Page 7

“Unless…” I drawl, leaning in, toe nudging against his calf again. “Maybe, you’d want me to?”

His pupils blow wide, a sharp breath dragging in through his teeth. The glass wobbles in his hand before he sets it down on the coffee table with a slight clatter. “You’re—uh—” His voice wavers again. “I’m just… gonna grab another bottle.”

He practically launches himself off the couch, and I watch his retreating back bolt toward the kitchen, shoulders stiff, hand raking through his hair like he’s on the edge of combustion. A flicker of guilt coils under my ribs. Okay, maybe I am about to give him a full-blown panic attack. I should probably call it a night while I’m still ahead. The last thing I need is to be responsible for my neighbor’s untimely demise—death by vague female attention. Now that would make a hell of a headline.

Yeah. I’ve had my fun. No need to actually traumatize him.

I scoop up my empty glass, already rehearsing the polite exit. Thanks for the company, Noah. Great chat about awkward exes and roommates. Promise I won’t turn up to embarrass you again.

I pad into the kitchen. “Hey,” I start. “I’m gonna head out. It was nice to⁠—”

My feet glue themselves to the ground.

Because he doesn't hear me.

He’s braced against the counter, head bowed, breath shallow. One hand clamped against the edge of the counter, white-knuckled. The other is… lower… yanking at the front of his slacks, quick and subtle, trying to shove something down, to make it less obvious.

My mouth falls open, electricity cracking through me so fast it’s almost dizzying.

Oh. Oh.

So it wasn’t panic making his voice break. It wasn’t horror tightening his shoulders.

Noah’s hard.

Because of me.

And the way he’s failing to hide it—cheeks flushed, chest rising sharp, jaw set like he’s seconds away from blacking out⁠—

Nope. Got to get out of here. Right now.

I cough lightly to announce myself.

His head snaps around, hand flying from his slacks as he jolts back a step, shoulders hitting the wall. “I—uh—oh fuck—sorry, I was just—I swear it’s not what it looks like, I wasn’t—shit, Sable⁠—”

It’s carnage. Words falling out of him in panicked shards as he tries to backpedal. But it’s too late—the damage is already written all over him. The flush up his throat, the tremor in his jaw, the hard line straining against fabric he’s desperate to will away.

I should look away, turn heel, toss a casual goodnight over my shoulder and let him scrape together whatever dignity he’s got left. That’s what I should do. But every frantic stammer out of his mouth makes the ache in my stomach burrow deeper. Every broken syllable, every flush of panic, feeds the wetness pooling low and slick between my thighs.

He scrubs a hand over his face, groaning. “You’re my new neighbour, can you—can you forget this happened? I don’t even know how—I think it’s the wine—” He breaks off, choking on air.

Forget it? Not a chance. The way he’s begging makes me want to do the exact opposite. I want to carve this exact moment into my mind and come back to it later when I’m alone.

I place my glass down on the counter and take a step toward him. He flattens back, shoulders pressing right into the wall. “What—what are you doing?“

My hand lifts, fingers ghosting over his forearm. “If you want me to forget,” I murmur, “just say the word. One word, and I walk out. Clean slate.”

His chest rises and falls too fast, pupils blown so wide the brown is almost gone. “I… I don’t want you to.”

Oh, fuck. The groan that almost tears out of me has to be strangled back. My thighs press together in a useless attempt to smother the pulse that’s throbbing low and wet. He has no idea what those words just did to me. No idea.

He pushes flatter into the wall as I close the distance, the heat of him bleeding into my skin. My fingers slide higher along his arm, tracing the taut line of muscle, and his gaze follows.

Mine travels elsewhere. Right to his mouth. To those full, parted lips. The oxygen between us feels stripped clean, stolen from my lungs and locked somewhere in his.

My hand lifts, catching the edge of his jaw, his pulse thumping hard against my palm. “You can stop this,” I murmur, the words ghosting across his skin. “If you’re uncomfortable, just say no.”

A half-whimper, half-groan escapes his throat, vibrating straight down my spine. His eyes drag over my face, dazed and starving, before he breathes out the words. “I don’t want to stop. I want it.”