The Note by Natalie Wrye (urban books to read .TXT) 📗

body, lowering her skirt. I run a hand across the stubble at my chin as I watch Sophia lie there, seemingly boneless.

I imagine for a second she might be when suddenly she moves her head, her long-lashed eyes still closed as her mouth begins to move.

“Am I dead? Or did I just imagine I died?”

I grin. “You’re far from it.”

“In that case, I’d like to die some more please.” She finally opens her eyes, glancing up at me, a small smile framing her lips. She sighs openly. “But give me a second, okay? I think my body’s still returning from the after-life.”

I can’t help but chuckle.

My life had in many ways played out like a horror film, full of secrets and mental institution visits and death.

Stephen King would frown at me if he saw me now.

For a rainy afternoon turning to evening, I was abandoning my servitude as a faithful student of all that was horror…and was slowly giving in to the sweetness of Sophia and fantasy.

Chapter 22

SOPHIA

I spent all of Saturday night in Noah’s bed. Without one regret.

The man I’ve been resisting for what feels like way too long takes full control. And I let him.

Noah Quinn shows me in one night that he’s a man who knows what to do with a woman.

The Australian businessman is as strong as he is gentle, as patient as he was rushed, and when he picks me up and places me in his expensive estate bed, when he spreads me out on those sheets and hovers over me, his kiss as intoxicating as his cologne, I swear, every part of me that ever existed, surrenders to him, giving myself over completely.

If there’s ever a place I hadn’t wanted to be a “princess,” it was under the sheets; I was no one’s no lifeless doll.

But in Noah’s bed? None of that matters.

Because he controls my body like he commands everything else. As if his meticulousness wasn’t enough of a clue. Or the cut of his suits.

The luxuriousness of his apartment, of his estate and everything else was already evidence that Noah Quinn was thorough in every aspect of his life.

Including making love.

In the morning, he turns to me as he stares out of the ginormous bedroom after our one night together, and it is all I could do not to grab him right then, not to kiss and press my lips to his and beg him to take me over.

To taste me in the same unspeakable ways that made my tongue twist last night.

My eyes are still half-closed, when awake, my mind re-runs that first night I spent with Noah Quinn. A night I wish I would regret.

Hair tousled, shirt off, abs showing, he’s the picture of messy perfection, a lighthouse in a darkened rainy morning that only gets darker as thunderstorms loom in the distance.

In the sanctity of our post-love making he’s an entirely different animal.

The tailored cotton and silk only shielded the beast that lay beneath, and when he dropped his guard—and clothes—I was able to experience every bit of it.

Everything that made Noah Quinn a different man from every other one…if he was a man at all.

He certainly seemed to belong to a different species.

In the best way ever.

It was the set of his full lips. The cut of his shirt. The smell of his cologne.

They all combined in a heady mix that made my head swirl and skin heat.

Without speaking, Noah shows that some other being existed underneath that Tom Ford tailoring.

Head still swimming, I wrap a sheet around my body, standing. Strolling over—or rather, stalking over—to stand behind him, I defy every damn temptation in my body to press him against the glass.

He lets me wrap my arms around, his powerful presence expressing everything his mouth can’t say.

Until he speaks, his eyes continuing to gaze through the glass in to the distance. His body stills.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I did.” I grin. “Not that you allowed me to do much of that last night.” I groan, pressing my forehead to his back. “I still don’t know how you’re awake.”

“It’s my brother’s wedding day, and my other brother and I are the best men. I think I’m supposed to be.”

“Wouldn’t the best man be better suited well-rested?” I glance at the time. “The wedding’s not until four. Why don’t you go back to bed? And I’ll wander down to get us breakfast.”

I hear Noah laugh. “If I head back to bed, it’ll only be for one reason.” His voice lowers. “And I think you know exactly what that reason is…”

“Not when you’ve already exhausted me and given me the best orgasm of my life.” Noah glances back at me, arching a brow. “Okay…more like the best three orgasms of my life.” I snort. “I told you you couldn’t trust me… I’m barely capable of even counting right now.”

“Would you like me to show you how?”

Noah twists in my arms, his heavy voice ruffling the strands of my hair as I remain wrapped around him, not wanting to let go.

His eyes are stern as he turns in my arms, his brows set in a straight line. His stubbled jaw is steel as he gazes at me, and with one thumb, he runs his skin along my chin, making me shiver.

I turn into liquid desire under his touch as he begins to plant a set of kisses on my lips that set me on fire.

“One,” he counts, starting with the first. “Two.” He pulls back. “Do I need to get to three?”

I get the hint, kissing him back.

There was an artistry in our joining, a melding in our mouths moving against each other, in the slick sweetness of each kiss.

My senses come awake as Noah wraps his arms around me and lifts, and I’m barely on the edge of the bed before his kisses lower, leaving my lips to plant along my neck…with Noah counting out loud all the way.

My body shudders as his mouth moves to my breasts.