. I’ve probably put some of his stuff in my bag, but I’m too eager to get outta here and I don’t care. We can sort it back in Manhattan.
When Noah emerges wearing only a towel, I audibly gulp. Before I was immune to his body. Okay, not quite immune, but immune enough. Now? How does one afternoon make him so much more attractive?
“You want the shower?” Noah asks, his toned arm lifting to run a hand over his head.
“Umm—”
“Wait, did you pack all my shit too?”
“I just kinda threw everything in a bag.”
“If you wanted me to walk around naked, you could have just said so.”
Damn his stupid smile and his stupid attitude that’s stupid. That’s a whole lot of stupidness for one person.
Stupidness that I’m starting to find charming.
What the hell?
“I’m going to shower,” I blurt out.
Noah’s brow turns into a frown. “O … kay.”
I tip my head, because let’s just make this more awkward, and charge past him into the bathroom. As soon as the door is shut, I lean against it and breathe deep. All I have to do is make it until we get back to New York, and then we’ll have separate rooms and some space.
I can do that. It’s only like a two-hour flight.
I’ve got this.
I so don’t got this.
“You a nervous flyer?” Noah asks next to me.
I startle. “What?”
“Your leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since we took off.”
“Oh. Umm, right.” Yes, let’s pretend flying is my issue.
He reaches for my hand. “I know this won’t ease your mind, but you’re more likely to die in a car crash.”
“Yeah, but if a car crashes, you have a chance. A plane goes down? It’s all over.”
I’d like this to be all over, because as his thumb makes circles on my hand, I’m pretty sure I’m a few seconds away from jumping into his lap.
“I need to take a leak.” I unclip my seat belt, and my feet push me toward the back of the plane.
“Thanks for the announcement,” he quips.
I’m not going to survive this. I can’t keep running to the bathroom every time I need to get away from him.
Although, this bathroom sobers me a little. The fancy-ass private plane has a fancy-ass bathroom with marble tiling, gold trimming, and a giant shower. I don’t bother to contemplate how a fully-functional bathroom on a plane works with weight distribution and fuel consumption and just wonder how rich this guy is instead.
I splash my face with water and take a moment to compose myself. When I go back out to Noah, I focus on the one thing that will keep me from being tempted.
“The bathroom is bigger than the bedroom I shared with my two brothers growing up,” I say as my ass sinks into the soft leather and I re-buckle my seatbelt. “How rich are you? I mean, I know your family’s well off, but private plane? Manhattan townhouse?”
Noah gives me the side-eye, as if assessing how much to say. Or maybe he’s wondering where I got the balls to ask him about finances. That’s probably not proper etiquette or something. I think. Who the fuck knows.
“My father comes from old money,” Noah says. “Like, really old money.”
I haven’t known Noah long, but there’s something about the way he talks about his family that makes me wonder if he’s ashamed of them or something.
Then his last name clicks …
“You’re one of those Huntingtons? Oil, stocks, real estate, all those other things where you need money to make money?”
“Yup. We’re part of all that. My uncle is the one you see in the news for saying idiot-like things. And my cousins are his idiot-like children who are going to run the world one day. My uncle is the head of the Huntington fortune, but Dad’s still very much involved. Just, on the downlow.”
“Because your dad’s in politics,” I say.
“Exactly. I’m convinced he did it to give their developer buddies tax cuts.” He flinches when he realizes he said something wrong. “Please don’t repeat that.”
“We should fuck,” I blurt out. Okay, even I know that came out of nowhere, and it was from my mouth, but since the interview earlier, I can’t stop thinking about it.
Dang it to hell.
Noah stares blankly at me. “Hello, complete randomness. Not that I don’t appreciate the abrupt subject change—or the words you just said—but, umm, did I somehow project myself into your brain and make you say that?”
I laugh, but I see his point. “Never mind. Forget it.”
His hand goes to my forearm. “No way.”
I sigh. “You want to know why I haven’t been with anyone … in that way?”
“Yes,” he says a little too quickly. “I couldn’t figure it out, and after I pissed you off, I figured it best not to bring it up again, but I’m dying to know.”
“My entire life, I’ve followed a playbook. I know how to act, what to do, and I follow the rules. I told myself I could go to those clubs, get off, and then leave that part of me in the club. Taking guys home, or even going to their place, was a huge risk. The longer I spent with a guy, the more chance of him recognizing me, so I never risked it. I’ve been thinking that now that’s not an issue. I’m out and you’re my ‘boyfriend.’ And while your mouth annoys the heck outta me, I … I like you.”
“Ergo, you’re suddenly doing a one-eighty, and we should fuck?”
“Right.” I swallow hard. “With you, there is no playbook to live by. I have no idea what I’m doing, and every time you suggest hooking up, a little bit more of me starts to think it’s a good idea.”
