He just looks at her for a moment as he leans back against the counter and she grates cheese for the nacho dip or whatever the fuck she's making. Her ass is fucking ridiculous in those tiny shorts, and it's really difficult not to just walk over and like, grab it. He's pretty sure that would get him slapped.
But then she keeps looking at him over her shoulder, and he knows she's catching him checking her out every time, but she doesn't say anything about it. If she really wanted him to stop, she'd tell him. He knows that much about her.
"You know, Noah, there are healthy alternatives to party food. I could put together veggies and low-fat dip, or low sodium crackers and cheese, or..."
"Rachel, it's not a fuckin' cocktail party," he says laughingly. "It's a bunch of dudes sitting around watching sports. Nachos. Wings. Potato skins. Chips. Maybe some onion rings or something."
"It's disgustingly unhealthy," she says, turning back to the counter. "But I suppose if you tell me to do something, I have to do it."
It's too much. The socks, the shorts, his number on her back, her little pigtails. Her standing in his kitchen giving him some kind of weird green light.
He walks over to where she's standing and takes her by the elbow, turning her until she's facing him. He doesn't let go, and she looks confused as she meets his eyes.
"Noah, what...?"
"Kiss me," he commands. Her cheeks turn this cute shade of pink and he doesn't know if that means she's embarrassed, turned on, or pissed.
"I...You want me to..."
"Kiss me, Rachel."
She reaches up and rests her hand on his chest, her eyes still locked with his as she takes a little step closer. Just a little further, just an inch or so on her tip toes and she'll be kissing him. She's just leaning up and she can feel his breath across her face, and she thinks this is it, this is the moment she's been waiting for.
Then the smoke alarm goes off and she jumps back from him, lets out a squeal and rushes for the oven. She pulls open the door and a little plume of smoke comes out. Puck walks over and pushes the windows above the sink open, then reaches up to shut the smoke detector off.
Cock blocked by a goddamn smoke detector. That's a first.
She's just gotten the smoke cleared, thankful that the flatbread isn't burnt, when Finn and Kurt walk into the kitchen.
"Dear sweet Lord in heaven, what are you wearing?" Kurt asks, stopping in his tracks.
Finn is stopped, too, eyebrow raised as he looks at Rachel. "You look...hot," he says.
Puck smiles proudly and looks at Rachel, who looks like she's not sure whether she should be annoyed or take the compliment.
"It smells like clogged arteries in here," Kurt notes, taking a look at the spread of food that's laid out.
"There are healthier alternatives, I promise, no matter what Noah says," Rachel insists.
Puck just rolls his eyes and grabs a couple cans of Coke from the fridge as Kurt pulls a bottle of Perrier from his bag. He reaches for a glass, then he and Finn turn to head into the living room, saying something about pregame. Well, Finn says something about pregame. Kurt just follows, and Puck hears the door open again and Mike's voice coming through the house as he says hello, then says Artie isn't coming, but Matt is on his way.
This was a terrible idea. What the fuck was he thinking inviting Rachel over in this outfit, then having other people show up? He's a fucking moron. Seriously.
He walks over to her, rests his hand on her side where his jersey is showing her skin, and leans down to speak in her ear.
"This isn't over."
She watches him walk into the living room and about 95% of her is really hoping he's not lying.
...
He walks into the kitchen about ten minutes later with a simple, normal expression on his face and stands next to her, leaning against the counter.
"Yes?" she asks.
"Can you do me a favour?" She turns to him and thinks this must be serious, because he's actually asking her nicely, and he looks...normal. (Not like he's two seconds away from seducing her.) "Hannah's up in her room. Could you just like, check on her for me every once in a while?" he asks quietly, sweetly.
Rachel smiles and nods. "Of course. Has she eaten? Does she need anything?"
"She should be fine. She ate earlier. She's just watching movies or whatever."
"Okay," Rachel says softly. "No problem."
"Thanks." He reaches out and gives her shoulder a squeeze before walking away.
She doesn't know how she could have ever been upset with this sweet, caring man.
