The Inevitable
The house loomed in front of me, familiar, but it felt different. Because now, I knew what waited inside.
I exhaled slowly, trying to keep my breathing steady as I stood at Noah’s front door. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been here. Planted on the concrete. Staring at the decoration his mother had placed on the front door. This was a mistake. It had to be.
And yet—I was still standing here.
I could still feel him. Noah. The weight of him, the heat, the impossible size of his body pressing against me. The sound of his voice—low, knowing, so damn sure. I had tried to push it all away. Tried to tell myself it was just another moment of weakness. A heat-of-the-moment mistake. But that was bullshit. Because even now, standing outside his door, my cock was already thickening in my jeans.
I cursed under my breath and raised a fist to knock. The door swung open before I could make contact.
Noah stood in the doorway, bare-chested, a pair of loose gym shorts slung low on his hips. His skin was still damp, droplets of water clinging to his broad shoulders and sliding down the deep-cut ridges of his chest. His hair was still wet, slightly messy from the towel he’d run through it. And his scent, clean, warm, him…hit me all at once. Impossible to ignore.
His smirk widened slightly.
"Wondered when I’d see you again."
My breath hitched. And I hated myself for it. Noah didn’t move aside. He just stood there, filling the doorway, arms loose at his sides, like he had nowhere else to be. I clenched my fists. I should say something. Something neutral. Something detached.
But Noah was already a step ahead.
I should have started with something else. Anything else. Instead—my fingers clenched around the briefs stuffed in my pocket. This moment was already spiraling out of my control. I didn’t even know why I’d brought them. Maybe as a power move of my own. Something to throw him off. But standing here, with his broad, damp chest right in front of me, it was too late for that.
I yanked them from my pocket and shoved them toward him.
"You left these behind." My voice was sharp, clipped.
Noah’s gaze flicked down to the crumpled briefs in my hand, but he didn’t take them right away. His smirk held steady, but something shifted behind his eyes—a flicker of realization. He knew exactly what this meant.
I clenched my fingers around the fabric, stomach tight. It had only been three days since he dropped them in my lap. Three days since he fucked Emily while I sat there, watching like a goddamn bystander—until Noah made damn sure I wasn’t. Three days since he left them behind, knowing I’d have to deal with them.
I should have thrown them away. Should have shoved them in the back of a drawer and pretended they weren’t there. But I didn’t. And now, Noah knew that too.
Finally, he reached out, letting his fingers brush mine—just a whisper of contact—before slowly peeling them from my grip.
"Damn, dude." His voice was easy, amused. His fingers rolled the waistband, stretching it slightly, like he was testing something
"Didn’t expect to see these again. Figured you’d throw ‘em out."
A flicker of something twisted in my stomach. I swallowed, forcing my shoulders back like that would somehow ground me. I should have thrown them out. I should have done anything other than hold onto them for three fucking days.
Noah’s smirk deepened as he turned them over in his hands, slow, too deliberate. "Guess you couldn’t."
My spine locked. "They were just there." Too fast. Too defensive.
Noah hummed, unconvinced. "Just there?" He tilted his head, watching me like he was waiting for me to trip over myself.
"Not like I—" I cut myself off. Fuck. His grin widened.
"Relax, Allan." His fingers ghosted over the fabric. "I get it."
Heat climbed up my neck. "Get what?"
Noah let a slow beat pass. His eyes dragged over me, reading everything I wasn’t saying.
"Bet they still smell like me."
My stomach dropped. Then, before I could react, he lifted them just enough to inhale for a second—too quick to be obvious, too slow to miss. Then his smirk returned, easy, knowing.
"Yeah."
I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding. Why the fuck did that just make my whole body go tight?
Noah lingered just long enough for me to feel trapped in the moment. He then exhaled, tilting his head slightly, eyeing me with easy amusement. "That all you came here for?"
My mouth felt dry. "Is Emily here?" The words came out sharper than I meant.
Noah stilled for just a second. Then he laughed, deep and full-bodied, a sound that somehow made me feel even smaller.
"Emily?" He shook his head, wiping his jaw with the back of his wrist. His forearm tensed, veins standing out against thick muscle. "Nah, man."
Noah stepped closer. Close. Too close.
"You still don’t get it, do you?" His voice was lower now, heavier, the teasing edge still there—but something else underneath. Something that made the air feel tighter.
My pulse thudded against my throat.
"It was never about her."
His words hit low, sharp, final.
