Breaking Noah (13 page)

“Your girlfriend’s not around, I take it?” I move past him into the hallway as he closes the door behind me.

“We broke up.”

I raise my eyebrows.
Wow.
I wasn’t expecting him to actually
tell
her.

“It’s a long story I’d rather not go into right now. But to be honest, it should have been over a long time ago.”

Huh.
I shrug and make my way into the living room, throwing myself on his sofa. His eyes fall on my legs as I fold one over the other, tucking them up under my ass.

“Make yourself at home,” he says and smirks.

“I’ll take a drink, if you’re offering.” I grin. “A wine would be nice,” I call out.

“That’s what I get for assuming you’d want a beer,” he calls back.

“Just because I’m a college student, Mr. B., doesn’t mean I don’t like the finer things in life.”

He comes back in carrying a bottle of white wine and two glasses.

“Would you stop calling me that? I feel like a creep.”

“You’re not a creep,” I say and laugh. “I may be a student, but I’m also a woman. Just as much an adult as you are,” I add, a little too indignant.

He shakes his head and laughs as he pours two glasses and hands one to me.

“I honestly have no response for that.” He chuckles. “What do you feel like for dinner?”

I swing my legs over and stand up, setting my drink down on the side table next to an ugly-looking lamp.

“How about I cook you something?” I suggest.

He looks skeptical. “You cook?”

“Just because your ex could burn boiling water doesn’t mean we’re all like that. Females were born to be in the kitchen, right? It’s in our nature to know how to cook,” I say lightly. I walk into the kitchen and open the fridge. I spot a package of chicken drumsticks, which I pull out, and some fresh greens.

“You…surprise me,” he finishes. “So where did you learn to cook?” he asks.

I roll my eyes. “I’m an army brat, remember? I’ve lost count of the number of times I had to cook for myself. Dad was always away and Mom worked late, which left me and my brother.” I make a face. “Trust me, after tasting his food, you learn to cook pretty fucking quick.”

“Now that you say it, I remember you telling me that before. So what are you making?” he asks, leaning against the counter.

“My specialty. Mexican chicken with fresh tortillas.” I scrunch my nose up. “That’s if you have flour?”

He points to a large white container.

“Great. Okay, I’ll need more wine, music, and you sitting there, preferably with your shirt off.”

He laughs. “My shirt off?”

“Yes. Inspiration.” I wink. Shaking his head, he walks back out to the other room for our drinks while I get started.

When Noah reemerges into the kitchen, his shirt is missing and his hands are filled with wineglasses and the bottle of white we cracked open. It would appear that Mr. Bain is excellent at following directions.

Standing behind the counter, staring out at him over the island, I prepare all my ingredients and start working on the meal.

“So, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Noah asks, catching me off guard. Usually, we don’t speak of the future.

“I haven’t really decided yet. I thought before I wanted to go into fashion, but there’s really nothing I can do with that degree once I graduate. Considered being an English major, but again, what am I going to do after school’s over? I’m seriously leaning toward law school.” Apparently, when I get nervous, I ramble. I’ve just shared something with him that I haven’t even shared with Ryan or had ever talked about with Karly.

“I think you’d make an excellent attorney,” he says, sipping from his glass.
Wow, so this is what it feels like?
Having someone other than those who are required to care about you support something you want to do.

“Okay, enough about me. If you weren’t a professor, what would you be doing?” Time to dive into the mind of Noah Bain for just a moment. If I’m going to break him, I need to know him inside and out.

“I’d be a writer, one hundred percent.” I didn’t expect that. I figured he would go with something a little more lucrative, maybe a doctor like his father. Apples usually don’t fall too far from the tree.

“I think you’d be an excellent writer.” He blushes under my approval. Maybe he’s never had anyone support his dreams, either.

While I’m simmering the chicken and dicing some vegetables, the kitchen’s pretty quiet with the exception of the sizzling on the stove and the radio going in the background. For a while, I forget that I’m not alone and begin dancing along to Adele’s crooning. Her soulful voice invades my body, and not only do I softly sing the song word for word, my hips sway to the beat of the music.

“You’re not a bad singer, you know that?” Noah interrupts, and I nearly drop a piece of chicken on the floor.

“Shush, I’m busy,” I say, and laugh nervously. Again with the compliments. I’m going to need him to show his true colors soon enough. This Mr. Nice Guy routine is starting to play tricks with my mind and what I’m about to do.

Noah offers to set the table, which he does beautifully, even opting to bring out a few candles and opening a new bottle of wine. Sitting together, enjoying a meal, isn’t something I ever pictured happening when I concocted this plan, but it’s nice. Since I left home, I’ve been eating dinner alone.

“Well, I’m impressed.” He smirks at me, narrows his eyes. “You actually can cook.”

“I told you. Just so you know, I don’t do dishes.”

He laughs. “A little late to tell me that. Maybe that would’ve been a deal-breaker.”

“Really? You would’ve given up the chance to try my award-winning Mexican chicken burritos just to avoid doing the dishes?” I shake my head. “You’re not the man I thought you were, Mr. B.”