Even though he told her Hannah had already eaten, she makes a point of taking some veggies and dip and a glass of milk up to the girl almost as soon as he's left the kitchen. She and Hannah talk a little bit about Up, the movie Hannah is watching, and Rachel says she'll leave the door open a crack when she leaves, and for Hannah to come down and get her if she needs anything. Hannah thanks Rachel in the sweetest little voice and goes back to crunching carrot sticks and laughing at the talking dog.
As she's walking down the hall, Rachel resists the urge to peek into Noah's bedroom. She doesn't know why it matters one way or the other.
...
If she's being honest with herself, Rachel has probably known all along, since she lost that stupid poker game, that something was going to happen with Noah. And it's not like she has given him much indication that she doesn't want it to. Sure, she's set out rules and brushed off his blatant come ons, but the subtleties of what's been going on between them? She's encouraged them, welcomed them. The looks and little smirks, not arguing him on the nicknames, their actual conversations. Yesterday at the pool was probably one of the most fun days she's ever had, and for the most part (certain activities excluded) he didn't bring up anything sexual at all.
She likes him. She likes him. She doesn't want to have sex with him, right?
Okay, yes, she very much does. It's just that now that she knows him better, has seen inside his world a little bit, she wants so much more from him. She thinks he'd be a wonderful boyfriend if someone gave him the chance, if he wanted that chance with that girl.
She wonders if she's that girl.
She carries a tray of food and some plates into the living room and sets it on the table as the guys watch the pregame show, and Noah winks at her when no one else is looking. She licks her lips discretely (yet totally on purpose) and leaves the room. She can't be in there with him and be expected to keep her composure. She's already feeling...feeling...Well, that almost kiss earlier has stayed with her, the feel of his breath on her face, the look in his eyes as he told her to kiss him.
And this jersey smells like him, despite the fact that she sprayed her perfume on it before she left the house. (What? When she gives it back to him, she wants to make him a little crazy, like he's been making her.) It smells like him, just slightly like her right now, and the part of her that has no reservations about sex whatsoever (it's a small part of her, but one that's growing the more time she spends alone with him) wonders if this is what they'd smell like together.
It's a relatively creepy thought, so she pushes it away and tries to focus on something else.
She decides, since all the food that's being prepared is savoury, that the boys need something sweet. She grabs one of his mother's cookbooks and flips through the pages, looking for something easy enough to put together.
She's standing at the counter with one knee bent, toying with one of her braids when she hears someone walk into the kitchen. She's already blushing.
"Hey!" Finn says happily.
She turns around and plasters on a smile so she doesn't look disappointed that it's not someone else. "Hi," she says.
His brow furrows as he heads for the fridge. "You okay? You look...red."
That's because I'm thinking of all the depraved things I want your best friend to do to me.
"I'm fine. It's just hot in here with all the cooking and everything," she says. It's not really a lie.
He nods and grabs some more sodas, holding them all in his arms. "Puck told me to just yell at you to bring us these, but...I dunno. That doesn't seem fair."
She laughs. "Well, I don't think that's necessarily his main concern," Rachel says. Finn smiles and shrugs one shoulder. "It's okay, though. I kind of brought it on myself."
"You just lost."
"Thanks for the reminder," she says, rolling her eyes.
"Could have gone either way," Finn explains. "He could have ended up as your slave."
She nods her head and he leaves the room.
She wonders what she would have had Noah do if he'd lost.
She blames him for the fact that everything she can think of is explicitly sexual. What in the world was this boy doing to her?
...
So, Puck can say that for the first time in his life, he has absolutely no interest in sports whatsoever.
Okay, that's not entirely true.
Rachel is wearing his jersey. He supposes that counts.
Goddamn, he wants to peel that off her, dip his hand into her shorts, make her come. He wants to lift her up onto the counter and spread her open. Fuck. It's the fourth fucking inning and he has to remind himself to check the score. The only reason he sends Finn for drinks is because he's hard as fuck and a, can't stand up himself, and b, if he sees Rachel right now, there's a very good chance he'll come in his pants, and he's not a thirteen year old, so he basically refuses to let that shit go down.
(Besides, when he does come because of her, he wants it to be inside her. Goddamn.)
Sometime during the sixth inning, the house starts smelling really, really good and chocolatey, and all the guys look at one another during a commercial break.