I sucked in a breath. I wanted to push back. I should push back. But he was so close. And I still wasn’t moving away. On some level, I had felt it—that fucking Emily, that making me watch, wasn’t really about her. It was about me. About how he saw me.
And now, he was confirming it to my face.
As if he could read my thoughts, Noah’s smirk deepened. He didn’t say anything else. Then, he turned, stepping back inside, leaving the door open behind him.
Neither an invitation nor a demand. It was an expectation.
I hesitated. My stomach tightened. But my feet were already moving. Before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind me.
And just like that—I was in Noah’s world now.
The house was quiet.
I stood stiffly, as if not sitting made some kind of statement. A show of control, a silent refusal to let him dictate the moment. My arms were locked at my sides, my spine too straight, feet planted firm. But my body wasn’t fooled. My breathing was too slow, too tight, uncertain. Standing still wasn’t strength. It was hesitation. And Noah could see it.
Across from me, he sprawled on the couch, his legs spread wide, arms resting lazily on the backrest. The thick biceps that had easily immobilized me just days ago stretched against his tan skin. The dense, round caps of his delts rolled slightly as he shifted, his muscles rippling just enough to make me notice.
I swallowed hard, my gaze drifting down without permission. Thick veins ran like lightning over the hard planes of his forearms, accentuating the brutal size and conditioning of his body. His chest, broad and full, went up and down with his steady breathing. The raw physicality of him was impossible to ignore.
Then I made the mistake of looking up.
Noah was watching me. A slow smirk stretched across his lips. He'd caught me red-handed.
I tore my gaze away, heat creeping up my neck. Fuck.
Noah didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just kept studying me, measuring my reactions, letting the silence stretch.
I could still hear his voice in my head. It was never about her.
My stomach clenched. I shifted slightly, suddenly hyper aware of how my shirt felt too tight, the way my jeans weren’t sitting right. I needed to do something, to break whatever invisible hold Noah had over me. I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to stay even.
"You gonna put a shirt on?"
Noah exhaled through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching. Like he was barely holding back a laugh.
Instead of answering, he stretched his arms above his head, making a slow, lazy show of it. His pecs tightened, the deep cut of his abs flexing, each individual ridge catching the light as his muscles pulled taut. His lats flared slightly before he let his arms drop back down, his body sinking further into the couch, thighs spreading even wider.
I couldn’t look away.
Everything about him was too much.
And he knew it.
I barely caught myself before I let out a breath.
Noah tilted his head, eyes still on me, still amused. Then he nodded to the chair next to him.
I moved stiffly, crossing to the armchair nearest the couch. The second I sat down, I knew it was a bad call. I was too close. The warmth of Noah’s body reached me instantly, his scent even stronger here. Clean enticing. Something warm, masculine, unmistakably him.
Noah leaned back again, loose and comfortable, before finally speaking.
"You gonna tell me why you’re here," his voice was low, slow, deliberate, "or are we gonna pretend you don’t know?"
My jaw clenched.
"I—"
Noah raised an eyebrow. Waiting. Patient. Knowing.
I swallowed hard. My body felt hot, my palms damp where they pressed against my jeans.
"I just—"
Noah leaned forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees. The shift in position felt like a warning. He wasn’t stretching anymore. He wasn’t lounging. He was paying attention now.
"You always think this hard?"
My breath stuttered. I wasn’t sure what to think, what to answer. It didn’t matter. Noah was so close, his massive shoulders filled my vision, thick traps curving into a neck corded with muscle. I could feel the heat radiating off him.
Noah wasn’t touching me. He didn’t have to.
"I get it, man."
His voice was too damn steady. Like he was saying something simple, something obvious.
My stomach tightened.
"I see you."
My fingers curled against my knees.
"You hate how much you like this."
I sucked in a slow breath.
Noah tilted his head, watching. Waiting.
My breathing was too loud. I could hear it, feel it, the way my chest rose and fell too fast, my body betraying me before I could stop it.
Then, slowly, Noah dragged a hand down his own chest. It was deliberate, fingers grazing over thick pecs, drifting down the ridges of his abs, stopping just above the waistband of his shorts. A slow, taunting motion that made heat crawl up my spine.
I swallowed hard. I told myself not to react, not to look, but my eyes betrayed me. The way his fingers moved, the way his skin shifted over thick, carved muscle—it was impossible to ignore. Every inch of him drew me in and held me hostage.
Noah exhaled through his nose, like he could feel the way I was looking at him, like he’d been waiting for it. Like he already knew what was coming next.
He smirked at me.
