Chapter 0333

Hannah

My fingers nervously gripped the polished wood, my thighs clenching beneath the table. Flashes of last night's activities with Noah flickered through my mind, unbidden and intensely vivid. The way his hands had roamed my body, the heat of his breath on my neck, the feeling of him inside me… Each memory sent a shiver down my spine and a flush to my cheeks. He had finished inside me last night, sweaty and panting as he gripped the headboard. I could still feel his throbs, each one aching more than the last.

When I got up to clean myself and use the bathroom, he waited for me in bed. “We’re not done,” he’d said as I climbed back under the covers. “You still have to finish.”

“I did finish.”

“Then do it again.”

He slipped beneath the covers, disappearing like the tide had come in. I gripped the sheets, whimpering, begging, writhing, as he licked me until I climaxed. I really had finished already, when he was pumping himself into me. But he made me finish again, made me tremble and tighten my thighs around him. Only then did he stumble to the bathroom to wash himself. I was fast asleep, my limbs tired and aching, by the time he returned. And by the time I awoke this morning, he was already at the breakfast table.

Now, across from me, Noah calmly poured his coffee, flipping through the newspaper, his hand steady and sure. That same hand that had made me finish last night. Again. And again. Thick, warm fingers plunging into me, all the way up to the hilt, curving and scraping against my most sensitive spots, knowing exactly where to touch. I watched the muscles in his forearm flex as he lifted the cup to his lips, remembering how those arms had held me, pinned me, pleasured me. Dammit. I could feel my face reddening even more.

“Here you are, Luna Hannah,” Ana, my maid, said, setting my breakfast before me. The aroma of freshly cooked eggs and bacon wafted up, but my stomach was too tied in knots to feel hungry. Ana paused, concern crossing her face as she saw my expression. “Are you feeling alright, Luna? Your face is quite red.”

I felt Noah’s eyes flick up to me, and I squirmed under his gaze. There was a hint of roguish amusement in his expression that made me want to both slap him and kiss him senseless.

“I’m fine, Ana. Thank you,” I managed, perhaps a bit too quickly.

I picked up my fork and began to eat, desperate for a distraction. But the food tasted like ash, my mind too preoccupied with thoughts of Noah to enjoy it.

As the days, and then weeks, passed, Noah and I fell into a routine. Our nights were spent fulfilling our contract, tangled limbs and sweaty sheets becoming the norm. I had never felt so sexually satisfied. Each night, I would ache and moan until I was practically begging for it to be over. And each morning, I woke up feeling like a kitten basking in sunlight, happy and content, my muscles loose and lazy.

But as time went on, I began to feel conflicting emotions. Being intimate with Noah was wonderful—more than wonderful, if I was being honest. The way he touched me, the way he seemed to know exactly what I needed, it was intoxicating. But doing it so routinely reminded me of how clinical our intimacy nights used to be—always scheduled.

And with Noah always being out of bed by the time I woke, always at some meeting or another while I languidly stretched and instinctively searched for him, I always felt… strange. Empty, almost. Was guilt the right word?

One morning, about three weeks into our new arrangement, I found myself staring at my reflection, trying to sort out my jumbled thoughts. The woman looking back seemed different somehow, and it wasn’t just the not-so-subtle swell of her belly—her skin glowed.