"What is that?" Matt asks, looking towards the kitchen.
"Dunno," Puck mumbles. He's battling with himself, wondering if he should go talk to her. He knows that if he's alone with her right now, even with their friends so close, he'll end up kissing her. He just knows it.
"D'you tell her to make dessert?" Mike chimes in. Puck shakes his head and shrugs one shoulder. "Damn. That girl's a keeper."
Puck doesn't really know what to say to that. He thinks she is, too. He wants to be the one to keep her. (Shit. He did not just think that.)
Rachel walks in a few minutes later and sees the disaster on the coffee table, dirty plates all stacked (she smiles at Kurt; that's all his doing, obviously) and remnants of food on platters. There are empty soda cans scattered around, napkins used and left wherever. She honestly wonders how boys are even capable of surviving. Right. Because women are so wonderful at taking care of them. (For the most part. She's a bit of a feminist, but she's also a fan of human kindness, and she doesn't think there's anything wrong with taking care of someone you care about. But anyway.)
She starts clearing plates and balancing things in her arms when Noah speaks to her.
"What're you cooking, darlin'?"
(She really likes that particular nickname, and she has absolutely no idea why.)
"I thought you boys might like some brownies. They'll be ready in a few minutes," she explains.
She's seriously the sweetest girl ever. He didn't even ask her to do this, she's just doing it because she thinks he'll (they'll, whatever) like it. She's just that kind of girl. She likes to do nice things for people. He feels guilty for a second, like he's taken advantage of that, but he hasn't made her do anything really all that bad. And really, she could say no and he wouldn't honestly be able to 'force' her into anything.
"That's awesome," he says, smiling genuinely at her. "Thanks."
She bites the inside of her lip to keep from grinning, then turns to walk into the kitchen.
He punches Matt on the arm for staring at her ass as she walks. Kurt giggles in his spot and Puck musters his meanest glare, but it doesn't really do much of anything at all.
When Rachel comes in with a plate of brownies, hot from the oven (after taking one up to his sister), the little smile she gives him as the other guys reach for their dessert makes Puck's heart like, flutter or something. It's totally fucked. Must be all that junk food. Totally. That's all it is.
...
Rachel is sitting on the back deck of Noah's house with the patio door that leads into the kitchen open, just in case he bellows for her and needs something. She's got a glass of water perched on the arm of the adirondack chair she's sitting on. She's got her legs knees pulled up to her chin, just sitting there, listening to the sounds of almost-summer, letting the sky turn pink above her, smiling every so often when she can hear the boys in the house cheering or laughing.
She doesn't expect her phone to ring, and she doesn't recognize the number.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Rachel," Santana says. She already sounds bored. That's kind of her default setting, Rachel thinks. "How's it going?"
"Um...fine, I guess. How did you get my number?" Rachel asks. They never exchanged them.
"Q. I was surprised she had it, actually, but whatever. So did he like, drool when he saw you?"
Rachel laughs. "Practically," she says quietly. "I think the pigtails did it."
"Pigtails? Jesus. Are you trying to make him come in his pants?"
"Santana!" Rachel laughs, half-mortified.
"I'm just saying."
"Also, he gave me tube socks to match his jersey."
Santana laughs loudly. "Of course he did," she says. Rachel can practically picture her shaking her head. "So what are you doing right now?"
"Just sitting outside. I'm between chores, apparently," Rachel says, rolling her eyes. She's already cleaned up the kitchen and hasn't been asked for anything else yet.
"Can you just seduce him already? I'm getting bored with this game," Santana says, making Rachel laugh again. "Honestly. You know he's not going to say no, and you know you want him. Just, like, strip down after everyone else has left."
Rachel bites her lip and looks over her shoulder to make sure no one is around to hear her. "Can I be honest?"
"Are you ever not?"
Rachel's going to choose to ignore that comment. "I don't...I mean I've never actually tried to seduce someone," she admits. "I'll make a fool of myself!"
Santana practically squeals. "You so want to bang him!"
"Santana!" Rachel hisses.
"Sorry. Sorry. You want him to bang you."
"Oh my god."
"Okay. Alright. Look, Puck...he's...he's not a hard guy to turn on. Actually, he's pretty much the easiest."
