Page 8 of Crawl for Me

My heart collides with my ribs. For a breath I just stay there, thumb dragging slow across the corner of his mouth. The tremor that rips through him is a rush I want to drown in, winding me tighter, hotter, until there’s no air left to waste.

So I close the gap.

His lips crash clumsy against mine, all nerves and teeth. My grip tightens on his jaw, forcing the angle I want, steadying the chaos until it pulses into something hungrier. His breath stutters, lips parting, and I take it, sliding my tongue against his, letting the wine and panic and want wash over my tastebuds in one heady rush.

My free hand meets his chest, shoving him further into the wall, and I swallow the groan that rips out of him. His hands fumble for me, shaking as he finds my hips, fingers fisting into fabric, tugging me in until there isn’t a scrap of space left between us—until I can feel how hard he is against me.

I grind into him and he jerks up against me, a sharp whine slipping free before his teeth catch on mine. He tries to pull back a fraction, like he’s fighting for air, for sense, for something. But there’s nowhere to go, and I’m not about to give him an inch. I chase the kiss frantically, catching his bottom lip, tasting his tremors like they’re fuel.

But then he wrenches back, enough to break the seal of our mouths. His head knocks the wall with a dull thud, chest heaving.

“Sable—” his voice cracks clean through the middle, “stop.”

Chapter 4

Noah

Idrag a shaking hand through my hair, the other across my slick mouth. “Sorry,” I manage to rasp out. “I don’t—I don’t usually⁠—”

The words die in my throat. Don’t usually what? Get kissed into a brainless, bucking mess?

She takes a step back, and the air in my lungs lurches with her.

“It’s okay,” she says calmly. “Really. I’ll go. I’m not going to force anything you don’t actually want. We don’t have to turn this into a thing.”

My stomach just about falls through the floor.

“No.” It bursts out too fast, and her eyes widen. “No, that’s not—” I choke on the words. “I want it. I swear I do. Just… not here. Not like this.”

“Okay.” She nods once. “Tell me how you want it, then.”

Say it, Noah. Say she deserves better than cold countertops and half-unpacked boxes. Just word it like that. Exactly like that. Speak, you coward.

The air between us tightens, hot enough I swear it hums. Her eyes flick down, then back up, and all I can think about is how easy it would be to grab her, to drag her back against me, to let it happen right here.

My throat works uselessly and I shake my head. “I don’t—I don’t know, I just… fuck⁠—”

No. Say it. Don’t choke now.

“Bedroom,” I rasp. “Please. Just—not in the fucking kitchen.”

Her bottom lip catches between her teeth, eyes flashing with fire. “Lead the way.”

I catch her hand and haul her down the hall before I can lose the nerve. Every step rattles through me, every brush of her knuckles in mine sparking through my body. My room’s a disaster—half-unpacked boxes stacked against the dresser, sheets bunched on the mattress like I’d wrestled them in my sleep. Humiliation claws at my throat, but she doesn’t spare the mess a glance. She’s only looking at me. At my mouth, my chest, my shaking hands.

Her fingers hook in my shirt, dragging my lips back down against hers with teeth and heat until she’s swallowing me whole, leaving me with no air to think. My shirt’s gone before I even realize she’s tugged it up over my head. She yanks my belt open, shoving down my slacks until they pool at my ankles, and suddenly I’m stripped down to my boxers.

I lurch forward, hands fumbling at her shirt. Somehow I manage to drag it up over her head, breath ragged, eyes devouring the bare stretch of her stomach before her mouth is back on mine. She bites my lip sharp enough to make me gasp, then shoves hard against my chest.

My back slams into the mattress, lungs seizing, heart jackhammering, cock throbbing against the thin cotton. And she just stands there at the end of the bed, looking down at me like I’m her first meal in years.

She slides her sweats down slowly and steps out of them. Her bra comes next—straps falling, cups discarded, breasts bare and perfect. My vision blurs for a second, chest stuttering, because fuck, fuck, fuck—she’s beautiful. She’s beautiful anyway but shit, this is worse, better, real. The kind of sight that has pre-come leaking from the tip of my cock and has my brain short-circuiting with panic because holy fuck, she’s stripping for me.

Her fingers hook into the waistband of her underwear, and in one smooth pull, she’s naked. Entirely naked. Standing in the low light of my disheveled bedroom while I’m flat on my back, hard and shaking and about two seconds from begging.

Oh, fuck.

This is actually happening.