He didn’t speak, but he was walking toward me, and I was trapped. My eyes darted around looking for anything sharp.
He backed me up into the corner of the closet and I whimpered out loud, closing my eyes as tears streamed down my face.
Why… Why is this happening to me?
“You were right,” he breathed, so gentle that I couldn’t believe it had come from his mouth.
I peeled my eyes open and slid up to him.
“I did cheat on you…” he croaked, his forehead creasing. “I’m sorry…”
He reached out slowly, hesitantly, and brushed my throbbing cheek. I couldn’t help the involuntary noise that escaped me from the pain on my face, and in my heart.
How could you do this to me? To us??
“It didn’t mean anything, Alexandra. It was just sex… But I know I hurt you. And then this…” He swallowed visibly. “I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry. But I know you won’t believe me…”
I sniffled, suddenly more exhausted than I ever had been in my entire life. My limbs felt like they were filled with sand.
“I-I’m just going to go…” I squeaked in between unsteady breaths as tears flowed down my face. “I have to go…”
He nodded slowly, his hand trailing down my neck as he played with the strands of my messy dark hair.
“Just stay tonight… please?” He begged with his eyes and his tone. He was confusing every fiber of me. My brain was so tired it wanted to shut down. “You can leave me tomorrow. I promise you can, if that’s what you want. And I won’t try to stop you. But just… tonight. Stay.”
My brain was screaming at me as it powered down.
Get. Out.
Leave!
Don’t stay, you moron!
And then it went dark. And I nodded. And I went limp in his arms as he lifted me up and carried me to our bed, where he laid me down softly. He turned off the lights and crawled in next to me, holding me against his body. His warmth and his comforting scent lulled me to sleep.
I wanted to hate him. I really did.
But that didn’t change the fact that I loved him.
That was the first time my knight broke my spirit. And he wouldn’t stop until he broke the rest of me with it.
Chapter Ten
Alex
My eyes slide open, and they’re scratchy. My whole head weighs a hundred pounds, and I’m much groggier than normal. I feel hungover.
And hot. Very hot. It’s stiflingly warm for some reason. And dark.
What the hell? Where am I?
I struggle to move any part of me, but the more I wake up, the more I realize I can’t. Because I have a giant body wrapped around me like a cocoon.
I shift my head and tattoos come into focus. And skin. Smooth, very warm skin.
I can’t help but grin stupidly to myself because Noah is all the fuck over me right now, and it has to be the most endearing thing I’ve ever experienced.
My head is being squished between his arm and his chest. Sort of his armpit, I guess. But I like it. That might be embarrassing to admit, but I like having my face in Noah Richards’ armpit. He smells good.
The rest of me is flush against his torso, and he’s sort of on top of me a little so I can’t move my arms. Also his legs are wrapped around my legs. He’s essentially got me in some kind of wrestling hold, and he’s knocked out cold, breathing peacefully.
I giggle under my breath. His bed is huge. There’s probably enough room to sleep five people comfortably in this bed, and yet Noah sleeps on me like a tarp.
Oh, and did I mention he’s wearing only his boxers? No?
Well, that’s because I just realized it myself. That’s why I can feel his warm skin all over me… He’s rocking nothing more than some fitted Calvin Klein boxer briefs, like the ones David Beckham models. And I think Noah’s giving him a run for his money…
He could totally be in one of those ads. His body looks like it’s photoshopped already, so they’d save themselves a step.
Now I’m wondering when he stripped out of his clothes. The last thing I remember, we were talking. We talked all night, for hours and hours, until I eventually passed out on his chest, with his big arms wrapped around me, sort of like they are now. I’ve never felt safer in my entire life. Nothing can get to me here. I’m protected.
He’s my protector.
I’m amazed at how spectacularly freeing it felt to get all that stuff off my chest. To open up and tell someone, other than my journal, what’s going on in my life; about my past, and all my insecurities. It didn’t make me feel weak or pathetic, telling Noah. He makes me feel strong, because he sees me as a fierce, badass chick. And I guess I kind of am.
A smile tugs at my lips. I never thought of myself as badass, even before I met Roger. I dressed the part, with the tattoos, dark hair and ripped clothes. But really, that’s just my style. My hair is naturally dark, and I happen to love body art. I snuck off to get my first tat when I was sixteen. I think that was the official day my parents gave up on me. They took one look at my tattoo - the shooting stars on my foot - and thought, she’ll never amount to anything. Which is a complete overreaction, by the way. It’s on my foot, not my face. And my parents are true hypocrites because they were exactly like me at that age. Which is why I find it so mind-boggling that they can judge me.
I huff to myself and close my eyes. Forget all this nonsense. It’s like Noah said… Fuck them. They don’t deserve to know me.
Thoughts of Noah and his sweet-as-pie words bring me back to the present, where he’s still holding me while he sleeps, humming out adorable little noises. As much as I’d love to stay like this forever, I sort of have to pee, and my arm is numb.
I wiggle until my arms and head are free, though my legs are still trapped by his, which are big, long and heavy. So I choose to give up my attempts at breaking out and sigh, melting against him, acknowledging that if I’m going to die of starvation or strangulation, this seems like the best possible way to go.
With my right arm and hand free, I take the opportunity to touch him in secret. Since he’s asleep, I don’t have to worry about us defining what we are to each other every time we share a look, or a touch. He’s passed out like a drunk sorority girl and my fingers are itching to do some exploring.
First, I go for his shoulder, the one that’s not buried in his immensely comfy pillow-top mattress with the eight-million thread count sheets. But I have to stop to admire the love bites I left on his neck and throat. I saw them last night when I first got here, and I was momentarily taken aback. I honestly didn’t mean to do it so hard, obviously caught up in the moment. But now that I’m looking at them up close, with Noah asleep and cuddling me, they fill me with pride.
They make it seem like he’s mine.
I glide my fingertips over his shoulder blade and down his back, tracing the Mad Hatter, which earns me a soft grumble. I briefly wonder if he’s awake, but he’s breathing deep, in and out, and it’s clear he’s still sleeping.
Next stop is his arm, the one that’s draped over my waist. I roll away a bit so I can touch all down his ripped bicep and forearm, and onto his hand. I have to take a second to appreciate the hand. It’s perfect. A large, wide palm with long, shapely fingers and nails that are not so nice they look manicured, though they probably are. And this is the hand that has a big, dark skull tatted on the back of it. It’s a great piece; another one to add to the collection of my favorite Noah Richards tattoos.