"You know, this isn't making me feel very confident that he wants me, not just a warm body," Rachel says seriously.
"First of all, fuck that, because he totally doesn't want anyone else. Trust me. Second of all, your body is more than just warm."
"I don't know whether or not I should be uncomfortable with your constant remarks about my looks, or flattered."
"Whatever. Just like, smile at him and be nice to him and he'll probably throw you up against the closest wall."
"I can't believe we're having this conversation," Rachel says, covering her face with her hand. "I shouldn't be saying any of this to you."
"Secret's safe with me," Santana promises. Maybe Rachel is crazy, but she believes her. "Just relax, Rachel. And have fun. You're allowed, you know."
"I'm perfectly aware," Rachel states primly.
"Well then have it. And Puck? That guy knows fun."
"Really, you referring to your past with him doesn't help."
"Oh, yes it does," Santana laughs. "I know it's a sure thing. You won't be left unsatisfied. Believe me."
"I'm hanging up," Rachel says. Santana laughs again and says goodbye.
Rachel thinks she's just said far too much.
The thing is? She really doesn't care if Santana knows these details. They're friends now, as strange as that is, and it's nice to have someone to talk to about this kind of thing.
Even if she knows she's going to have to share details later.
(If there are details to share.)
...
He rotates his shoulder a couple times, wincing as he does so. It's his throwing arm, and it gets pretty sore between sports seasons when he's not working it all the time. Baseball doesn't start up for another week. It's not like he's out of shape or anything. Hello, have you seen him? He just hasn't really been working out as much as usual, since he's got other things on the go. Like trying to seduce Rachel or whatever.
So he figures maybe he can combine his two problems. You know, his sore shoulder and the fact that Rachel hasn't let him get her naked yet.
"Hey! Rach!" he yells, tilting his head towards the kitchen. She's got her hands on her hips (sexy) when she appears in the doorway. "C'mere."
Everyone in the room seems suddenly intrigued by what is about to happen. Puck thinks it's pretty hilarious that, until now, her slavery has been pretty much kept just between the two of them. No one else has actually witnessed what she has to do. This is going to be awesome.
"What is it now?" she asks. The guys all cheer when something happens on the screen. She's not really paying attention.
"I'm really tense," he says rubbing his shoulder with his hand.
"Well, maybe you shouldn't take the game so seriously, then." She crosses her arms and he looks at her like she's kind of a dork for totally missing the point. "What?" she asks skeptically.
"I need a rub down."
"Dude, not with us in the room," Mike says, grimacing.
The look on Rachel's face is comical. "Mike!" she gasps. "I'll have you know that even if that was how he meant that, I certainly wouldn't be obliging. Women like romance, not vulgarity, and Noah seems to be incapable of the former."
"Hey!" Puck cries, offended. "I romance girls just fine."
Everyone in the room laughs. He does not appreciate that shit. Especially not since Rachel was literally a split second away from kissing on him in the kitchen earlier. No romance my ass. And honestly, she can pretend she doesn't want it, but he knows different.
"Sure you do," Matt says. "Sure you do."
Whatever. Fuckers don't know anything.
"Come on, babe," Puck says. He grabs her hand and pulls her over so she's standing behind him at the sofa, then he lets her go long enough to tug his tee shirt over his head. The guys all roll their eyes, and Rachel really doesn't know what to do. "Get to work."
"Noah, this is inappropriate," she says quietly, glancing around the room.
Without even taking his eyes off the television, he says, "only if you want it to be."
"You're disgusting."
"You're stalling."
"You're both interrupting the game," Finn laughs. "Just give in, Rach. At least he'll shut up."
"I don't think that logic is incredibly sensible," she mumbles.
The problem is that his skin is all tanned right there in front of her, and she remembers what it felt like yesterday under her hands at the pool, and she wants to touch him so badly. The only thing that's wrong with this situation is that there are other people in the room. She wants him, more of him, and she wants to kiss him, to pick up where they left off in the kitchen earlier.
And her conversation with Santana has left her more curious than ever. Not that she really doubted his sexual prowess, so to speak, but hearing that he most definitely wouldn't disappoint just makes her want it more. She does not know what's gotten into her.