"Why are you still fighting yourself?" Noah’s voice was low, steady—too steady. His fingers traced absently over his pecs, his eyes never leaving mine. "You’ve been staring at my muscles since you got here."
Heat shot up my spine. My throat was dry.
His smirk deepened, knowing. His hand drifted lower, fingertips dragging lazily over his stomach, just enough to make my pulse jump. "You already know how this ends," he murmured, voice easy, almost amused. "So why are you still pretending?"
My body locked up, every muscle wired too tight. My brain screamed no. But Noah was so fucking intense it made my head spin.
And Noah just… waited. Daring me to stop this.
My pulse pounded in my ears. For a second that felt like an eternity, I didn’t move. Then, finally, my fingers twitched.
Before I even realized it, I was standing, crossing the short space to the couch. I hesitated momentarily before sinking down beside him.
Noah’s smirk didn’t waver, but something in his eyes sharpened. I lifted my hand, hovering just over his chest, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, but not touching.
His breath was slow, steady, making his pecs rise and fall beneath my gaze.
I swallowed hard.
And then, finally—my fingers brushed his skin.
Heat. Strength. It sent a jolt through me, made me shudder. My hand was hesitant at first, barely grazing the solid plane of his chest. Noah didn’t react. He just sat there, letting it happen.
My pulse pounded as my fingers spread, pressing more firmly now, trailing down over thick muscle. My palm settled over his thick pec, feeling the slow thrum of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips. Noah still didn’t move. He let me explore, let me commit to it. Let me lose myself. By the time I realized how far I’d gone, my hand was already lower, my thumb drifting down the slope of his sternum, my fingertips skimming the ridges of his abs.
Too far. Too much.
My breath stuttered. I jerked my hand back.
Noah finally moved. Just his hand. Before I could fully pull away, he caught my wrist. A firm, steady grip. Not stopping me. Just holding me there.
My stomach dropped. Noah’s smirk was still there, but his eyes were sharper now. More focused.
"Guess you do know what you want."
I could still feel the heat of Noah’s skin on my palm, the weight of his pecs under my fingers. My breath was uneven, my body a mess of nerves and adrenaline. I should have pulled back, should have walked away. Instead, I did the worst possible thing. I tried to act like this wasn’t happening.
"This is just a game to you, right?" My voice was too sharp, too fast. I was struggling to shut this down. Trying to convince myself that I needed him to back off, needed to make him say it. Make him admit this was just some fucked-up power trip.
But Noah didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
"You’re the one who came back."
My stomach tightened.
"I didn’t—"
"I didn’t make you show up at my door." His voice was steady, unshaken. "Didn’t make you come inside." He leaned back slightly, watching me, his arms still sprawled across the couch. "You walked in on your own. So tell me again… what is it I am doing to you?"
I clenched my jaw. My pulse hammered against my throat.
"Doesn’t mean anything." The words felt wrong the second I said them. Weak. Hollow. Like I already knew I’d lost.
Noah’s smirk deepened. Like he knew it too. His eyes flicked downward.
Fuck.
I saw it happen in slow motion—the way his gaze dropped, a second of stillness before his smirk curled wider. Before I could even shift, even breathe, Noah saw everything.
"Your cock says otherwise."
My stomach dropped. Heat crawled up my neck, my whole body tightening as I shifted in place, too fucking late. Noah had already seen. His grin? Effortless.
"I—" I swallowed hard, trying to force words out, trying to deny it. Trying to make this not real. Noah tilted his head, still watching me.
"You still gonna tell me you’re not into this… Not into me?"
I clenched my fists. My throat locked up. I should have responded. Should have shut him down.
But I didn’t.
Because I couldn’t.
Noah just exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "Keep telling yourself that, man." He stretched again, arms draped over the couch, pecs flexing just enough to make my stomach twist.
"We’ve been here before, seen this ending before."
I burned with how much my body reacted to that. How there was no escaping it. No pretending. No relief from the unbearable truth that he was right.
The silence between us stretched too long.
I wasn’t scrambling for excuses anymore. My mind was blank, my body wrecked, my breath still coming too fast. I should have moved. Should have gotten out of there. But had I really wanted to?
Noah hadn’t pushed me.
He could have. Could have said something smug, could have gone for the kill. But he didn’t. Instead, he just leaned back, stretching his arms lazily like nothing had happened—like he wasn’t sitting there knowing he’d just ripped my defenses to shreds, leaving me raw, exposed, with nowhere left to hide.
"You good?"
It wasn’t mocking. Wasn’t even amused. Just a question. Steady. Almost caring.
