That plan was about to be axed, and that just pissed him off. So maybe she could handle the sight of the blood, but she was going to demand answers. And answers weren't something Noah was ready to give.
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sabella waited. She watched the window, listened carefully through dinner, and by the time she heard the Harley's hard throbbing purr pulling in behind the garage, she was furious.
It was after midnight.
She paced the living room, pausing at the windows and staring down at the garage apartment. There weren't any lights on. What man didn't turn on the lights when he arrived home?
Except, her husband. Nathan hadn't needed lights either.
She was nervous and she couldn't explain why. The more she stared down at the apartment the more the impulse to go down to him filled her.
The sexual crisis was over, she told herself. She'd had him, she should be okay now. Except she wasn't, and this wasn't just about the sex. It was about the pounding in her head, pushing her to go to him, to check on him.
Hell, he was over thirty, he didn't need a keeper.
He was thirty-four.
She pressed her hands to her stomach, over the thin sleeveless T-shirt she wore. He was the same age as her husband.
Sabella shook her head. She wasn't going there and she wasn't going to go down to that apartment to have sex with him either, she told herself as she slipped her sneakers on and tied them.
Grabbing her keys from her purse, she left the house and within minutes she was pulling her little car in behind the garage.
She had the key to the apartment in her hand. She shouldn't just walk in on him, she told herself, even as she moved quickly up the back steps to the deck. After all, he could have brought a friend back with him. He could be busy. In the shower. Any number of things. But she jammed the key into the door, stepped inside, and before she could gasp found herself jerked inside, the door slamming closed as she was pushed against the wall.
Dangerous, tense. The hard arm that lay across her neck was Noah's, the almost feverish glitter in his navy blue eyes was predatory, intense.
"Do you like living dangerously?" he asked her softly, his face too close to hers, his hard body, mostly naked, pressing into hers. "I'm not to desecrate that hallowed marriage bed of yours, but you can slip in here any time you please?"
His voice was grating. It raked across her nerves, fired nerve synapses that triggered chills racing across her body as she stared up at him through the darkness.
His arm slid from across her throat, but he didn't release her. His hands gripped her h*ps and jerked her up to him, even as another gasp parted her lips.
He wasn't just mostly naked. He was naked. And hard. The full, pounding length of his c**k pressed into her lower stomach as he watched her with heated, absorbed interest.
"We needed to talk." Her hands pressed against his shoulders, and it took only a second for awareness to seep into her brain.
She felt the slight flinch as she pressed against him, as though the flesh were tender. He was damp, he'd obviously come from the shower, she could feel the water on his flesh, and something slick, perhaps remnants of soap. His hair was wet, his shadowed expression was harsh.
"You're hurt." She pressed against his other shoulder. "Noah, what happened?"
"Not yet," he growled.
"What do you mean not—" Yet.
He stole the words with his kiss. His lips lowered to hers, took them, sipped at the curves, and a low, male groan of need rumbled in his throat.
Parted lips tugged the lower curve, his tongue flicked over it as her own parted, to breathe she told herself. Just to breathe, not so that hot, hungry tongue could flick against them, taste her.
She felt her heart rate spike.
"Noah, are you okay?"
"Later." His lips sealed hers, slanted across them, and ate into her with hungry, heated demand.
Sabella whimpered at the pleasure. She had lied to herself. She knew she had. She hadn't come down here to inform him of anything, she had come for this.
"Look at how you're dressed," he growled, his lips moving from hers to her jaw, her cheek. "Short little shorts." His hand slid down her stomach to cup the wet heat between her thighs, beneath the silky stretch material of her shorts. "Snug little shirt." And she hadn't worn a bra. She sometimes slept in these clothes. They were thin and comfortable, too thin, because the heat of his palm against her mound was making her crazy.
The heel of his hand rotated, pressed.
"You're hurt," she gasped. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Noah…"
"God, yes, say my name like that again," he growled. "Tell me you want me, Sabella. Hot and wild, all over again. Pounding inside you, stretching that sweet, hot little pu**y all around me."
Her breath caught. She could feel his blood beneath her hand, his na**d c**k through the layer of material separating them.
"Noah, stop this. Are you bleeding?" She thought maybe she could smell a hint of blood.
"No. Trust me. Just a scratch." His teeth raked over her jaw and she shuddered at the sensation, like little tingles of electricity raking over her, through her.
"What kind of scratch?" she moaned.
"You can bandage me up." His voice throbbed, became deeper, harder. "Later."
"Noah." She breathed his name as she felt his hand move, sliding from between her thighs only to push beneath her shorts and panties to fill his hand with the swollen, wet flesh beneath.
"You're wet, Sabella." His fingers tunneled into the slit, slid through the slick cream that gathered there. "Tell me you want me. Ask me to f**k you."
She was panting for breath. Pressed against the kitchen wall, all she could think about was feeling him inside her, around her.
"I want your mouth on my dick again."
He shocked her with the blunt, naughty words. "I want to watch you going down on me, feel your mouth sucking the head of my c**k again. God, it was so good, coming in your mouth like that, watching you love it."
His finger pierced inside her. One finger, sliding in deep, rasping over tender nerve endings, as the heel of his palm pressed and rotated against her clit.
She was shaking. He was bleeding, he was hurt. She should be more concerned with forcing him to let her see what kind of damage he had done than she was with his finger, pumping, inside her.