"Sometime today," Puck says.
She rolls her eyes and he focuses his attention on the television as her hands come to rest on his bare (muscular) shoulders and she starts kneading the skin, pushing her thumbs from the base of his neck up to his hairline, right in the center.
Holy shit. Not that he doubted she'd be good with her hands, but this is seriously amazing and it's only been like, a minute. Her thumbs doing that thing over and over again is pretty amazing and sending really good like, tingles down his spine. It's not even a dirty thing, it's just that she's making his back and shoulders feel a million times better. This is even more awesome than her applying sunscreen, because she's actually massaging him, and seriously, he had no clue those tiny little hands could do this.
He doesn't realize he's let out a throaty moan until all the guys look at him like he's seriously weirding them out.
"Whatever," he mumbles. "You don't even understand." His head rolls to the left when Rachel starts working the right side, his sore shoulder, and his eyes close momentarily before he remembers he's supposed to be defending himself. "She's good," he manages.
Finn just shakes his head. Kurt looks far too amused. Matt is looking at Rachel. Mike is trying not to laugh.
"Okay?" Rachel asks, stilling her hands.
"Don't stop," he says, reaching up to hold her hand against him. He doesn't care that it sounds breathy and totally sexual, or that he's practically begging. He just wants her hands on him, doing those amazing things. "Keep going."
The only reason she wants to stop is because she can feel herself blushing, overheating, and she's fairly certain that if any of the boys look her way, she'll be giving herself away. But they're all - even Kurt - wrapped up in the game again and don't seem to notice what she's doing anymore.
When she feels Noah shudder beneath her hands, then shift in his seat to try to cover it up, she bites the inside of her lip and thinks that maybe she could be better at this seduction thing than she ever assumed.
...
The guys are leaving, and after Rachel has said goodbye, she quietly tells Noah she's going to run up and check on Hannah one last time. She's not sure whether the girl will be asleep (she should be, it's late) or not, but she just wants to make sure nothing crazy is going on. Again, she's not sure how much trouble a single nine and a half year old can get into, because when Rachel was that age, she was putting on cabarets for the neighbours and charging $7.50 admission to add to her college fund.
What? It's never too early to plan for the future.
Sure enough, Hannah is tucked into her bed with her pajamas on, dishes from her snacks stacked on her bedside table. When Rachel walks over to pick them up to take downstairs, she switches off the light and tucks the covers up around the girl a little more. She steps out into the hall, tugging the door almost all the way closed.
In the kitchen, Noah is dropping the last of the empty soda cans in the recycling bin beneath the sink, and she thinks better of mentioning the fact that he's actually helping.
"You fed her?" he asks, looking at the plates and glass in her hands. She places them in the dishwasher and shrugs.
"She's a sweet girl."
"She's not bad, as far as bratty sisters go," he says, and he's smiling, so she knows he doesn't necessarily mean it. "I'm glad you can deal with her, though."
"Why's that?" she asks distractedly as she rinses out the dishcloth and wipes down the counter one last time.
"'Cause you're babysitting tomorrow. She's got a friend coming over."
She looks at him and he's wearing a terribly smug grin. "Fine. Are you going to be here?"
He raises his brow and steps toward her. "You want me to be?"
"I'm just checking."
He's right in front of her, and she's looking up at him with these big brown eyes, and he knows that if he kissed her right now she wouldn't stop him.
"I'll be here."
"Okay."
He reaches for her hands as they hang at her sides, and slips his fingers between hers, pulling her closer. "You know, you're fucking good with your hands, baby," he says. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips subtly. "Makes me wonder what else you can do with them."
She should be appalled. She should step away from him and give him a lecture on appropriate conduct. The truth is, she absolutely loves that he's thinking about her that way. She won't even deny it anymore.
But she doesn't really know what to say to that. She takes just a little bit of Santana's advice.
"You asked me to do something earlier," she says quietly, looking down at their hands instead of at him. He just lets out a low hum in response. "Did you...did you still want me to perform that particular task?"