I swallowed hard. I didn’t know what to say. I barely knew what the hell I was feeling.
Noah didn’t press. He exhaled slowly, gaze fixed on me like he was still reading me. His voice dropped, lower, steadier than before.
"You’re confused. Fighting it. Fighting me." He tilted his head slightly, studying me like he already knew exactly what was going on in my head. "But it’s not gonna change anything."
My stomach clenched.
Noah let the silence stretch, his fingers idly tracing over his thigh, before he finally spoke again.
"And it’s not because you’re weak." His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, like he wasn’t trying to convince me—just stating what already was.
His eyes locked onto mine, unshaken, unwavering.
"You just don’t like what I make you feel."
My breath caught. Because that was it, wasn’t it? The real problem. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t this. It was me.
Noah studied me, his expression unreadable. "I didn’t plan any of this, man."
I blinked, thrown off.
"This whole thing?" He exhaled, stretching his legs out, settling deeper into the couch. "I’ve been figuring it out same as you."
I stared at him. Noah, who had controlled every second of this and our last two encounters. Who had smashed through every single one of my defenses. And he was just now figuring it out?
"I just don’t fight it the way you do."
I didn’t have an answer for that. Because I was still fighting it, wasn’t I? I exhaled slowly, my chest still too tight.
Noah’s gaze didn’t waver. "You feel better now?"
I wanted to argue. Wanted to push back. But instead…I nodded.
His smirk flickered knowingly. Satisfied.
"Told you you’d get there."
Noah’s grip was firm as he pulled me in, fingers curling around my wrist, thumb brushing my pulse. I could feel it—racing, unsteady. His body was close, radiating heat, his scent thick in the air between us. He exhaled, eyes flicking over me, smirk still there, but softer somehow.
"You’re cute, Allan. You know that, right?"
My breath caught. It wasn’t just the words. It was the way he said them—like he wasn’t just teasing anymore, like he meant it. He tipped his chin slightly, studying me.
"I like how different we are," he murmured. "You, all slim and tense, trying to figure out what’s happening in your head while your body’s already made up its mind."
He was right, it was unsettling..
Noah’s fingers trailed lower, brushing over the hem of my shirt before he tugged it up. I barely registered it being pulled over my head before his hands were at my jeans, undoing them with slow, deliberate ease. "Lift up," he said. I did. My pants were gone in seconds, peeled away, leaving me bare beside him. I should have felt exposed. I should have felt vulnerable. Instead, for the first time around Noah, I felt like I was at peace.
Noah then stood, fingers hooking into the waistband of his shorts. His abs flexed as he pushed them down, revealing the full, thick length of him. He didn’t rush, didn’t make a show of it—he just let me take it in. My stomach clenched. My breath hitched. His cock was heavy, thick, almost fully hard. And it was for me. A shiver ran through me. Noah noticed. His smirk deepened as he straddled me, pressing himself against me, skin to skin, heat sinking into me instantly. His cock dragged along my stomach, heavy and hot, teasing me with what was coming next.
I tensed, fingers twitching against his biceps, but Noah didn’t let me pull away. "Feel that?" he murmured, grinding against me, slow, controlled. "That’s what you do to me." A shudder ripped through me. Fuck. He was winding me up, pulling me deeper into this spiral, making it impossible to ignore how much I wanted it. He knew exactly what he was doing. My head was spinning. My body was on fire.
Noah’s fingers trailed down my sides, over my hips, before he pushed me back into the seat cushions. And then—he lifted my legs onto his shoulders. I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart hammering, my whole body tight with anticipation. Noah’s eyes darkened, fingers tightening on my thighs as he shifted, positioning himself, the thick head of his cock pressing against me.
His breath was steady. Unrushed. Unshaken. Mine was wrecked.
"You ready?" The words were low, knowing.
I swallowed hard. I couldn’t answer.
Noah smirked.
"Say it," he murmured, his cock pressing just a little harder. "Tell me you want it."
My breath stuttered. He was going to make me say it. His grip tightened, his body pressing closer, his cock sliding along me, teasing, taunting.
I clenched my jaw. I couldn’t—
Noah leaned down, his lips hovering just over mine, voice barely a whisper.
"You’re already mine, Allan."
A shudder ran through me. My breath was shaking, my body aching for it. I sucked in a slow breath, then exhaled, voice barely more than a whisper.
"I want it."
Noah’s smirk deepened.
"That’s all you had to say."
And then—he pushed in.
Thick. Stretching. Too much. Too good.
