ELLE’S POV
"You're quiet," Noah said. His voice was soft, but it cut through the quiet like it carried weight,like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it from me anyway.
I didn’t look up at first. My eyes stayed fixed on the plate in front of me. He’d scrambled the eggs just the way I liked them—fluffy, slightly browned on the edges. The fork in my hand hovered in the air before I set it down with a soft clink against the ceramic. The granite counter felt cool under my elbows as I leaned forward.
"Just thinking," I replied, my voice low, but honest.
"About?" he asked. He didn’t push, but his tone let me know he was listening closely.
I looked up at him. His hair was still messy from the night, and his T-shirt clung slightly to his chest like it was still trying to remember the shape of sleep. "You," I said. "Everything."
His lips tugged into a slow smile. Not just his lips, his eyes joined too, warm and open. "It’s a lot, isn’t it?"
I nodded once, just enough to say yes without adding more. The quiet wrapped around us again, not uncomfortable just full. Like it was holding space for what neither of us knew how to say yet.
He took my plate and turned toward the sink, rinsing it under the running water. His movements were calm, natural. Like this was routine.
"Is this your place?" I asked. My voice broke the stillness, and it almost startled me how normal it sounded.
"Yeah," he said without looking back. "Bought it last year."
"Of course you did," I muttered, a quiet laugh escaping before I could stop it. "Heir to a billion-dollar empire and you’re over here making eggs."
He turned slightly, glancing at me over his shoulder. His grin was wider this time. "Even billionaires need breakfast."
I shook my head, smiling despite myself. "This place feels… safe."
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes met mine, and something shifted in them. Something deeper, something serious. "That’s what I wanted it to be," he said finally. "For me… and for us."
His words hit harder than I expected. My lungs tightened. My eyes dropped to the countertop. I suddenly felt the space between us shrink, even though he hadn’t moved. It was the way he looked at me like I was already part of the place he built, like I belonged there.
"Elle," he said, and I looked up again.
"Yeah?"
He stepped closer, slow but sure, and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. His fingertips barely touched my skin, but it felt like he lit a fuse. "You don’t have to be afraid anymore."
The breath I took was shaky. My heart thudded in my chest. "That’s easier said than done."
"I know," he said. "Then I’ll show you. Every day, if I have to."
There was a moment—just one—that hung between us, heavy and thick with everything we hadn’t said before. The air around us crackled. I could feel the shift the second we both stopped pretending we weren’t feeling the same thing.
He leaned in, his lips brushing mine. The kiss started soft, slow, like he was testing the water. I kissed him back once, then again, and that was it. Something gave way inside me. We moved together like we’d done this a hundred times, like we already knew where to go and how to get there.
The couch met my back as he pressed into me. His mouth was fire. His hands moved down my waist, his grip warm and firm.
"Elle," he whispered, breathless. His lips hovered over mine. "Tell me to stop."
My fingers slid into his hair, pulled him closer. "Don’t you dare."
He groaned, deep and real. One hand tugged at the hem of my shirt, lifting it slowly, giving me every chance to change my mind.
"You're sure?" he asked, his voice strained, eyes locked on mine.
"I’m sure," I said. "I want this. I want you."
The hesitation vanished. In its place was heat and skin and everything we had held back until now. Every kiss felt like it mattered. Every touch felt like it carried weight. He was slow when I needed slow. He was urgent when I needed more. He read every inch of me like I was a map he’d been dying to learn.
We didn’t speak much after that. Words weren’t needed. Just the sound of breath, the thud of our hearts, the softness of skin against skin. Time blurred, the storm outside forgotten.
Later, wrapped in the aftermath, my head resting against his chest, I could hear his heart again, steady and strong beneath my ear.
"You okay?" he asked, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my bare back.
"More than okay," I whispered. My eyes closed.
His arm pulled me in tighter. "I love you, Elle.”
And just like that, in that quiet space, with his body warm against mine and his promise still lingering in the air, I let myself believe him.