Noah's attraction to me becomes so obvious that I wonder how I didn't see it before.
Despite his breathless confessions, he manages to keep his hands to himself for the next few days. No stray hand on my thigh in the car. No leg pressed against mine at dinner.
He's cordial and polite, as if he'd just met me for the first time again.
Even though it's obvious to him that I want to rip his clothes off.
I want to put my hand down the front of his trousers. I want to feel his hands slip into my underwear on a cold day, so the heat of my pussy warms up his fingers. I want to put my thumb into his mouth and feel him suck-
My thoughts got away from me there.
We use Cam as a buffer.
Yesterday, Noah found himself staring at my pyjama shorts, so to save us both the embarrassment, I pulled Cam in front of me, giving him a pep talk about being a man and standing up to Mia. telling her what she needs to hear if he really wants the whole romance to go away.
Cam got pissed off but it set the new tone for the evening, if nothing else.
After 'the incident' on Tuesday evening, Noah had used Cam too, slinking back to his seat looking as guilty as I felt. He went on and on about sports games they watched together, about memories they had from partying at the weekends, about a time Noah had almost crashed his car with Cam drunk and trying to grab the wheel from the passenger seat.
All the while, I had frantically tried to quietly explain the situation away in Emily's ear.
There'd been a moment on the car journey home where he met my eye in the mirror and bit his lip, but Cam came quickly and unknowingly to the rescue again.
So. . . Cam equals buffer.
But Cam isn't here tonight.
It's Friday evening and I've taken to doing work in the evenings to distract myself again. I'm updating our twitter and responding to inquiries in our DM's despite being off the clock. I know it's useless. I shouldn't be using work as a distraction when I'm not even being paid for the hours, but I don't know what else to do with myself.
Noah looks good tonight
Like he does every night.
He's cooking for us in the kitchen, wearing a black tracksuit that looks comfy and yet still somehow alluring on his body. He's humming along to Little Lies by Fleetwood Mac, hood up so i can't see his face.
I've been trying not to think about him.
Filling my mind with work has been easy while the beginning of December is quickly approaching, thus meaning our Christmas campaign will soon be launching for the entire world to see, and possibly criticise.
It's out of my hands now so I've been trying not to think about that too, but having nothing to do except work hasn't made it easy.
I really need a hobby.
As much as I wouldn't like to admit it, things have also become a bit awkward at work.
Danny keeps pestering me about Noah's criminal record. He wants to know what's in it, why we hand out a lot without my brother around, what he could've possibly done in the past to warrant being a known trouble-maker in a city this big.
I don't want to think about it.
The Noah that I know is sweet. Irresistibly so. He gets hard for me and tells me his secrets when I ask for them. He drives me to work and cooks food fit for Gordan Ramsey's TikTok highlights.
He's not Noah-with-a-shadowed-past, he's just Noah. Cam's best friend who is completely and utterly untouchable to me.
Speaking of food, the smell coming from the kitchen is sending me into overdrive.
I peer over to him, catching a glimpse of Squish hanging out of the bread bin as he rushes past it to stir something into a pan that's frying on the hob.
"What're you making?"'
"I am making. . ." He grins. I mirror it. "Three cheese risotto."
These fancy meals have been making common appearances. I'm not entirely sure he used to cook like this for Cam either, because every time it's Noah's turn to cook, Cam seems just as taken aback as I am by the meal presented to us.
If he's trying to impress me, it's working.
"Do you mind if I play some music on the speakers?" he asks.
"As long as you have a good taste in music," I tease, flicking the tv off. The room is enveloped in a soft glow emitted by the kitchen light.
I turn on the LED lights under the coffee table and set them to green; a safe colour. Red would be far too risky in this situation.
Red might reveal everything I want to do to him on this sofa.
"That's a lot of pressure," he smiles.
"I'm sure you can handle it," I reply.
He puts on a song I've never heard before and continues cooking.
He looks back towards me for my approval everytime the song changes.
