Page 73 of Spell Ya Later

My feet take me to the back door, to the stairs, to my apartment, and I’m whipping out my phone before I know what’s happening.

Chapter 27

Rough

“Baby?” Noah’s voice is accompanied by a knock on my apartment door not twenty minutes later.

I don’t remember what I told him over the phone, but his electric current is more of a pulsing zap than a pleasant hum as I open the door and he pulls me into his arms.

For the first time since I heard my mother and sister were coming over, my whole body relaxes. Every muscle that had been taut is now liquid. I sag into his embrace and allow his scent, his electricity, his entire being to wash over me, a balm to my soul.

“Hazel, what happened?” He tries to get my attention.

I pull back to meet his gaze. Bushy eyebrows are drawn in concern over dark brown-black eyes, eyes that I loved before I even met him.

My hand comes up to his stubbly cheek, caressing his soft skin. Reminding me that he’s here and he’s mine. With that hand, I bring him into a kiss.

It’s almost harsh as I nip at his lower lip and tangle my fingers in his hair, demanding that he make me forget. That he allow me to lose myself in us. In what we have, if only for a moment.

He’s too sweet, however. He pulls back, searching my face for something. His arms remain wound around me, holding me tight.

I shake my head, refusing to loosen my grip on his curls. “Please, Noah.”

His nose slides against mine, a slow drag that puts our lips within touching distance—just a breath away. “Is it bad that I love it when you beg?”

“Then give me a reason,” I murmur, looking up at him from under my lashes.

His lips lift in a crooked grin at my challenge, brushing against mine just for a moment. “You know I can.”

My heart flutters and I’m no longer content with the teasing. My lips crash against his, pulling his hair just a touch too hard. I want him to pull too hard, grab too hard—make me feel something. Anything other than this pit of hopelessness.

Clothes. There are too many clothes in the way of what I want.

I tear at whatever fabric I can reach, tangling my fingers in it and pulling as hard as I can.

“Got it,” he chuckles, yanking his shirt up from the back and throwing it God knows where. His skin is warm underneath my fingers, and I soak it in, pressing in against him as close as possible.

His hand cups my cheek, tilting my head and deepening the kiss. It’s still not rough enough. I need to be broken down and put back together in the way only he possibly can. I want to feel him on my skin, in my muscles, for days. I want to burn with the reminder with every step I take.

“What do you want, Hazel?” His voice is that gravelly, low timbre that melts me into a puddle.

I whimper. “You. And I want it rough.”

Brown-black eyes fully dilate; his breathing picks up. “Yeah? You sure?”

I nod. It’s the only thing I can do. The way he’s gazing at me...My voice has been stolen.

His fingers dig into my skin and I gasp at the sensation, at the knowledge that he’s leaving marks on my hips. I lean further into him, allowing him to take control. My head tips in submission, bearing my neck to him.

Teeth drag along the tender skin there, light enough not to mark but enough to let me know his intention.

“Take your fucking clothes off.” The words rumble against my skin in tune with the current making the hairs on my arms stand on end.

I hurry to obey. My fingers tangle in the buttons on my shirt as I lay myself bare before him.

He steps toward me, the back of his hand brushing against the very tip of my nipple. It hardens under his touch and I arch, asking—begging—for more.

“You’re the most divine woman I’ve ever seen. I could drink you in every day for the rest of my life and still be thirsty for more of you.”