“Yes, perfectly. And I want you to describe the action in great detail after.”
***
Noah was waiting for me, just like that first day, slouching against the wall. This time I didn’t hesitate at the door but ran to him. His arms came around me immediately and he kissed me, uncaring of the students around us.
“Ready?” He asked, tenderly moving a little hair that had fallen forward and tucking it behind my ear.
I nodded and lifted up my black portfolio.
We walked silently across the campus, holding hands. The fallen leaves from the trees crunched under our feet. The fall air was getting cooler, but it would’ve to be much closer to freezing before the students would pull out jackets and jeans. I couldn’t recall a time I had felt more content and just generally pleased with the world. I knew that even if Dr. Rossum hated my work again that I’d be okay.
I’d still be able to perfect my photography skills without classes. What I had told Noah before still was true. Nothing was better for me than actual practice, which meant experimentation and, yes, failure.
I’d learned so much from trying and failing. It’s something I wouldn’t fear again.
Funny how facing down your greatest fears actually made you stronger.
“Are you sure I can’t come in?” Noah asked as we reached the steps of the Fine Arts building.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I reached up on my toes and pressed my lips against his. “Your love is so strong I can feel it even upstairs.”
I grinned at the sudden redness appearing in his cheeks. “I do, you know,” he said softly, “love you very much.”
“I know, and I love you,” I said. Pleased with myself, I pushed him onto a bench and ran inside the building. Even walking up the stairs, I felt different. Last time I was tentative, as if I was going to my own execution. This time, I took the stairs swiftly and confidently.
I marched right up to Dr. Rossum’s assistant and gave her my name. “Grace Sullivan,” I said. “I have an appointment to see Dr. Rossum.”
The assistant’s blue eyes twinkled at me. Could she recognize the difference too? “Go right in,” she said.
“So you’re back?” Dr. Rossum’s flat voice met me at the doorway.
“I am, sir,” I said. The sound of his voice made me falter a bit, and I recalled the harsh words he had flung at me before. But I shrugged the memory off and entered the messy room. There was still no place to sit and barely any place to stand. Noah had said to imagine a steel rod from the base of my foot into the floor to keep me steady and focused. I visualized instead a long metal chain that hooked me to Noah, my rock, and mentally grounded myself.
“Do you have new material for me?” He held out his hand wearily as if this meeting was too tiresome for life.
“I do,” I said and stepped forward, handing him my portfolio. He paged through quickly as he did before and then stopped at the photo of the girl on the bench.
“Why did you take this picture?” he demanded, his demeanor a little less tired.
“She reminded me of my mother,” I admitted.
“Your mother wears poorly-fitted cardigans and ugly shoes?” he mocked.
“No. My mother’s eyes are dead. Her spirit was snuffed out when my dad died. This girl’s eyes show the same thing. No life. Something killed her inside. Nothing is growing there yet. Not now. Maybe not ever,” I said flatly. I didn’t relish dredging up my old pains; by including those pictures, I was offering up a piece of me. I’d look foolish trying to deny those feelings to Dr. Rossum.
He looked at me sharply and gave me a short nod. “It’s not like I can really keep you out of the program.”
I didn’t say the obvious, which was that he could. Instead, I waited for the official verdict and tried to keep the triumph off my face. Probably an impossible task. Noah and I hadn’t practiced that. It was enough that I was still on my feet.
Dr. Rossum tapped the portfolio against his hand. “Do you know why I am hard on students, Ms. Sullivan?”
I shook my head. Because you’re an asshole? I thought, hoping my thoughts weren’t blazing across my face like a neon sign.
“Because,” Dr. Rossum instructed, “if you plan to be an artist you need to learn how to take criticism and stand up for your work. If you don’t love it, no one will.”
There were better ways of teaching, in my opinion, but I wasn’t going to voice those to Dr. Rossum, I said nothing.
“Nothing to say for yourself?” he finally asked.
“No, sir. I plan to let my art do my talking,” I replied, allowing a little snarkiness to leak through.
“You have a lot to learn, Ms. Sullivan.”
“I hope that the art program will teach it all to me,” I said. This time I couldn’t prevent a smile because we both knew I had won.
Dr. Rossum grunted and tossed the portfolio to me. This time all the photos remain safely tucked inside. “Leave your email with Ms. Grant. She will send you the admissions papers, and you can start classes in the spring.”
After I did as Dr. Rossum instructed, I sped down the stairs to Noah.
He saw me running from inside and caught me as I flew out of the doors. “I’m in,” I cried with happiness and showered kisses all over his face.
He threw back his head and shouted “Ooooorah,” which made me laugh like a loon. People stopped and stared at our spectacle, but I didn’t care.
“I knew it,” Noah laughed and carried me down the stairs, setting me down when we had reached the bottom.
“Oh you did, did you?” I teased, slapping him lightly on the arm with my portfolio. He grabbed it and carefully tucked it into his backpack.
“Yup,” he said, cradling me under one of his arms as we started the trek back across campus toward my apartment. “Either you were going to get in, or I was going upstairs to break Dr. Rossum’s legs. It was all good.”
I snorted and said, “Well I’m glad I could save us both with my superior skills, then.”
“How so?” Noah queried, grinning down at me.
“Because otherwise you’d be expelled, and I’d be a humanities major, if not for my photographs.”
“I’ve always known you were superior,” Noah said, all sign of humor vanishing. “You’re too good for me.”
“Bullshit,” I said, in a no-nonsense voice. “We’re just right for one another. Let’s go home and celebrate.”
His eyes lightened. “I know just the thing.”
“Does it involve us being in bed together?” I recognized that look. It’s the one that he gave me before my clothes ended up on the floor. It was one of my favorite Noah expressions.