Dear god, this is hot. And it's weird, because she's like, not even saying the word 'kiss', and he's pretty sure she just can't say it, like she's scared he'll shoot her down or something. (Crazy.) And she's just standing there in front of him, holding his hands, wearing the hottest outfit ever, and all he's wanted to do all night is be alone with her.
"Yeah," he says, but it comes out as more of a whisper than anything.
She looks up at him and she's almost smiling as she takes a step closer. She doesn't know what's wrong with her, but she can't close the rest of the distance and just kiss him. She's just looking up at him, and his thumbs are moving against her hands. She knows they both want this, but she can't force herself to just kiss him, and she has no idea why.
He's had enough of waiting, though. He pulls his hands from hers, grabs her hips and hauls her against him, kissing her as she lets out a little squeak.
He tastes like chocolate and cola, and his lips are soft, the kiss is soft, which is completely different from the hard, rough way he's holding her hips, fingers digging into her skin in a not-entirely-unpleasant way. She brings her hands up to rest on the small of his back, feeling the hard muscle there beneath her palms. When he parts her lips with his tongue, she moans softly and he backs her against the counter, pressing his hips against hers. She can feel him hard against her stomach, and she'd swear it's the most amazing thing ever if she didn't know that it's only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to this boy.
His hands slide down to rest on her ass as he holds her closer to him, grounding himself against her because he literally has to or he'll lose his mind. She's fucking insane with that mouth of hers, her tongue sliding against his and...oh shit. She's amazing. He gets a little daring after he's lifted her up onto the counter, and he reaches up, tugging one of her braids a little harder than necessary.
She bites down on his lip playfully and fuck, he could have some fun with that pleasure/pain stuff if she was game. He pulls away from her just long enough to see her red lips, pink cheeks, parted legs, his hand on her thigh.
He shouldn't have pulled away at all, apparently.
She glances at the time, then puts her hand on his chest, pushing slightly. "I should go."
"No, you shouldn't," he insists, leaning in to swipe his tongue across her pulse point. She lets out a whimper, but she pulls back, far enough that he can't reach her. "Rach."
"It's late."
"I don't care," he says, though that's pretty obvious. "Don't tease me. I want your hands."
She thinks her heart falls. They've just barely kissed (okay, that's a lie) and he's calling her a tease, practically insisting she pleasure him. But isn't this what she wanted? Doesn't she want to make him feel good? God, yes, she does. She wants to continue this. So why is she finding what he's said offensive? And why is she hopping down off the counter and stepping away from him? And why does the confused look on his face make her feel guilty?
"I have to go," she says, brushing her hair back behind her ear needlessly.
"Okay, what the fuck just happened, because one minute it's all good, then..."
"Nothing happened, Noah," she insists, cutting him off with a pointed look.
She's pissed and he has no idea why.
"Look, if you didn't want to kiss me, you didn't have to," he says defensively, sticking his hands in his pockets (adjusting his jeans is necessary).
"That's not...I wanted to," she admits.
"So what's the problem, then?" he asks, confused.
She shakes her head. (She doesn't know.) She reaches behind her and unties the knot at the back of his jersey, letting it fall over her stomach before pulling the item over her head.
"Here," she says, handing it to him.
He's a little too stunned to do anything but let her drop the jersey into his hand, because she's standing there in front of him in a little white tank top and her nipples are in hard little peaks, her stomach still showing and...
Seriously, what the fuck just happened?
"Rach, if I did something..."
She smiles, leans up and kisses the side of his mouth, her lips just barely touching his. "You didn't. I promise, okay?" she says, her hand on his forearm. "I'll see you tomorrow. What time?"
"1:00," he response automatically, following her towards the door. "Hey." She turns and he swoops in, kissing her gently, just to see what she'll do.
She smiles.
What the hell!
"Goodnight, Noah."
She closes the door before he can say anything. She just walked away from certified awesome Puckasaurus Sex. That's just wrong!
He tries to go over it in his head, and he can usually pinpoint his fuck ups. Really. He can usually look back and realize, hey, you kind of accidentally let slip that you think she's got huge thighs, or, you idiot, you asked to take her from behind with her Cheerios skirt still on. Too much! or whatever. He honestly doesn't think he did anything wrong, which is both awesome and sucktastic. Awesome because, hello, no fuck ups. Sucktastic because he can't even apologize for something.