There's a sports magazine on the table I've been flitting through over the past few days to steal some ideas from, so I continue to do just that with my feet up on the sofa. Facing him to analyze his movement around in the kitchen as he works.
A few songs pass by us.
"You've been working a lot lately," he comments. "Bit of a workaholic?"
He gestures to the magazine in my hand, leaning his elbows on the counter between us.
"I'm keeping my mind occupied," I muse.
His tongue slips out of his mouth briefly, bottom lip disappearing under his teeth. He ruffles a hand through his hair and shakes his hood down. A cheeky smile threatens to take over his features.
I raise an eyebrow, grinning at the reaction.
He flips me off and turns back to the hob.
"You shouldn't do work you aren't getting paid for," he says. "There are books in my room if you want to read something?"
"You read?" I blurted.
He spins around, smiling.
His eyes narrow playfully, and he slowly turns away again.
"Left side of the wardrobe," he waves me away. "Pick one and stop working."
I throw the magazine onto the table and hold up my hands in mock defeat. I try to ignore the way his eyes run up and down my body as I stand up, because he hasn't looked at me like that in a few days now.
Or at least he's tried not to in front of Cam.
It's almost strange how quickly the dynamic between us has shifted since that evening. Even though nothing happened, it's like I suddenly realised my effect on him.
I'm still blinded by his aura, but not blinded enough that I don't actually see him.
I walk through the house in darkness.
Hallway. Stairs. Hallway. Bedroom.
His room is exactly as it had been the last time I was in here, except the bed is made this time. His bedroom window is open, the sudden breeze I feel biting. I pull my cardigan around my body and walk around his bed to close it.
There's a hoodie thrown over his bed that's huge and soft-looking. An emerald green colour that almost matches the dress that I wore on Tuesday perfectly.
I bet it'd smell like him.
Wardrobe.
Books.
Right.
I open the left hand side and see two shelves stacked with books. Old and new alike. Most of them are about cars, as expected, but with classics littered throughout. Two about gardening, a few thrillers, and a battered copy of Winnie the Pooh.
My eyebrows raise of their own accord.
I pick it up and walk backwards until my legs hit his bed, sitting down. On the first page sits a scribble line of scrawled handwriting, and an atrocious drawing of a cat. I squint to read the inscription: Happy 5th Birthday Noah!!
A pot clanging downstairs makes me jump. I put the book back in its original position and pick out a thriller at random, closing the wardrobe and brushing out the creases I made on the bed before making my way back downstairs.
Noah is still cooking in the kitchen but the hoodie is off now, thrown over the back of one of the stools.
He glances at me as I drop down into my seat on the sofa, grinning at the book in my hand.
I pull a blanket over my feet and open the first page, looking above the pages every so often to spy on the back of his head.
I'm a chapter in by the time he places a bowl of risotto on the table in front of me. It smells divine and there's a green swirl on top of it that looks chef worthy.
"Bon appétit."
"Noah," I grin, putting my book on the table as I reach for my dinner. "If you speak French to me, I might just die."
He chokes on air, making me laugh.
Quiet music still plays from the kitchen as he settles into the seat next to me on the sofa. We both place pillows on our lap and balance the bowls, eating in silence.
"This is incredible," I tell him.
His grin is immediate.
"Shut up, Mackenzie."
I scoff and continue to eat, eyeing him intermittently.
The food is incredible though. Not that i have many risotto's to compare it to - my mum wasn't exactly a great cook and when i went to university, i lived on super noodles and pasta sauces from a jar. It's a breath of fresh air - one that I'm sure Noah is putting too much effort into.
"You wanna watch a movie tonight?"
"Sure," I shrug. "I mean. . . it is Friday night though. Don't you have any plans?"
A shake of the head.
"Cam is basically my only friend, which I know is incredibly lame."
I put a forkful of rice in my mouth to avoid telling him that Isobel, who I met at work, is my only friend.
