Page 71 of Thin Ice

I don’t respond, and as the minutes tick by, the intensity in his stare only grows, our breathing synced and shallow.

“Truth or Dare?” he asks, voice cutting through the thick tension.

“Truth.”

“You talk about me needing to be perfect, and while I admit I struggle with that and with my failures when I don’t, aren’t you asking me to be perfect?”

“I’ve never asked that of you!”

He shifts closer to me on the bed. “But you do. You wanted me to figure out what you needed, to know without you talking to me. You brought me here to fix me, did you not?”

“To fix us!” I yell.

“But me and my perfection is the only problem?”

“You know that’s not true. I’ve said I’ve made mistakes.”

Noah gets close enough to me so our knees are touching and our faces are mere inches from each other. “You have made mistakes.” His nose caresses mine, and my breath sticks in my chest. “But you’re right; so have I. I’ve made you feel like you couldn’t come to me.”

“Because I didn’t want to upset you,” I mutter.

“You wouldn’t have.”

I pull back so I can see his eyes. “But I would have, Noah. You spent a week in the basement after your last game, drinking and watching yourself miss that goal over and over. I knew that if I told you I wasn’t happy or that I was faking my orgasms to please you, you wouldn’t take it well. You didn’t when I initially told you—you ran off to the gym, remember?”

“But I came back.”

“You did. And you’re here now, listening and paying attention.”

“I’m doing the best that I can.”

“I know, and I’m so proud of you. But please understand that I’m not asking for perfection, I’m asking for the opposite. Us—our lives—they don’t have to be perfect. Nothing ever is. We’re all works in progress. I only want you to try to be better with me. Evolve with me.”

For a moment, he’s still, his eyes searching mine for whatever he’s looking for. Then the corner of his mouth lifts, just barely.

“I can do that.”

I match his smile. “You already are. You’ve shown that to me, especially after the last couple of days. Seeing me. Pleasing me…” I say the last part with a musical lilt, thinking of our time with Beck.

Noah’s smile turns sly as if he’s had the same thought. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm.” I bump our noses together.

“Truth or Dare?” he murmurs, his voice lower now, rougher around the edges. It shifts the energy in the air, and my nipples pebble automatically.

I swallow, heat coiling in my low belly. “Dare.”

Noah rests our foreheads together. The closeness is grounding. His thumb strokes my cheek then slides down to trace my bottom lip.

“I dare you to show me exactly how you like to be fucked, Sunshine,” he whispers against my mouth, the words warm and filthy. He kisses the corner of my lips then trails more soft pecks along my jaw, slow and deliberate. “I want to know every single thing that makes you come as hard as you did on my hand yesterday in front of Beck. I want to know how to always please my wife, no matter the circumstances.”

My breath catches.

Noah doesn’t rush. He lowers his lips to my neck, placing open-mouthed kisses that make my pulse jump. When he reaches the sensitive spot just below my ear, he nips it.

“How?” I ask breathily.

“Tell me”—he teases the shell of my ear—“in detail, exactly how you want me. How deep. How rough. How slow…” He catches my earlobe between his teeth and tugs. “Or…”