“Score one for wearing you down. And people say persistence is annoying.”
I groan. “See? That line last night would’ve pissed me off. Now I have to bite back from offering to shut you up a different way.”
“In my defense, I didn’t think you’d ever agree to it.”
“So, you’re just messin’ with me? Because now I feel like a moron.”
“No. I mean, I hoped you would agree, but I didn’t think it was a possibility. Now that it’s happening, I’m having a bout of moral consciousness.”
“You have a conscience?”
Noah stares at me confused, as if trying to work out if I’m being an asshole or not.
“That was a joke, by the way. After what you’ve
done for me today …”
“After this afternoon, I don’t think it’ll be a good idea.”
Confusing much? “Okay, how did we just switch places? Did we fly through the Bermuda Triangle and some weird Freaky Friday shit is happening?” I now want to do this, but he’s changed his mind?
What kind of fuckery is this?
“I didn’t realize how much is at stake for you until we had that interview,” Noah says. His tone is sympathetic and genuine, yet another reminder that his outside persona is a front. “What if we cross that line you said you don’t want to, one of us fucks up, and it affects your career even more? That’s a lot of pressure.”
“It’s just fucking, Noah.”
“In my experience, fucking always leads to someone getting hurt.”
“How rough do you like it?” I joke.
Noah cracks up laughing, but it dies as fast as it comes. “You know how I told you about Aron?”
“The kinda ex but not?”
“He, umm, wanted more in the end, and I just couldn’t give it to him. I don’t like hurting people, but I do it anyway. It’s like, I can’t help it. I screw up everything good before it can go bad. I don’t want to do that to you. You’ve got enough on your plate without adding my assholiness to it too. It also makes me nervous you changed your mind so quickly.”
“You know what I realized during that interview today?”
“That Speedos do absolutely nothing to hide hard-ons?”
I chuckle. “Apart from that—and that you like to play dirty by rubbing all over me—I’ve followed a certain set of rules since before I hit puberty. When I was younger, if I did anything slightly effeminate, I’d get in trouble and told real men don’t act like that. So, I made sure not to. Dad put it in my head that men are supposed to be tough, they’re not into other men, they play sports, and act like cavemen. I had to set rules for myself before I even knew what being gay meant and had to hide that I had a crush on boys in my class. And now, even though I hate the way it all came out and I was robbed of being the one to choose how and when I smashed through that closet door, I realize I’m free. For the first time in my life, I can kiss a guy if I want to, be with a guy, hold hands in public with a guy. Unfortunately for you, you’ve signed on to be my boyfriend, so that guy is you.”
“That’s how you think you’re going to get me into bed? You’re contractually not allowed to touch other guys, so you may as well touch the guy you rented to be your boyfriend? I’m feeling the love here. I mean, it has nothing to do with my piercing blue-green eyes that don’t belong on a mocha body? My toned muscles, tight ass, and—if I do say so myself—my awesomely sculptured abs?”
“Not to mention your humbling personality,” I say. I don’t understand his hesitance or what’s changed since this morning. “And FYI, it’s not renting you if I’m not paying you. Also, I don’t need to tell you you’re gorgeous. You’re well aware of that fact. And so is everyone else with eyes. Lars was disappointed when he asked if we were completely monogamous and I shut him down.”
Noah grins. “I knew that dude was into us. That could’ve been fun.”
“A-are you serious? Like … all of us? Do you have threesomes often?”
“Never. The idea of it is pretty hot though. I’d never be able to pull something like that off.”
When I look at him questioningly, he clarifies.
“Campaign trail. Maybe after eight years in the White House, I’ll be free of having to worry about what I do in the public eye all the time. It’s nowhere near as bad as you, but it’s still pretty exhausting.”
“See? We’re perfect for each other.”
Noah stiffens.
“Calm down, I don’t mean in a ‘let’s do this for real’ type thing. I just want sex.”
“Aaaand I’m back to feeling like a rentboy.”
I shrug. “Whatever gets you off.”
“I can’t decide if I like this Matt. He’s definitely better than cranky Matt, but more intense than joking Matt. Did someone slip you some drugs? If so, where are mine?”
“You want me to go back to being pissy? Because I’m pretty sure if you keep talking, it’ll happen.”
Noah’s knee bounces. It’s obvious what he wants to do, but for some reason, my agreeing to it has made him pause. Maybe he thinks I can’t handle it, or maybe he’s worried I’ll turn out to be like his ex. “This is a colossal mistake. You know that, right?”
“As big a mistake as getting caught in a gay club?”
“Exactly. Your career is already fucked. I don’t want to fuck with your head too.”
“Trust me, it’s not my head urging me to do this.” Now I’m the nervous one, and my leg matches his fidgeting.
His gaze flicks from my eyes to my lips, and then his tongue darts out, but he’s tense with reluctance.