So he waits until he knows she'll be home, then he dials her number. He should probably know better, should probably just leave it alone and forget about it. He should just accept that it was a hot kiss and leave it at that. But really? It was a damn hot kiss and he wants a hell of a lot more of that, please.
And yeah, maybe he's on his bed in just his boxers, and maybe he's still hard from...well, like, the whole day, actually.
"What?" she asks quietly.
"That's how you're answering?"
"I'd like to know why you're calling."
"I wanna know why you just bolted. Seriously. Don't give me some bullshit answer, because that was fucking sexy as hell and you know it."
"Exactly!" she hisses. He thinks that probably means her dads are sleeping.
"So you ran out on me because it was a good kiss. Well, shit. If I'd known that I would have made it worse, then maybe I wouldn't be hard as fuck and frustrated right now."
"Noah, please," she whispers. Her eyes are closed tight. She can't believe he's called her. She can't believe she answered. "Can you just let it go?" He mumbles something disgusting about wanting to let it go. She gets a visual of him with his hand...She's blushing. "It was just a kiss. And you told me to. It was part of the agreement."
He scoffs. That's such bullshit. "Okay then. In that case, as my slave, I demand that you talk me through this."
"Talk you..." What does that...? "Noah!"
"What? It's the agreement," he says bitterly. Thing is, he's already stroking himself, because even the sound of her voice and the thought of her all pissed off is totally hot. Plus, she keeps saying his name, so that helps.
She sighs. He's not going to let it go unless she tells him the truth. "I don't trust myself around you sometimes," she admits. "I just...You're so forward and...overtly sexual. I'm not like that - "
"You can be." (She said sexual. He closes his eyes.)
"I won't just be some girl you sleep with. That's not who I am, no matter how attracted I am to you."
He'd love to tell her that he doesn't want her to be just some girl he sleeps with, either, but he's pretty close to the edge, so his brain is not working right now, and his main goal is to get off, not repair whateverthefuck is wrong between them.
"How attracted are you?" he asks, his voice low. "Tell me."
She's not stupid. She knows what he's doing right now. Or what he's going to do. She can't say she's not aroused by the thought. She's been aroused since she first put on his jersey.
And she's currently wearing nothing but her tank top, panties and those tube socks he gave her. She's overcome with the urge to tell him, but she knows that would just give him mixed signals, and she thinks she's going insane, because even she doesn't know what she wants. What her body seems to crave and what her mind and heart are telling her to do are two completely separate things.
Her body is winning right now.
"You have no idea," she tells him, laughing a little. "Tonight, when you had your shirt off...I'll never make fun of you about junk food again."
He actually laughs. He's got his dick in his hand and she's seriously like, almost sorta dirty talking with him, and she makes him laugh. Shit's not right.
"So you think I'm sexy," he states.
"I do. I can't help it. You're...you're gorgeous."
"Fuck," he breathes out. He doesn't know if he wants this whole thing to be over really fast (he really needs to get off right now) or if he wants to drag it out and see what else he can get her to say. He wants to know what she's wearing, but he's pretty sure that if he asks her flat out, she'll hang up. (Apparently, she spooks easy.) "Why'd you give me back my jersey."
"Because it's yours," she answers automatically.
"Smells like you now." And yeah, maybe it's sitting next to him on the bed, and maybe he sniffed it. Like, twice. Shut up.
"Really? I thought it smelled like you," she says. There's something kittenish in her voice that he loves. "I guess it smells like both of us."
"Goddamn," he mumbles. He runs his thumb over the head of his cock and can't stop the moan it pulls from him. "You still got your socks on?"
There is no doubt in her mind that he's currently giving into self-pleasure. The thing is, it doesn't bother her as much as it should, because she knows (she felt) how hard he was when she was kissing him, and she's the one who left. She knows she doesn't owe him anything at all, but she can't say she hates this, either. (And if she closes her eyes and lets herself, she can picture him, which is terrifying and sensual and erotic all at once.)
"Yes," she says quietly. "My feet are always cold, you know."
"Yeah?" he laughs. "What else?"
"My tank top. The white one."
