“Missed you, Gorgeous,” Noah whispers into my hair, his arms squeezing me tight.

I keep my eyes closed. I’m lying on his chest, his heartbeat drumming in my ear and his steady breathing bringing me peace. I manage to turn into his chest and place a small kiss, but then I go back to my comfortable position, my hand draped over his stomach, my fingers pushed into his hip, holding him close… all while keeping my eyes shut.

“Me too,” I whisper and it’s the truth.

It’s been almost three weeks since we slept together and this is the first time we’ve been together since. I thought I remembered it, but as the days began to add up there was the off chance that I made it better than it was in my memory.

I hadn’t.

This time was just as good… maybe better.

This time he only gave me one orgasm, but he took his time getting me there and when it came… the Earth stopped turning for a moment and the ground shook. It’s also why my bones feel like they’ve melted, why it’s impossible to move more than to just place a light kiss on his stomach and why my eyes are still closed.

It was that good.

I don’t know what you would call me and Noah. We’re not dating, although maybe we are. We go out together occasionally… sometimes dinner, or to grocery shop. Ryan is always with us. We talk on the phone. He comes over and makes sure my house is secure and my windows and doors are locked. He even installed these little alarms that go off if a window is opened from the outside.

But, until today we’ve never really spent time alone. There’s been no sex, no kissing… nothing. I thought it was weird. After what we shared, I assumed there would definitely be more PDA between us or heck even private…

But there was nothing.

I shrugged it off. He was working through stuff. He had a son which needed to come first. That was all good. Then this morning he showed up at my door with doughnuts and coffee and before I could even inhale the deliciousness of it all… he jumped me.

It started off hot and heavy with me pushed against the wall and Noah being all mouth, hands, teeth and very, very hard cock. It got hot fast and he carried me into the bedroom and then it got soft, it got slow, it got sweet and torturous. I begged, he teased, I pleaded and finally he took me over the mountain.

It was more than worth the wait.

But, I had no idea what we were doing. I had no idea where we were headed. I wanted to ask, but I also didn’t want to rock the boat. Which, just to say, might be another reason I keep my eyes closed and try to stay in the moment.

“You want that coffee now?” he asks, his fingers sifting through my hair, wrapping around one strand enough that I feel his tug on it and I smile because that feels good too. I love that after sex he wants to keep touching me.

I love it.

“Where’s it at?” I ask, stifling a yawn.

“In the bag in the kitchen,” he says.

The same bag he stuffed condoms into. Seems Noah is a planner. He brought me breakfast, but he knew in doing that he was going to make sure we both had dessert. A girl has to appreciate a man who has a plan and sticks to it—especially when that plan gives you mind blowing orgasms.

“That would require moving,” I tell him, something he undoubtedly knows, but I feel the need to point out.

I feel his body rumble under me and I know he’s stifling a laugh.

“Yeah, Gorgeous, it would.”

“Then… no thanks,” I tell him.

“You could lie here and I’d go get the coffee and doughnuts,” he suggests and I frown into my man’s sexy, warm chest and muster the courage to raise my head to look at him.

“Do you want coffee and doughnuts?”

“Not especially,” he answers.

“Then, we’re good,” I tell him.

His hand moves from my hair to my face. His hand is holding my chin as he looks at me. His dark brown eyes seem to be searching mine. I don’t know if he finds what he wants, but his thumb comes out and brushes ever so slightly under my lip.

“You’re so fucking unbelievably beautiful, Rory,” he says and I blink.

It feels like my oxygen is all trapped in my chest and I can’t get it out. Tears sting my eyes, but I try to buckle them down, not wanting to make a fool of myself.

“Gorgeous…” Noah whispers, clearly seeing I’m upset.

“You believe that,” I whisper, not being able to stop the words.

“Fuck, baby. You just have to look in the mirror.”

“I don’t see it.”

“It’s there,” he says.

It’s there.

“I don’t see it,” I tell him again.

“Then, you aren’t looking,” he whispers, bringing his mouth to mine and kissing me.

It’s a light kiss, sweet and gentle but he hit something inside of me. Something that struck right into my heart and I’d been holding a tight rein on my emotions. I’d been bottling them up for years. Whatever Noah hit, causes them to seep out. Not a lot… just a little, but the little that does would be painful—so painful I might not survive—except for one thing.

Noah.

He has no idea and I can’t tell him.

I just can’t.

Besides, he probably wouldn’t want to know. I don’t know what we are, but we’re not there yet. That point in a relationship where you open your heart and show the other person what’s in there. We’re not there and signs point to the fact that Noah isn’t the type of man who will ever open his heart and lay it bare. So, I can’t tell him that he’s managed to soothe scars inside of me that have been there for all of my life. I can’t tell him that when you hear that you are ugly, worthless, stupid…. Over and over and from people who are supposed to protect you, nurture you and support you, that you begin to believe it. That those words, those insults sink down inside of you and go black, draining colors out of your life until everything is gone and you just exist in the gray area… trying to survive.

I can’t tell him that, because it’s too big. I can’t tell him that he makes me feel…beautiful and maybe even… worthwhile.

It’s stupid. He wouldn’t understand, because I don’t. Logically, I know I have worth. I know that I’m not stupid, that I am a good person. But, I’ve found no matter how much I try to reason with myself, it’s the darkness inside, the festering wounds left there by the people I love that always win.

Always make me feel… less.

Until Noah.

Still, I feel the need to remind him of something. Something I’ve found to be true over and over. Because there have been times in my life that I thought I held it, but I was wrong. There was always ugly waiting for me.

“Beauty fades, Noah,” I murmur, my gaze locked with his.

“Not your kind of beauty, Rory. Not in a million years,” he quietly insists. “Your kind of beauty is clean through to the heart.”

I rise up over him, tears sliding from my eyes, but I can’t worry about them.

Not right now.

I sling my leg over him, so that I’m straddling him, and I slide down just enough so his cock is pressing against the center of me.

Right where I need him most.

I stay on my knees, my hand wrapping around his semi-erect cock.

“Rory?” he questions, his hands going to my hips and his eyes going smoky.

I squeeze him, feeling his cock harden as I stroke him, our gazes never leaving each other.

“I don’t want coffee, Noah.”

“Okay, Gorgeous,” he says, searching my face.

“I only want you,” I tell him unnecessarily, as I guide him to my entrance and slowly lower onto him.

“Then take me,” he encourages.

He hisses a breath through his teeth as I take him all the way in, his hard cock stretching me, my wetness covering him, my inner muscles contracting and holding his shaft tightly.

“Noah,” I moan, rocking back and forth on him, my hips beginning to move.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs.

“Noah,” I cry, riding him slowly, but moving so I can feel him deep inside of me, filling me, scraping against my inner walls…

Possessing me to the point that I know without a doubt he’s leaving his own kind of scars. Scars that will never heal, but these scars aren’t black. These scars are made of pure beauty.

“My beautiful Rory,” he murmurs, his hand wrapping around the side of my neck and bringing me in close. His tongue thrusting into my mouth just as hot, just as slow and just as sweet as his cock is inside of me. “Mine,” he gasps against my mouth.

“Yours,” I whisper, kissing him again, knowing that to Noah they might just be words, but to me… they’re the beautiful truth.