“If you’re worried I’m going to fall for you, don’t be,” I say. “I don’t belong in your world, and you don’t belong in mine. Could you imagine taking me home to meet your family? My family is so poor … well, there are a million jokes I could finish that sentence with, and they’d all be true. The only reason they ain’t livin’ in a trailer now is ’cause I paid off their house with my first NFL check. I wasn’t brought up to be like you, and the money I’ve made from playing football doesn’t change that. I come from nothing. I’ve always been trash, and I always will be. I have tabloid photos to prove it.”
“Matt—” Noah’s tone holds pity, and that’s not what I want.
“I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m simply saying we both know this will be over as soon as it needs to be. There’s no reason either of us will become attached. You don’t do attachments for some reason, and I’ve never even tried. What I do know is, you drive me so crazy I don’t know whether to push you down and fuck you or shut you up by shoving my cock down your throat.”
Noah’s eyes widen. “Okay, I take it back. I could definitely get used to this Matt.”
Rare moments in time slow to the point where you don’t know if it’s stopped completely, but as we stare each other down, neither of us moving, I begin to wonder if it’s happening right now.
Without any warning, he leans across our seats, and I meet him halfway. It’s not slow; it’s instant. One minute we’re apart, and the next we’re going at it. He seals his lips over mine, and I try to suck in a breath, but that invites his tongue into my mouth. It sends a jolt down my spine. A masculine moan echoes through the cabin of the small plane, but I don’t know who it comes from.
A large hand cups the back of my head, and Noah didn’t shave this morning, so his stubble breaks through my soft beard and scrapes my face.
Fingers trail down my neck, tentative and softer than I’m expecting, but Noah’s tenderness doesn’t last long. His hand drops to my cock and strokes me through my jeans. My balls draw up tight, and I shudder.
My head falls back against the seat, breaking our mouths apart. “Fuck,” I hiss.
“Can I?” Noah asks.
Hesitance seeps in as my eyes find the cockpit door where Noah banished the flight attendant upon takeoff. “Uh, when I said we should fuck, I didn’t mean it had to be right here and now.”
“Don’t worry about them.” He nods behind him. “They’re under strict instructions not to come back in here until we land. Keep your eyes on me. I want you in my mouth.” His seat belt loosening rings in my ears, and blue-green eyes fuse me to the seat when he sinks to his knees.
I’m helpless to do anything but watch as Noah undoes my seatbelt, followed by popping the button on my jeans and then pulling down my zipper, but he doesn’t take my cock out.
Bastard.
My hands tremble, so I grip my armrests. Noah’s masculine and expensive-smelling cologne blankets me. This is unlike any hookup I’ve had. The way his hands move over me, the way he stares up at me with those stupid eyes that are unnaturally aqua. Even though this is about getting off, there’s no rush as his hand goes under my shirt and
over my hard abs and pecs. He hasn’t even touched my cock yet, but I’m ready to come.
His mouth quirks. He knows what he’s doing to me.
“Are you always this torturous?” I ask.
His smile widens. “You think this is torturous?” He pinches my nipple, and pins and needles erupt down my body. “I can do torturous.”
“Wanna come,” I complain.
“This isn’t one of your cheap hookups. I’m going to show you sex is more than a quick BJ in a nightclub.”
I squirm in my seat. I ain’t used to this level of … intensity. Get in, get off, disappear. That’s what I know.
“Stop freaking out,” Noah says. “It’s still just sex, but it doesn’t have to be quick and meaningless.” He stretches up and kisses me again. Slowly this time. It calms my racing heart but does nothing for my hard-on. If anything, it makes it harder.
Noah reaches between us, gripping me through my boxers.
“Oh my God, just pull it out already,” I complain.
“For that”—Noah stands—“you need a time out.”
Time out? What the fuck? “It’s official. You’re as annoying in bed as you are out of it.”
He unbuttons his light-blue shirt. Agonizingly slow. It takes everything in me not to chant that I hate him over and over again.
His shirt falls off his dark, toned shoulders, and I tell myself not to groan. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe.
When he reaches for his jeans, I white-knuckle my armrests. Noah’s smile simultaneously pisses me off and turns me on. Somehow.
His pants drop to the floor, and I’m not surprised he’s going commando—like he knew this would happen. Damn it. His cock is long and hard and—
“I think you’re drooling,” he says and wraps his fingers around his shaft.
“Gurnnngh.”
“Is that English?”
“You’re drivin’ me crazy.” Gah, stupid accent.
“Mmm, speak Southern to me.” He strokes his cock, and I’ve never seen anything more mouthwatering. I want to lean in and take him in my mouth, but I’m sure that will result in a longer time out. Doesn’t stop me from licking my lips as he swipes precum from the tip. “You want this?”
