Chapter 122

Hannah

The water was so hot it almost scalded my skin as I stepped into the shower, but I didn’t mind; if anything, it soothed my sore muscles and tender flesh. I let out a sigh as I slid the glass door shut behind me, inhaling the steam and the scent of echinacea.

I shut my eyes as I ran my hair under the water, just letting the day wash away. It had been eventful, beginning with a sweaty training session with Noah and campaign work in my office. Noah had too much work to watch a movie and wait out the storm with me? Yeah, well, I had work to do, too.

In reality, though, all of my work that day had been a distraction—anything to keep my mind off of the way he had looked when he had scurried out of the kitchen.

The redness in his face, the bulge in his pants… it made me smirk and tremble at the same time as I washed my skin and my hair.

For a moment, and only a moment, I allowed myself to imagine how it would feel if he were touching me right now—how his fingers would feel grazing across my skin, how his breath would fan across my neck. Our hot bodies pressed together beneath the cascade of water...

I hated him, but I wanted him so bad I thought I might explode. How did that even begin to make sense?

“Hannah? Are you in here?”

Suddenly, the sound of Noah’s voice floating through the steam caused me to rip my eyes open. Speak of the devil.

“I’m in the shower,” I called out, massaging the conditioner out of my hair.

“Oh.” I saw Noah’s tall form stop in the bathroom doorway, instantly turning away. He was holding something. “Sorry. I’ll go.”

“It’s fine. Wait there.” I sighed and shut off the water, sliding open the shower door. A puff of steam billowed out, and once it parted, I saw Noah’s green eyes rove across my nude body before he quickly looked away.

As I grabbed my towel off the rack, I cooed, “We’ve seen each other naked before hundreds of times. You don’t need to act so bashful, even if we are getting divorced.”

Noah said nothing, clenching his jaw.

I wrapped the plush white towel around myself and stepped out of the shower, crossing to the sink, where I began my skincare routine. “What did you need?” I asked. My eyes flickered to his hands in the mirror, where he was holding a small box.

He held the box out. “I got something for you.”

Instantly, I felt my hands fall to my sides and I shot him a wary look. “This again?” I asked. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop trying to butter me up? It’s not going to work.”

Noah sighed and thrust the box out a little harder. “Just open it, will you? It’s not like that.”

Frowning, I took the box and lifted the lid off. Inside was a brand new pair of training sneakers in my size—a clean white color with soft pink accents, girly but practical at the same time. “What’s this for?” I asked, lifting one of the sleek shoes out of the box.

He shrugged, running a hand through his tousled, dark hair. “I just noticed that your shoes were looking a little beat up. If you want to start training seriously, you should have good shoes; unless you’re trying to hurt yourself.”

“Oh. Well… Thank you, Noah.” I walked up to him in the doorway, still admiring the shoes. They were exactly my kind of style, and I was excited to wear them—I just hated the fact that I had to be so wary since he had a bit of a track record trying to butter me up with gifts.

But still, I couldn’t help myself. Without even really thinking about it, I raised myself up onto my tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Really,” I murmured. “Thank you.”

Noah’s face reddened into a ripe tomato. I went to pull back, still holding the box in my hands, but suddenly his own hand shot out—and wrapped around my wrist.

Before I could even fathom what was happening, he was yanking me toward him. The box fell from my hands and to the tile floor with a clatter, and my towel, too, came loose. Just one movement, and I would be entirely nude in front of him.

“Noah—” I choked out, but it was no use. The words wouldn’t come; not with his body pressed up against mine like this, not with his fingers looped around my wrist. And especially not with his chest heaving and nostrils flaring like a stallion in heat.

Wordlessly, he reached his other hand out and tugged my towel free with one finger. It pooled at my feet, exposing my flesh—pink from the heat of the shower—to him.

For an eternal, breathless moment, we just stared at each other. His green eyes roamed the nude expanse of my body, making me feel both bashful and heated at the same time. My pelvis felt like it might explode with desire, my clit instantly swelling beneath his gaze.

I opened my lips to utter his name again, but it was too late—with a low growl, he was suddenly lifting me from my feet and carrying me over to the bed, throwing me down onto the edge, and ripping the front of his shirt open.

A gasp escaped me as buttons went flying and scattered across the floor. Before I could even comment on it, he was working at his belt next, unbuckling himself just enough to slide out his hot, throbbing manhood.

Only one moment passed between that instant and the next—one moment in which he gazed at me, an asking look in his eyes. One moment that I nodded stiffly, biting my lower lip, and spread my legs.

Another growl worked its way through his throat, and he pressed himself between my legs. His warm member hovered there for only the briefest of moments before I felt it pushing against my soft lips, sliding inside…

I wanted this. I wanted it, no matter how hard I tried to pretend that I didn’t. And I didn’t fight or say a word as he pushed himself into me; I just propped myself up on my elbows, tracing my fingers along the broad expanse of his chiseled abdomen, as he filled me for the first time in far too long.

But he didn’t kiss me. He didn’t lower himself to my lips, didn’t run his tongue along my throat; he just pushed himself into me, shut his eyes, and…

“No.”

Before I could think twice, I was shoving him back, away from me, away from every part of myself. I was on my feet in an instant, grabbing my towel from the floor and wrapping it around my nude body.

“Hannah—”

“Get out,” I said. “We can’t be doing this.”

He growled lowly but didn’t protest as he tugged his pants back up and tucked his erection back into them. “You’re right,” he murmured. “We shouldn’t be doing this with our divorce so close.”

With that, he stormed over to the door and yanked it open—but then stopped in the doorway, pausing one last time to shoot me an angry glare over his shoulder.

“Why don’t you call Drake instead?” he growled.

I opened my mouth to call out to him, to tell him that he should just call Zoe if he was going to make those implications, but it was too late. He was already gone.