"Mmm." She can feel the heat pulsing through her body, between her thighs. She shifts her lower half slightly as she holds the phone to her ear. "Shorts?"
She hesitates for a moment. But honesty is always the best policy.
"No. I took them off."
"You...fuck. God, Rachel, that's so sexy," he says. His voice is soft, gruff, and she bites her lip to keep from moaning or something equally as embarrassing. "You really should've stayed. I wish I could see you right now."
She isn't entirely sure where the surge of confidence comes from - maybe it's been there all along - but she takes a deep breath, sets her hand flat on her stomach to keep it from traveling elsewhere, and decides she just wants this to be over. (She wants him to come, but she's certainly not brash enough to say that.)
"I'm laying on my bed," she tells him, using a soft voice she knows he seems to like. "I think I might sleep like this, with these socks on." She hears his groan on the other end of the line. "And my hair is still braided."
Fuck. That's such an awesome visual. Rachel on her bed in her room, probably in the dark. This is prime fantasy material. She's wearing the 'present' he got her (best six bucks he ever spent) and a pair of panties. Speaking of...
"Your panties," he says, his voice breaking a little bit. He's so fucking close.
"They're white and red. With a bow in the front."
He grunts and tightens his hand around his length. "So fucking sexy," he manages. "Rachel, you're..." (In his head, she's going down on him and yeah, he's holding onto her braids, but in like, a nice way, and she totally loves it and her tongue is...) Shit, he's coming. "Oh, god."
She bites her lip and takes a breath. God, this is amazing. She doesn't know how. Normally, it's something she'd shoot down as completely disgusting, something she'd want no part of. But somehow, being the star of his masturbatory fantasies has made her completely and totally hot. She rubs her thighs together, but it's of no use, and before she even thinks about it, her hand is moving down her body, feeling the moisture through her panties as she hears him breathing heavily through the phone.
"Goddamn," he says. She hears a soft laugh. "I can't believe you just did that."
She decides the innocent act is the best way to go, even when she's touching herself (he doesn't know that, obviously). "Did what?"
He laughs a little harder. "Nice try, darlin'."
(And yeah, he's noticed how she looks at him when he calls her that; totally loves it.)
She pulls her phone away from her mouth and lets out a little, tiny, barely there moan upon hearing that name.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Whatever you say," he says, chuckling. She hears the rustling of sheets and bites her lip as she slips one finger into her panties. She doesn't know why she hasn't hung up yet. Maybe because his voice is enough to make her absolutely crazy. "You wet, Rach?"
"What? No!" she says in a panic. He laughs again.
"Liar. You have to be."
"Says whom?"
"Biology," he insists. "God, I wish you'd stayed. I wanna taste you so bad. I was about two seconds from pulling those little shorts off you."
She knows he's trying to do for her what she just did for him. She doesn't want him to know she's doing this. Obviously he already thinks she is, but as long as she doesn't confirm it, he can't ever prove it at all.
So as much as she'd love to just have him talk to her about anything at all - he could read an instruction manual and be sexy - she knows she needs to get him off the phone.
"I'm really quite tired," she says. She's currently pushing down her panties, kicking them onto the floor and spreading her legs just a little wider.
"Oh, yeah?" he asks. Somehow he makes even that sound sensual.
"Yeah. Yes. I'm going to get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow?" She sounds too hopeful, she knows, but her eyes are closed and she's imagining it's his fingers sliding against her, not her own. She's a little distracted.
"Yeah. Tomorrow." (Shit, he's totally picturing her sprawled out on her bed. He wonders if she has any toys. Probably not. She doesn't really seem like that kind of girl, considering she's denying even being wet at all from hearing him come when he was obviously thinking about her. Obviously.)
"Okay. Bye, then." God, she doesn't even sound like herself. She needs to fix that, but not overcompensate. "Goodnight, Noah."
"Yeah. You have a good night, too, babe." He sounds smug. She doesn't care at the moment. "Hey, Rach?"
"Hmm?"
"Two fingers, and curl upward. That's how I'd do it."
She hangs up before he can hear the moan she lets out.
(What? Who says he can't help her along, even if she won't admit to doing it?)