"I don't think you're lame," I tell him.
"Obviously," he chuckles, not meeting my eye.
I kick at his leg with my own, but before I can pull it away again, he grips my ankle with his free hand and pulls on it so my foot presses against the side of his thigh.
I press my toes into his flesh as his hand falls away again.
He takes my bowl and does the washing up once we've finished eating, singing along to the music playing.
"What movie do you wanna watch?" I ask, eyeing his hips move slightly with the beat. "Are you dancing?"
"Is this the part in the movie where I convince you to slow dance around the house with me?"
On cue, he changes the song, and immediately, You Should Probably Leave by Chris Stapleton fills the space between us.
My face begins to heat up as he twirls behind the counter, dropping a fork into the filled sink behind him. He sings and I drop my face into my hands in embarrassment.
When I lift my head up, he's standing over the sofa holding a hand out towards me.
"This isn't a movie."
I take his hand anyway and stand up, despite this feeling overdone and cheesy and not at all romantic. We meet at the end of the couch as the song goes into its chorus.
He gently lifts my arms to his shoulders and slides his hands down to my waist, stepping side to side whilst simultaneously trying to avoid the furniture littered around.
Despite the awkwardness, I do enjoy being able to smell his cologne on his shirt, and the feeling of his hands pressed against my hips.
"You're a terrible dancer," he whispers to me.
I look up at him and realise how close our faces are, stumbling over his feet. He catches me easily, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. It feels romantic, like he'll take away the tension by kissing me, but instead he speaks quietly again.
"What movie do you want to watch?"
I hide my disappointment well.
But I don't move away from his hold. If anything, my arms tighten around his neck.
We're not even dancing to the music anymore and the song is almost over anyway, but he doesn't move away either.
"Maybe something a little less romantic," I suggest.
My eyes move of their own accord. His lips are pink and full. This close, I can see his stubble is starting to grow out again. Tiny black hairs littering his chin that are barely visible even with the short distance between us.
His tongue darts out, licking his lip, and disappearing again.
The action forces me to look back up to his eyes.
"An action film?"
I could do with some action right about now, yes.
"A horror?"
I murmur a positive response.
"You've got that glazed look in your eyes again," he whispers.
I watch as the words leave his mouth.
A finger appears under my chin, tipping my head up so my eyes are on his again. It travels from my chin and along my cheek in one smooth motion, before his hand settles on the side of my face. It's so big, it covers my entire cheek and jaw.
My breath hitches in my throat.
"You need to stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?" I ask, my voice soft and diffident.
"Like you're happy to forget that Cam exists."
With his face this close to my own, I am. His name doesn't even faze me nor break me out of my Noah-induced trance.
"We're just slow dancing," I excuse, eliciting a small smile from him. I wave us side to side again to prove my point, pulling my face backwards very slightly. His follows mine, but neither of us mention it.
I want to. I want to tease him with it, like he teases me sometimes.
But maybe he'll kiss me.
My body is ready for it. I tingle whenever he's touching me. I let his leg spread my own again, following his lead with the slow dance. One of his hands presses into the small of my back and brings me closer.
I arch with him, continuing to look up at his jaw line.
Maybe we really do need Cam as a buffer.
Cam certainly wouldn't let this happen right now - whatever the hell this even is.
"I'm going to tell you something embarrassing now," he states, mouth moving closer to my ear.
A shiver runs through my body. My legs want to clench around him, but I resist.
I do pull him tighter into my body though, linking my fingers behind his neck.
"I don't know how to dance."
The confession isn't what I expected so it makes me laugh; a loud and ugly laugh that makes me throw my head back.
We break apart, the shared moment having finally tidied my thoughts a little. He goes back to the washing up after laughing with me, so I browse Netflix to look for an appropriate movie to finish off the evening.
The music has changed to something less romantic, but he turns it off when I begin playing various trailers for different films.
I settled on a thriller I've never heard of because the trailer looks half decent.