He’s smiling at me and I wonder what he’s thinking. Something about the way he’s looking at me makes me uncomfortable. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m enjoying myself more than I thought I would that’s making me uncomfortable?

“So, dessert first, or the movie?” he asks, reaching across the table for my hand, leading me to the living room, directing me to sit on the sofa.

I raise an eyebrow. “That depends on what you have planned for dessert.”

Licking my lips, I smirk, eyes clouding with lust at the thought of her taste on my tongue again. Zara throws her head back, laughing a soft, feminine laugh. I love it. She looks happy…really happy. Not this fake front I’ve come to know that she puts on in class or with everyone else.

“I didn’t really have anything planned. I think the only thing I have is granola bars, and that doesn’t even sound good.”

“Seriously? Granola bars? I can’t.” She continues laughing, holding her stomach, tears falling from her eyes.

“I have a better idea, anyway.” I stalk toward her. When she notices that I’m on the prowl, her laughter ceases. I lean over her, one hand on the back of the couch, the other wrapping around her neck, pulling her head, and more important, her lips, toward me.

In the blink of an eye, she’s on me, her tongue battling with mine, my teeth nipping at her lower lip, both of us breathing heavy. I gently lift her from the sofa, and she wraps her legs around my waist. I move until the back of my knees hit the couch and carefully lower us. Zara moves her legs to straddle me before my back hits the cushion.

“Shirt,” I command. Without any other direction, Zara peels the tight shirt from her body, tossing it behind her. She places her arms behind her back, ready to unclasp her bra, but waiting for another directive. I nod, and the bra also finds its way to the floor.

Leaning forward, I capture one pebbled peak between my teeth, nibbling, and my other hand finds the other mound, massaging. All the while Zara’s head’s thrown back, soft moans escaping her perfectly pouted lips. Her hands thread in my hair, pulling me closer to her body.

“Stand.” I’ve never been a demanding lover. With Shannon, it was just run-of-the-mill sex, nothing exciting or special. Even with my partners before Shannon I was usually tame, but Zara drags something out of me. Makes me want to command her attention and control her actions. It’s exhilarating. I don’t know how I’ve gone this long without acting this way. I only hope she’s enjoying it.

Once she’s off my lap, she faces me, a devilish grin on her lips. God, I just want to taste her already. Without breaking eye contact, she places her fingers on the button of her jeans. “May I?” she asks, and my dick jumps. I nod. Not because I can’t speak, but because I’m worried I’d scream “Hell, yes,” or something else juvenile.

She quickly undoes the button and zipper, shimmying her slender legs free. “No panties tonight, Ms. Hamilton?”

“What would be the point, Mr. Bain? I figured that it would be one more thing I could accidently forget and your girlfriend find. I may have been trying to seduce you for weeks, but hurting Shannon was never part of the plan.”

“Well, since we no longer have that problem, you don’t have to worry about it. I like it, though. From now on, when you come to see me, underwear is not acceptable. You’ll remain bare for me.” I have no idea where this is coming from, but the way her breathing picks up and her nipples harden even more, I know she likes it. Fuck, her being submissive under my words is such a turn-on. I’m not even inside her and I’m already becoming undone.

“Yes, sir,” she says, but I can’t tell if she’s being serious or mocking me. When Zara licks her lips and goose bumps appear on her arms, my question’s answered—she fucking loves it.

“I want you to stand on the couch. One leg here,” I point to my left side. “The other, place your foot on the back of the couch on this side,” I nod to the right. Without hesitation, she follows my explicit directions until her pussy is mere inches from my face. Inhaling her intoxicating scent, I rake my eyes up her body, finally meeting her desire-filled emerald pools.

“Whatever you do, don’t move. You stay right here and take what I’m going to give you. If you move, I stop. Do you understand?” With my eyes still connected with hers, she bites down on her lip and nods. “Excellent.”

Testing her resolve, I snake out my tongue, making a quick swipe between her lower lips, slowing when I reach her clit. She starts to buck her hips when I don’t move, but suddenly stills. “Good girl.”

With my hands splayed across her ass, I pull her to my face, burying myself between her thighs. I alternate among sucking, nipping, and licking, and her legs begin to quiver against my cheeks. I insert two fingers, pressing upward to stroke her walls, and Zara falls apart with my arms supporting her.

“Fuck. Don’t stop, Noah.”

Withdrawing my mouth from her wet pussy, I ease her back onto my lap and let her rest her head against my shoulder to catch her breath. “That was fucking amazing.” She sighs.

“And to think I’m not even done with you yet.”

“Shit. I don’t know if I can take it, but I’ll give it a good old college try,” she jokes.

“College, you say? Sounds good to me. There’ll be no more of this Noah stuff, Ms. Hamilton. As your professor, you should refer to me as Mr. Bain. It’s only fair to the other students,” I say, smirking.

“What?” Zara looks up at me, confused.

“Ms. Hamilton. You know the rules. If you’re still looking for that extra-credit assignment, I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” Swiftly, I remove her from my lap, sit her on the couch, and walk away. I stand at the sink, waiting to see if she’s going to play along. I hear her bare feet slap against the hardwood floor, and it takes a lot to contain my excitement.

