Wade lifted a hand and dropped it. Trembling, Noah captured those warm, blunt-nailed fingers and brought them to the body of the albatross. Their breaths fell heavily between them as Wade traced an outline around the wings.
They didn’t cover his scars. He’d been tempted, at the parlour, but. He wanted that shiny skin. A reminder he’d been on a long journey. That he was still on that journey. That he hadn’t yet touched land.
Dark eyes lifted to his and held. “Beautiful.”
Noah clasped Wade’s warm nape, brought their lips within a whisper.
And kissed him.
Soft and tender, Noah’s lips grazed the bow of Wade’s. Do you like me?
Air dragged over his skin as Wade sucked in his breath, as if Noah’s thought had been audible to him. Noah stopped, heart hitching as he hovered at the corner of his mouth. The seconds passed. Long, torturous seconds.
Oh.
Noah pulled away.
“I do like you.” Wade hooked a hand behind his neck and pressed their foreheads together. “I do, it’s just—”
Noah tried to move back; Wade hauled him in and kissed him again, messy, frantic, a clash of teeth and a seductive swipe of his tongue.
For a moment conflict surfaced in his brown eyes, but whatever fight he was battling, he won. He kissed Noah again, gentler this time. Like longing. Like sighing.
“Oh, jeepers.” He cursed and tightened his grip on Noah’s waist, the other hand sliding up the planes of his back.
His thighs slid against Noah’s hips, a warm, trembling friction.
Their tongues twisted together, fingers slid into his hair. Wade groaned into their kiss, like he too wanted more. Wanted the press of their bodies, Noah’s touch. He squeezed him close, and Noah shuddered with arousal. A kiss had never felt like this before. So raw, so sensual. Like they both wanted to tell a story—where this could go next. How happily this could end.
Swept up in his own response, the returning press against him, he gripped the back of Wade’s shirt in his fist. He wanted to pull it off, push Wade to the bed, explore him. He wanted Wade to know . . .
Sense stayed his hand.
Reluctantly, Noah drew back, and Wade let him.
Their chests heaved with uneven breaths, and Noah lifted his chin and smiled. “We should . . . sleep.”
He turned to the wall and finished unzipping his jeans. Shoved them off, prickling with heat at being watched. Bed springs creaked, and Noah imagined Wade undressing with quick, no-nonsense movements.
He turned toward the bathroom, a flash of Wade’s mostly naked body crossing his peripheral vision, and swallowed. “I’ll just . . .”
The bathroom door shut with a temperate click and Noah sagged against it. How would he sleep tonight?
He peed, and braced a hand against the wall. He had no lube—it was always better with lube—but . . . Wade’s silky hair between his fingers . . . the slick warmth of his mouth . . . what it might be like to sink down that throat, those dazzling eyes staring up at him—
He had to curb this . . . this . . .
Even without Wade waiting on the other side of the door, the first brush of his fingers confirmed this was not going to be a slow and leisurely situation. He jerked himself, quick and rough. The staccato rhythm of his fist, harsh against his balls, reverberated across skin still electric from their kiss. Sensation pooled on the left side of his shaft and intensified into a white haze, sea spray over breakers.
He bit his lip on a grunt and rode out the waves—long, sweeping waves rushing to the outer edges and slowly, ever-so-slowly, pulling back.
Wade almost slammed into him as he came out of the bathroom. “Sorry.”
He steadied himself, hands on Noah’s biceps, and the heat of his almost-naked body blazed into him. So much for any curbing. Wade was a living sculpture of finely cut muscle and dark hair, and his eyes were molten.
“I have to—” He tore past and locked himself in the bathroom.
Noah turned back the bedsheets and encased himself in fresh cotton, turning the overhead lights off in favour of the low, warm glow of the smaller lamp beside him.
Through the thin wall, Noah heard Wade shifting. The flush of the toilet. The tap turning on and off. Then the silence.
The silence gave everything away.
He flushed, toes curling.
Had Wade lain here like this . . .
Noah pulled the sheets over his head and froze. But if Wade had . . . he’d given in to the same impulse.
He twisted in his bed of shivers and splayed his hand over Wade’s side. Sleep would be impossible.
He switched off the lamp, filling the room with shadows.
Wade hesitated as he left the bathroom, then climbed quietly into bed. He shifted, the mattress shaking with it. He shifted again and stilled. His breaths were light, even, but tension pulled in the air, and Noah could feel him thinking.
