Page 41 of Reunited with the Hometown Hero
Slow. Hungry. Reverent.
Chapter 10
The Fire that Never Went Out
The kiss isn'tthe sweet reunion of old lovers but a promise.
A beginning.
A kiss that saysI'm here, andI'll let you go, but only when I've made you feel it in your bones.
As he lays me back, his mouth murmuring rough promises against my jaw, my throat, and the hollow at the base of my neck, I realize I never stopped being his.
For now—for these days—we'll burn for each other, knowing we'll have to walk through the ashes when it ends.
His mouth is on mine, our bodies pulled closer by words and gravity and the thing that's never died between us. Fingers skim bare skin beneath my borrowed scrub top, tracing slow lines up my ribs and down my spine. I'm trembling, not with fear—but anticipation.
"I don't know how far we go tonight," he murmurs. "But I'm not rushing this. Not with you."
"I don't want rushed," I whisper. "I want real."
His lips graze my cheek, my jaw, the corner of my mouth. A teasing promise. "Then let me give it to you slow."
Noah's mouth finds mine—urgent, hungry, tender. Not the sweet reunion of old lovers, but a choice. A leap. And as he laysme back, murmuring promises against my skin, I realize this feeling never faded. It just waited.
And just like that, we burn—word by word, inch by inch, and kiss by kiss.
This kiss is different from Lookout Point—not a surprise or a discovery but a choice, deliberate and clear-eyed.
Noah responds instantly, one hand sliding into my hair, the other at my waist, pulling me closer. I melt against him, years of restraint and denial combusting in the heat between us.
His mouth is eager against mine, tongue seeking entrance, which I grant without hesitation. He tastes of coffee and desire, and Noah—precisely as I remember, yet somehow more potent, more essential.
My hands roam his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the solid reality of him beneath my fingertips.
"Riley," he breathes against my lips, my name a question and a prayer. "Are you sure?"
In answer, I climb into his lap, knees bracketing his hips, bringing our bodies flush together. "I've never been less sure of anything," I murmur against his throat, "and never wanted anything more."
A groan rumbles through his chest as his hands find my waist, steadying me above him. "We could stop," he offers, though his body is already responding eagerly beneath mine. "Talk more. Be rational adults."
"It's been ten years." I rock against him deliberately, drawing another delicious sound from deep in his throat. "I'm tired of talking."
Something unleashes in him at my words. His mouth captures mine again, hungrier now, more demanding. His hands slip beneath the thin scrub top, palms hot against the bare skin of my back. I arch into the contact, my body remembering his touch like a favorite song.
We move together on the narrow cot, hands exploring, relearning territories once familiar, now thrillingly new. Noah's mouth traces a burning path down my neck to the hollow of my throat, the gentle scrape of stubble against sensitive skin drawing a gasp from my lips.
"God, I've missed that sound," he murmurs against my collarbone. "Missed making you gasp. Making you want."
"Show me how much," I challenge, tugging at the hem of his shirt.
We separate briefly, just long enough to pull the barriers of fabric away. The sight of him—broad shoulders, the defined planes of his chest, the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband of the scrub pants—steals my breath.
He's not the boy I left behind but a man, strength earned through years of physical work, evident in every contour of hard muscle.
His eyes rake over me with equal hunger. "You're even more beautiful than I remember," he says, voice rough with desire. His hands span my waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts in a touch that's both reverent and possessive.
His hands grow bolder, cupping the weight of my breasts, thumbs circling nipples already taut with anticipation. I rock against him, seeking friction, finding exquisite pressure exactly where I need it.
