Daddies Taste Better

: It Made Sense

His grip on my wrist tightened just slightly, and his chest rose in the faintest inhale—

BZZZ BZZZ BZZZ

His phone rang.

The sound slicing through the spell.

His eyes shifted away, his jaw flexed, and he let go of my wrist, but not abruptly, no, it was a controlled release that told me he knew exactly what was happening… and so did I.

Without a word, he reached down, grabbed his suitcase, and lifted his phone with the same hand that had just touched my chin.

“Yes,” he answered, voice clipped and distant now, as if the last sixty seconds had never happened.

He didn’t look at me again.

He just walked past me, heading up the stairs with calm, measured steps, phone at his ear, discussing business or something mundane while my heart thundered like I'd run miles.

As soon as he disappeared around the corner, heat rushed to my face so violently I thought I might combust on the spot.

I pressed my shaking hands over my cheeks.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

I stood rooted to the spot until his footsteps faded and only then did I bolt to my room.

I slammed the door, locked it, threw myself face-down on the bed, then proceeded to bury my face in it and screamed, the sound muffled and useless.

If that phone hadn’t rung…

Don’t you dare fucking think about it, Thea!

God, I was shaking.

My whole body felt wired, oversensitive, like one graze of fabric would set me off.

I could still feel the phantom pressure of his thumb on my lip, the way his eyes had stripped me bare without ever touching skin.

My hand slid down my stomach before I could stop it, pressing hard between my legs, chasing friction that only made me ache worse. A whimper slipped out, mortifyingly loud in the quiet room.

I yanked my hand away like I’d been burned and rolled over again, dragging the pillow over my head as if I could smother the memory of those eyes.

Hours passed, but they didn’t feel like hours.

They felt like something stretched thin, tight, and trembling along the edges.

I kept sitting on the edge of my bed, arms wrapped around my knees, wearing a fresh shirt now but still feeling soaked, like the cold pool water had somehow gotten into my bones.

I pressed my hands to my face, groaning softly.

God, what was I even thinking? Why had I stepped closer?

That’s so… so low!

Eventually the sky outside my window shifted from bright gold to soft violet, and then darker still. The house was still as loud as ever downstairs, the sound of laughter, clinking glasses, splashing from the pool again, then slowly quieted as people finally left. My phone buzzed a few times, Noah’s name lighting up the screen with a few texts:

hey babe u okay?

come downstairs

dont be mad

I didn’t answer a single one.

That’s a crucial part in sulking.

My stomach did growl quietly at some point but the embarrassment of going to the kitchen kept me glued to the bed.

I stayed in my room and froze when I heard a knock at my door.

I knew that knock, two soft taps and then one louder one.

Noah.

I swallowed hard but didn’t say anything, hoping maybe he’d think I was asleep.

Another knock came but this one was a bit softer. “Thea? Babe, I know you’re awake. Your light was on earlier.”

I sighed, sat up, and flicked on the bedside lamp. The room looked pathetic in the yellow glow: my suitcase half-unpacked in the corner, my damp bikini still dripping from the shower rail.

“Come in,” I muttered.

The door opened before I could finish the word, and he peeked in, smiling like absolutely nothing had happened earlier.

He was in swim trunks and a linen shirt, unbuttoned, hair still a little damp from the pool. He looked tan and relaxed and unfairly annoying and irritatingly beautiful, the way he always did, and for a moment the resentment flared so hot I almost told him to get out.

Instead I hugged my knees tighter.

Fuck him.

Fuck his gene.

And fuck me for being attracted to attractive men.

“There you are,” he said, slipping inside. “You’ve been hiding all day.”

I didn’t answer.

He walked over and sat beside me on the bed, smelling faintly of chlorine and some fruity drink someone probably handed him poolside.

“So…” he began casually, “uh… did you eat anything?”

“Mm.” I shrugged, not confirming anything.

He let out a slow breath and flopped back on my mattress. “Okay… so you’re doing the one-word-answer thing. That’s how I know you’re mad.”

I stayed silent.

He turned his head toward me. “Thea…”

I didn’t look at him.

Noah sighed again, louder this time, the dramatic kind he used when he wanted sympathy. “Maybe I… took the joke too far.”

I almost snorted. Maybe? But all that left my mouth was a thin, “Okay.”

He groaned and sat up. “Look… I’m sorry, okay? I took it too far this afternoon. The whole ‘don’t be a buzzkill’ thing. I was showing off for the guys. It was stupid.”

I stared at my knees. “Okay.”

“That’s it? Okay?”

“What do you want me to say?”

He scooted closer, the mattress dipping. “I want you to stop sulking.” His voice dropped into that teasing lilt. “If you don’t stop making that sad little face, I’m gonna have to fix it.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched traitorously.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “There. Better?”

I didn’t answer.

He kissed me again, lower, near the corner of my mouth. Again. And again. Quick, silly, relentless kisses that smelled like salt and summer and the boy I’d fallen for two years ago.

“Noah—”

Another kiss. “Stop sulking.”

“I’m not…”

Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. His stubble tickled; I squirmed, a reluctant giggle escaping before I could trap it.

“Stop!” I laughed, shoving at his chest.

He pulled back just far enough to grin. “There she is. Still mad?”

I bit my lip, the laughter fading. “Yes.”

“Liar.” He dove back in, peppering my cheek, my jaw, the tip of my nose with exaggerated smacking kisses until I was breathless and giggling again, swatting at him.

“Okay, okay! I’m not mad, you idiot. Stop!”

He finally relented, resting his forehead against mine, both of us grinning. For a moment it almost felt like before: like we were still twenty and invincible.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him for real.

It was soft at first, grateful, then deeper.

I parted my lips, slid my tongue against his, tasting mint gum and him as my fingers curled into the hair at his nape.

I wanted him closer.

Fuck!

I wanted to erase the memory of gray eyes and rough hands and the ache that had been living under my skin for hours.

But the second my tongue touched his, Noah stiffened.

He pulled back abruptly, breaking the kiss. Before I could process it, he brought the back of his hand to his mouth and wiped, hard, like he was erasing me.

The room went bone chilling cold.

Did he just…

I stared at him, heat draining from my face. “Why would you—”

He ran a hand through his hair, groaning. “Thea, seriously? What did I tell you?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, heat burning up the back of my throat.

He’d said it before — too much for my liking— that “too much sex ruins couples,” that “people who go at it all the time burn out,” and that “keeping things spaced out makes the relationship last longer.”

At first I’d believed him, nodded, smiled and said okay and told myself it was mature.

Romantic, even.

We were building something real.

It made sense at that moment.

But God gave mercy, months had passed.

Months!!!

And except for a few rushed kisses, a few make-out sessions that he always cut short, a few “not tonight, babe” fucking excuses… nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

I feel deprived and maybe that was why I reacted to the way Mr. Gage had looked at me.

Why a single fucking moment felt like fire after weeks of cold.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t fucking healthy.

“But…” I whispered.

“No buts,” he cut in immediately, holding up a hand. “I told you already, we have to pace ourselves.”

He brushed imaginary dust from his shirt, not even meeting my eyes. “And you know I care about you. But you get too emotional about stuff sometimes. Today? The pool thing? It wasn’t that deep.”

I felt slapped.

How could he still say that?

He stood up, stretching lazily. “Look, just… don’t overthink everything, okay?”

How about… too late?

But before I could summon the courage to say it he was already walking to the door, only pausing when his hand were on the knob.

“Oh — and don’t stay up too late,” he added lightly. “We’re going out tomorrow.”

“Noah—”

“I love you,” he said and slipped out, shutting the door with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than a slam.