“Yes. Why do you even ask?” He looked at me like I was just being silly. I was.
“I thought celebration was dinner and drinks?” I teased him.
“No, why waste our time doing that when we both know what we want,” he somberly told me.
“All right, Noah Jackson. Let’s go home and you can show me how to celebrate things the right way.” I was totally in the mood for anything he had in mind.
“You know, you’re very sexy when you tell me what to do,” he grinned, teasing again.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” This one word was growled at me, sending a shiver of excitement down my spine.
By the time we reached the apartment, we could barely keep our hands off each other. Our mouths were fused together as if we could only keep breathing through each other.
He picked me up and carried me to the bedroom, throwing me on the bed. I bounced once and tested out his earlier suggestion.
“Take off your shirt,” I ordered.
He stopped short and grinned at me. “I like this.” He reached behind his back with one arm and pulled the shirt over his head. I admired his bare chest, the rock hard muscles, the golden skin, the thin trail of hair that marked the path from his belly button into his jeans. His erection was clearly defined behind the denim and seemed to grow larger as I stared at it. “What now?” he asked.
I had forgotten what we were doing, as I took in his obvious masculine beauty. “Um, now the jeans.”
He shucked those quickly, too. I pulled off my denim skirt. His hardness was now tenting the thin cotton of his boxer briefs. I motioned for him to come sit on the bed, and I climbed on top of him, rubbing myself against him.
He ran his hands up my sides, eager to touch me. “And now?” he murmured.
“My shirt,” I said breathlessly, “take off my shirt.”
He did so slowly, the calluses of his palm and fingertips lightly abrading my sensitive skin. He rubbed the flat of his palms against my breast, pushing the shirt up and over the lace-covered mounds and then lifting the cotton over my head. I ground down against him, and he groaned audibly.
“I want you to kiss me,” I moaned.
“Where?” he drew me close to him, his breath whispering over my skin.
“Here,” I said. I lifted my breast to him.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked me, moving down so that his mouth was positioned just over the crest of my breast. “Lick it? Suck it? Bite it?”
I was panting now. “All of it.”
He didn’t require more instruction. Through the lace, he mouthed my breast. I fumbled at the bra, wanting to feel his wet mouth against my skin. He understood and released the bra closure, pushing it down my arms, all the while licking and biting and sucking on me. I rubbed harder against him.
“Do you want me to touch you anywhere else?” he asked, his lips moving against my breast.
“Yes,” I said. Oh yes. I wasn’t even conscious anymore. I was lost in his touch and in the flame of our desire for one another. I grabbed his hand. “Touch me here, Noah,” I placed his hand between my legs. “I’m so wet for you.”
His forehead was resting against my chest as he stared down at his fingers dipping inside my panties. “Jesus, Grace, I love how hot I can get you.” He pressed the flat of his palm against me and rubbed his fingers against the soft flesh between my legs.
I started to say something more, but he brought his hand up to my mouth. “Not another word, or I’ll come in my shorts. Your dirty talk is too much for me.” He looked up ruefully and dropped his hand away.
I gave him a pained smile. “Then take the wheel.”
And he did.
Noah
I must have fallen asleep after our celebration, because the next thing I knew was that I was alone in Grace’s bed. I swept out a hand and it hit the crinkle of paper. Grabbing it, I sat up, flipped on the nightstand, and began to read.
Dear Noah,
Don’t let this go to your head, but you were right to not come for me two years ago. Neither of us was ready. We both had to face down our greatest fears.
I know your fear isn’t of water anymore. I know that your greatest fear is that you aren’t good enough. But you are. You are the best kind of person, Noah. The best kind of friend, the best kind of supporter, the best kind of lover.
I will never want more than I have in you. The journey may have been long, but it was oh-so-worth it.
You are even better than Odysseus because he was an imaginary character dreamt up by some writer. You are real. And amazing.
I love you and will always love you.
Your Grace.
P.S. The weather is always really hot around you, for some reason.
Epilogue
Noah
“Really?” I looked down at the circular shield with the red, white, and blue circles that Finn had handed me. “Who put you in charge of costumes anyway?”
Finn clapped me on the shoulder. “Take it up with Bo. He insisted.”
Bo waved his sword at me while Lana and Amy helped buckle him into his chest plate.
“If I’m the only one wearing tights in this photo shoot, someone is going to be having a hard time walking tomorrow,” I yelled out. No one was listening to me. I felt the press of a familiar set of fingers along the top of my ass. I guess someone heard me.
“If it makes you feel better, your costume is kind of a turn-on.”
“How much of a turn-on?”
“Post-fight, can’t wait to get out of the car, turn-on?” Grace whispered against my back. I lowered my shield to cover my groin as I felt my body tighten in response. Tights were not very good at disguising a guy’s reaction to the woman he loved, particularly when she was stroking a sensitive patch of skin on his low back.
“I, ah, think you need to take two steps back and to the side.” But when she listened to me, I immediately regretted it. I swept her close to me and placed my shield at her back.
She pushed out her lower lip, which I took as an invitation to bite. She drew back, and I followed to give her a firmer kiss, but she placed her hands against my upper arms.
“No more kissing or we’ll end up giving everyone a free show.”
“Like I care.” I pressed her closer to me. Never a fan of PDA, I really couldn’t get enough of Grace. I admit I liked having her within arm’s reach, preferably with her amazing rack pressed against my chest and arm. My eyes crossed a little at the thought of licking down the line of my dog tags that disappeared into the valley that her v-neck T-shirt exposed. I contented myself with laying a hard, wet kiss across her mouth. When she parted her lips, I swept in, allowing the hoots and laughter of our friends to serve as the soundtrack to our happily ever after.