“I’m ready for my assignment, Mr. Bain.” Zara doesn’t smile or act as if she’s playing a part. Worry clouds my thoughts. What if she thinks I’m serious and assumes that I’m going to alter her grades because of what we’re doing? Then she looks up at me through her lashes, her lust-filled eyes peeking out at me, and her lips turn upward. I breathe a sigh of relief.

She’s game.

“There appear to be some unwashed dishes in the sink, Ms. Hamilton. I expect those to be taken care of immediately.” Zara saunters toward me, knocks her hip against mine to scoot me out of the way, and turns on the faucet…completely naked.

“Feet shoulder length apart, Ms. Hamilton. I shouldn’t need to remind you of the correct form again,” I sternly say. My dick’s so fucking hard it’s about to break the seam of my jeans. This is so hot. I’m never going to be the same again.

Zara leans over the sink, most likely teasing me. And it works. She’s baited the hook and I’m biting. As soon as her pert ass is raised, I step behind her, placing one hand on the small of her back, forcing her to keep that position. I pop the button of my pants, and as I pull down the zipper, Zara’s intake of breath is in time with the sounds of the teeth being pulled apart.

“Do you have any reason to believe you’re not clean, Ms. Hamilton?” I ask, not wanting to go into the bedroom to retrieve a condom. I don’t want to waste another second not being inside her. I need to feel her.

She attempts to move away from me, but my hold on her tightens. “Talk to me, Zara.” I quickly break from my role, not wanting to offend her.

“Please move,” she whispers, her words catching in her throat. Her body shudders under my hand. She’s trying to withhold tears.

“Zara, please. What’s wrong?” I move away from her and zip my pants. This is the last thing I wanted. I’ve done something to hurt her.

“It’s nothing. This was a good time, Noah, but I better be getting home. Dillon will wonder where I am.” She moves past me into the living room, gathers her clothing, and steps into the bathroom, locking the door.

I wait for a few moments before I follow after her. Softly knocking, she doesn’t respond. I knock a little louder this time, and she answers. “I’m fine, Noah. Just give me a minute, okay?”

“No, it’s not all right. Please open the door. Please,” I beg. I’ve never felt this compelled to ensure someone’s feelings were intact in my life. Especially someone I don’t really know.

The door creaks open, and a tear-stricken Zara appears. She refuses to meet my eyes. “I don’t know,” she mutters, trying to snake around me, but I block her path.

“What don’t you know?”

She looks up at me with tears threatening to spill over. The urge to pull her into my arms is overwhelming, but I give her the space she was just desperately seeking.

“If I’m clean,” she whispers, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders violently shaking.

I grab her by the hand, lead her into the bedroom, and sit her on the edge of the bed. It feels wrong being in here with her so soon after breaking it off with Shannon, but the need to care for her overpowers anything else. Sitting next to her, I put my arm around her, pulling her to my side, and softly run my hand up and down her arm.

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad, Zara. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s me. I assume Dillon is out there fucking anything with a pussy, and it really doesn’t bother me. I don’t feel for him like I used to. I know he’s not the one, but when he comes home after drinking all night and fucks me, sometimes with a condom, sometimes without, I worry. I have an appointment with the campus doc on Monday, but I don’t wanna give you something if I have it. I didn’t even think about it until you said something. I’m so sorry, Noah.”

“We don’t have to have sex, Zara.” As if I’ve electrocuted her, she jumps out of my arms and stares at me like I’ve completely lost my mind.

“Why else would you have invited me here? You wanted to get laid. I might be young, Noah, but I’m not fucking stupid.”

“I’m not sure what impression you have of me. Do I want to have sex with you? Of course I do. Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re fucking perfect. Your body is out of control, your pussy is so damn tight it nearly strangles my fingers, and the way you taste, Zara, you have to know. But I enjoy your company, too. You’re smart and funny. I like talking to you.”

Apparently Zara’s never had anyone pay attention to her unless they had an ulterior motive. That’s such a shame. I could spend all night talking to her, just like I could spend hours buried deep inside of her.

“I didn’t expect that,” she says under her breath. I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t give me any more than that. God, college boys are all the same. Unless a girl’s going to put out, she’s worthless.

“Come here.” I scoot up on the bed, resting against the headboard, wanting her to join me. She hesitantly obliges.

Once we’re situated, I start some casual conversation. We spend a few hours talking about our favorite music, movies, and books. Very much to my surprise, we have a lot in common. When I’ve run out of topics to talk about, I flip on the TV and we watch a few reruns of
The Big Bang Theory
until I pass out.

I only wish I could have woken up the same way I fell asleep—with Zara’s warmth around me, her head on my chest and leg draped over mine. Instead, I wake up alone. Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I send her a quick text just to make sure she’s okay.

Me:
Did you get home safe?

You’d think she had the phone in her hand, waiting for my message.

Zara:
Yep.

Me:
Call me after you wake up?

No further responses come through. I’m hoping she fell asleep, seeing as the sun isn’t even up yet, but I highly doubt it. I might have done damage that can’t be undone.