My entire body tensed, back arching, breath tearing from my throat. Noah grunted, hands steadying me, holding me in place. "Relax," he murmured, voice gravel, raw heat. His thumb stroked lazy circles on my hip, grounding me, coaxing my body to accept him. The stretch was overwhelming. The weight of him, the pressure—it was too much and not enough all at once.
I panted heavily, fingers curling into the cushions, my mind spinning. Noah didn’t move, didn’t push deeper—just let me feel it. "You still with me?"
I barely managed a nod, chest heaving. Noah’s smirk deepened.
"Good."
And then—he moved.
Slow at first, deliberate, making sure I felt everything. The drag, the pressure, the impossible stretch of him. My breath hitched, my fingers digging into his biceps, the solid muscle grounding me. My thoughts blurred, every instinct narrowing to the heat, the rhythm, the way Noah filled me completely.
Each slow thrust sent a pulse of heat curling through me, winding tighter, making my whole body react. His grip was firm, steady, like he had me exactly where he wanted me—and I did nothing to stop him.
I gasped, my spine arching, my legs tightening around him.
Noah groaned low in his throat, his voice rough.
I didn’t think. I didn’t fight.
I just let it happen.
Noah rolled his hips, thrusting in even deeper, his weight pressing me into the cushions. "That’s it," he moaned. "Take all of me." A helpless sound tore from my throat. Because I was. Because I couldn’t stop.
Noah’s pace quickened, body hitting deep, rhythm taking over. My breath broke apart, body too tight, too sensitive, too fucking lost in him. His hand slid to my throat, fingers curling loosely, thumb tracing my pulse. His breath was against my lips, close enough to taste.
"You feeling it now, Allan?"
A sharp thrust. A deep moan.
I arched beneath him, my whole body clenching around him.
Fuck. I was gone.
Noah’s grip then tightened on my wrists, pinning me down, holding me there. His body caged me in completely, his weight pressing into me, unshakable. His breath was hot against my skin, his face so close I could barely focus on anything but him.
"You close?" he murmured, his lips just millimeters from mine, teasing, daring me to deny it. His gaze locked onto me, dark and knowing, watching every reaction, every sharp breath, every twitch of my body.
I gasped, my whole body trembling, overwhelmed by the heat of him, by the way his cock pulsed deep inside me, thick and relentless. Every slow, deliberate thrust pushed me closer and drove me higher. I could feel him throbbing, feel the steady pulse of his arousal, could hear it in the way the low groan rumbled from his chest.
I couldn’t answer.
Noah didn’t need me to. He knew.
His smirk ghosted against my lips, his voice sinking lower, rougher.
"Let go," he whispered.
My body snapped, a tight coil deep inside me unraveling all at once, tension detonating into something too intense to hold back. Heat flooded through me, my nerves sparking like a live wire, my vision whiting out at the sheer force of it. My breath caught in my throat, my muscles locking, trembling, my body clenching tight around Noah as wave after wave crashed through me.
I came hard—convulsive, blinding, relentless—my release spilling hot and thick between us, painting Noah’s chest, streaking down the ridges of his abs, slicking our skin where he kept me pinned beneath him. I shuddered, gasping, my back arching, my hands grasping for something—anything—but Noah had me locked down, completely at his mercy.
And he didn’t stop.
Because he wasn’t just fucking me.
He was owning me.
Driving me through the aftershocks, making me feel every single pulse of his cock, every slow grind of his hips dragging out my pleasure until I was wrecked—helpless, twitching, completely lost in him.
And I had never wanted anything more.
I was still gasping when Noah changed the angle—deeper, harder, making me feel every inch of him. His grip on my wrists stayed firm, pinning them above my head, breath heavy against my cheek. "You’re so tight," he groaned, voice rougher now. "Fuck, Allan—" His breathing turned uneven. His muscles tensed. His rhythm faltered—just for a second. Then his body locked up. A deep, guttural groan ripped from his throat as he buried himself inside me, cock pulsing, heat flooding into me.
Noah came hard.
His grip on my wrists didn’t loosen—he held me there, making sure I felt everything. His breath was ragged, chest rising and falling against mine, abs flexing with each aftershock.
For a long second, neither of us moved. I could feel it—him. Still inside me. Still deep. Still there.
Noah finally let out a slow, shaky exhale. Then—he smirked.
"Fuck," he muttered, dragging his lips over my jaw, voice raw.
He slowly pulled out, making me whimper at the loss. Before I could recover, he reached down, gathering my release onto his fingers, smearing it over his abs, his pecs. My stomach clenched.