It almost reminds me of the book I picked out from Noah's wardrobe, which may have swayed my mind too.
I press play as he settled next to me, thigh against my own.
"Are you cold?"
I shrug in response.
He reaches down under the sofa and pulls out some of my discarded blankets, layering them over us one by one.
As the film starts, I scoot closer to him. Then a little closer again, until his arm is finally lifted and over my shoulders. He lets me cuddle into his side.
"You're a softie," I whisper.
His arm pulls me in further.
"Don't tell anyone. You'll ruin my reputation."
He shivers when I slip my hand underneath the blanket and rest it on his knee, but says nothing otherwise.
His hand plays with the hem of my pyjama bottoms and regularly slides along the exposed strip of skin that sits between my tank top and bottoms.
It drives me insane.
After every jump scare, he squeezes me closer to him, which also drives me insane.
I refrain from letting my intrusive thoughts about seducing him win.
====================================================================
I don't wake up in a daze. I know immediately that my head is in Noah's lap and his erection is mere inches away from my face because I can feel the heat radiating from it.
The blankets have fallen on the floor. The tv is trying to suggest multiple films we may enjoy by flitting through a selection of covers silently.
Each time the cover on the screen changes, we're cast into a different shade of light, ranging from blinding white to ominous void.
I try to blink the sleep from my eyes and shift my body awake.
His hand is on my stomach under my vest top. It's hot and heavy, weighing me down on the sofa. His thighs are more than accommodating my head, but there's a pillow half shoved behind me as if he'd tried to push it underneath me.
I try to shift once more to wake up my legs, and his hand tightens around my belly, squeezing the little pouch I have in the center of my stomach.
That shouldn't be as hot as it is.
A red cover ad displays on the screen, and the entire room is enveloped red in turn.
Without moving my head, I glance up at Noah. The skull on his neck stares back at me, his outstretched head lulling against the back of the sofa.
His lips are drawn down in an almost pout, opening for soft breaths occasionally. The detailed work of his neck tattoo looks almost threatening in the red light, but the just of his Adam's apple is a very welcome sight. I want to reach up and run my fingers across it.
I move ever so slightly, and his cock brushes against my cheek.
A short intake of breath comes from between his lips, overshadowed by my hitched gasp.
My legs squeeze together, my body immediately on edge, and I outwardly feel the hairs on my arms stand to attention.
Wake up and feel how wet I am for you.
The ad on the tv changes. We're engulfed in a soft green light. My eyes don't leave his neck for a second, but i know i want to look to my right, to see if it's tented his clothes like i think it has.
I bet it's big.
He gives off that sort of energy - like he knows he could please me if given half the chance.
I blame my thoughts when my cheek brushes against it once more.
His hand tightens on my stomach once more. I watch his throat as he swallows, when I feel his finger circle around my bellybutton.
I meet his open eyes, appearing greener than usual in the sudden white glow cast upon us. The scorching heat of his arousal burns next to me, a constant reminder of how much I want him.
His hand disappears from my body, leaving a cold echo of his touch in its wake. Sleepily, he rubs his eyes and curls around the sofa to stretch. His t-shirt slides up with his arms. I don't let him see me lick my lips, but he feels me squirm. It's obvious that he feels it, because he stops moving all together, and looks down at me again.
His eyes flit between his lap and my face. So, I take that as my excuse as well.
Fuck me.
It does tent his clothes. It's hard and big, and the outline of seeing his cock this close to my face makes my mouth water. It makes my pussy clench.
There's a small sound leaving my lips but I barely register it, because I could just move my mouth closer.
I could just kiss his cock over the fabric and Cam wouldn't even find out. He'd have no idea that I came onto his best friend. He wouldn't know that Noah got hard with me sleeping on his lap, and I used his lack of self-control around me to seduce him.
He'd be completely oblivious.
Nothing is said between us.