"Made a mess, huh?"
I swallowed. Noah’s grin turned wicked.
"Lick it off."
My pulse skipped. I hesitated—then moved.
I lifted my head, tongue dragging up the curve of his pec, tasting my own release mixed with the salt of his skin. Noah inhaled sharply, abs flexing under my mouth. I licked higher, grazing his nipple, feeling him shudder. His breath hitched.
Then—his fingers curled into my hair.
"That’s it," he muttered. "Knew you’d come around… with the right motivation."
He winked at me. My stomach dropped.
Noah grinned. But there was something else in his eyes now..
"You know you’re the first guy I’ve ever fucked, right?"
I froze. My heart hammered.
He wasn’t looking at me. Just staring at the ceiling, grinning.
"Was hot as fuck."
The room was quiet. Not empty. Not awkward. Just... settled. Like the air had finally caught up to what had already happened.
I was still on the couch, my body loose, spent, tingling with the last echoes of everything Noah had done. He was close, still watching, still completely at ease. And now that it had happened, there was nothing left to prove.
The couch shifted slightly as Noah stretched, his hand dragging absently down his chest. His breathing had already evened out, muscles thick and relaxed in the afterglow. He looked like a guy who had just won something. But he wasn’t gloating. He was just… sure.
His fingers traced his abs before he finally spoke. “You good?”
I blinked, my mind still catching up to my body. It was a simple question. Casual. Unrushed. Like we had just finished a workout, not like he’d just fucked me so deep I forgot my own name.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my breath to steady. My muscles still felt weak, but there was no panic. No regret. Just the undeniable weight of what had just happened. I swallowed, my jaw tightening slightly. And then… I nodded.
Noah watched me for a second longer. Then his smirk deepened, like that was all he needed to see.
I dragged a hand over my face, trying to ground myself. I should be freaking out. I wasn’t. And that’s what unnerved me the most. This wasn’t some impulsive, heat-of-the-moment lapse. Because you don’t move past mistakes this easily. They don’t leave you feeling like the whole damn world just clicked into place.
I sucked in a slow breath. My pulse was steadying now. My mind wasn’t.
Noah let the silence stretch. Just letting the weight of it settle between us. And then—he stretched, arms flexing as he leaned back into the couch. His smirk curled a little deeper.
“Knew you’d give in to me, sooner or later.”
My breath hitched, my face heating. I should have had a comeback. A smirk. A witty remark. Something. But I didn’t. Because Noah was right.
I sat up slowly, still feeling the heat of Noah’s body, still aware of every mark he’d left behind. My muscles were loose, my pulse steady, but my mind was a mess. I reached for my shirt, slipping it over my head, my fingers lingering longer than necessary. I wasn’t rushing to leave. But I wasn’t sure how to stay.
Noah was still on the couch, stretched out, completely at ease. Not rushing me. Not pushing me out. Just watching. Like he already knew what was coming next.
My brain was tangled in something I couldn’t name. I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to stay even.
“So… what now?”
Not direct. Not needy. Just a question. But Noah caught it immediately. His smirk twitched, almost amused.
“What do you mean?”
He wasn’t going to fill in the blanks. He wanted me to say it. I didn’t. But my face gave me away.
Noah exhaled, shifting lazily, running a hand down his abs. His smirk was still there, but softer now. “You know I’m not looking for anything serious, right?”
It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t dismissive. Just Noah being honest.
I swallowed, forcing a small smirk, like I was totally fine. Like this was exactly what I expected.
“Yeah. I figured.”
I pulled my jeans on, fingers working the zipper a little too slow, not looking at him now. Not because I was angry. Not because I even knew how to feel. Just because my chest was tight, and my brain was spinning, and this moment felt too fucking big.
Like this moment had changed something in me that I couldn’t take back.
Noah didn’t move. Didn’t try to explain. Didn’t take it back. But as I tugged my shoes on, and stepped toward the door, his voice stopped me.
“Hey.”
I turned. Noah’s smirk was still there—but there was something different behind it now. Something lighter.
“You’re welcome to come back, though.”
Not a promise. Not a commitment. Just an open door.
I lingered. For a beat too long.
Then—I gave a small nod, throat tight.
“…Right.”
Not quite steady. Not quite sure. But it was the only answer I had.
And I walked out.
Author’s note:
This brings the story of Noah and Allan to a close. I hope you were able to get lost in it.
I’d love to hear your thoughts! Your comments and feedback are always appreciated. Thank you for coming along for the ride.
Eric