He doesn't pull my face away like he should. He doesn't tilt my head up towards his own so I'm forced to see the guilt in his eyes. He doesn't even touch me, but he lets me tilt my chin towards him, my mouth brushing against the tented fabric in front of my eyes.
He does so little that I worry, and glance up at his wide, unsuspecting eyes.
His left hand is in a fist, violently bunched into his t-shirt which just reveals more of his tan, ab-lined stomach to me.
Jesus Christ.
I've never been this close to anyone who looks this good. I've never wanted fuck somebody so much.
I press a kiss to the tented fabric when his hand appears at my exposed stomach again.
His shaky breath is loud in the silent room.
His fingers play with the waistband of my pyjama bottoms and it makes my toes curl in anticipation of what could happen between us. Of what we're letting happen.
Another Netflix ad. The red one again, casting a seductive glow over the two of us.
His pinky finger breaches the elastic against my hips, and finally he makes a sound. Groaning so lowly, I almost miss it.
"I can't touch you," he whispers.
The rough morning voice is a distraction from the words. At least he sounds pained, as if he's playing a game of tug-of-war by himself and still losing.
I want to mewl, whine, scream, until he takes the words away again. They pollute the air between us, poisoning the electricity that's been building up.
I look at his cock standing between us instead, which says anything but 'I-can't-touch-you'.
"And I can't let you touch me either."
I'm soaking wet. Horny and soaking wet.
I can't blame myself for being disappointed, for briefly wishing Cam didn't even exist and Noah and I shared this house all by ourselves. Nor will I blame myself for the actual whine that leaves my lips, to which Noah responds by letting that pinky slip just a little further.
"I thought you had no self control."
I dont move my face away but i dont move it closer either. His hand stays exactly where it is too, as if both of us are afraid to move.
"I feel guilty," he admits. "He's done a lot for me."
"Noah," I whine, squeezing my eyes closed so I'm not forced to keep looking at his crotch. His pinky slips further, meeting the top elastic of my underwear.
His hand must have a mind of its own, because those fingers certainly aren't agreeing with his earlier statement. I don't want to think about Cam at all, especially not while I'm this horny for his best friend. I wish Noah would forget he exists just for a little while too.
Apparently he has stronger morals than I do.
"Please."
He groans, finger twitching at the line of my panties.
Apparently, I'm not above begging either.
I lean up, and press a gentle kiss against the outline of his cock, where I guess the tip would be under the fabric. Slowly enough that he can stop me if he pleases, but he doesn't. He just groans again and lets another finger join his pinky.
Noah's other hand - the one not currently teasing me in all the wrong places - threads through my hair and lifts my head gently. It's tight, like a fist, which only makes me want him more.
His own head drops to meet my own, and without warning, he gently kisses my lips.
The lack of contact thus far mixed with the pooling wetness between my legs, makes the kiss three times as prurient as it should be, and so a small moan rises from my throat.
"Fucking hell. . ." he breathes, pressing his forehead to my own. His eyes are squeezed closed, and he doesn't even open them when I return the small kiss.
"We're already touching."
His eyes don't open, as if he's scared he'll see Cam's sister and not me in his lap.
"We shouldn't be," he whispers.
Cam wouldn't know. He doesn't even have the decency to be here and separate us himself, and yet it's somehow still happening. He hasn't outright said that Noah and I shouldn't touch each other, so really. . .
Who am I kidding?
Please just fucking touch me.
I lick my bottom lip and press my nose against his.
"Kenzie. . ."
"You don't want to touch me?"
Another two fingers slip into my pyjama bottoms, sitting at the edge of my panties as if waiting for instructions.
"You know that isn't true."
My hand joins his, and pushes past it.
He breathes warm air over my lips, and holds up my head with one hand as if my upper half weighs absolutely nothing. His hair tickles my forehead, a few stray pieces brushing my nose.
Pushing into my underwear, I let two fingers settle between my folds and push against my clit. I take his bottom lip into my mouth and begin rubbing circles on myself, back arching immediately because finally, finally, I'm being touched. Even if he isn't the one touching me.
He moans against my mouth, and slides his hand down until it rests over my own, fingers shadowing mine as I get myself off.
"Not technically touching me," I tell him.
"I can't," he repeats, but his hand still presses against mine, pushing my fingers so they're tight against my clit. I moan quietly, the tv advert changing the room back to the white colour.
He gently brings my head back down to his lap, cock still obviously rock solid underneath his clothes, and he strokes my hair away from my face. His eyes stay glued to where our hands disappear into my pajamas.
His constant stare makes me want to strip off and let him watch properly.
Instead, I just continue getting myself off with practiced fingers, moaning quietly whenever his hand slips and I get an almost-touch from him, or he manages to tear his eyes away from my lower half to look at my face.
His palm - the one not pushing my fingers in the small circles over my clit and getting me off - settles against my throat.
"Is it turning you on, that I'm not allowed to touch you? I shouldn't even be seeing this, Kenzie," he sucks on his bottom lip. His words spread through my body like wildfire. "Do you even realise that I'll never be able to look at you again without seeing you moaning for me when I'm not even doing anything?"
"Do something then."
"I can't do that to him," he groans. His fingers tighten around my throat, and then loosen again. The action makes my breath heavy. The ache in the pit of my stomach builds and builds, and before I know it he's pushing my hand further down, so two of my fingers slide into the wetness that's been pooling at my entrance. "So finger fuck yourself and let me watch instead."
"Fuck, Noah."
His words bleed into me as my fingers are pushed deep into my center.
I wish he'd put his fingers in me instead, but if this is all he'll give me then i'll take it.
"You make me so fucking crazy," he whispers, legs bucking slightly so that his erection bobs towards me mockingly. "You're beautiful, Mackenzie. So fucking perfect. . . I'm so fucked."
His words only spur me on. I let him push my fingers in every time I bring them out towards his hand, moaning brokenly whenever his other hand tightens around my throat. My pace quickens.
"You. . . Should touch yourself-"
Another moan. Almost instantly, his hand leaves my throat, touches his cock over his clothes, and then returns promptly.
He shakes his head, wetting his lips in one sick motion. "If i do that. . . if i get it out - i'll bend you over this sofa and fuck you with it, i swear to god." another shake of the head, like he's trying to rid himself of the mental image he'd just seared into both of our minds.
All the more reason.
His words almost sent me over the edge. His entire being almost sends me over the edge though, so that isn't new.
With each change in colour from the tv, he looks more inviting. The skull on his neck draws me in, begging me to litter it with kisses and possibly even suck hard enough to see if I can leave a hickey that shows through the ink.
He uses the hand on my throat to tip my chin back. I meet those emerald eyes immediately, his face disappearing as the advert changes and is replaced by a darker one so we can't see each other.
His finger slips past my own by accident, eliciting a louder moan from my mouth. It slips next to my own ever so briefly and enters me, becoming slick with my wetness instantly. He hisses at the touch and I clench around him.
"Fuck i cant - Christ, Kenzie, you're gonna have to cum 'cause i can't fucking hold off," He moaned.
I don't need him to help me get off, but I want him to. I buck my hips and try to get that hand to fall again, get a mere slip that he can't take back, but it stays firm on top of my own.
I squirm and moan and lose my damn mind, but it's his final whisper that finally seals my fate.
"Yeah? You can cum for me," he whispers.
"Such a good girl for me."
And I'm gone.
Blinding heat overwhelms my body. My eyes close and I convulse with my orgasm - possibly the most powerful I've ever had from only my own hand. His hand doesn't leave my throat until I've come back to my senses, where it falls back to his side, close to the top of my head. His fingers play with stray pieces of my hair.
We don't say anything. We don't need to.
His tense fingers, firmly set jaw, and still raging hard-on do all the talking for him.
He's refraining from doing anything else, and torturing himself in the process.