He places his index finger underneath my chin and tilts my face back up to his. “Noah. Call me Noah.” “Noah,” I whisper, my heart skipping a beat. Somehow saying his name feels like a privilege, a sin. “Good girl,”
He laughs, his eyes dipping down to my lips. “You’re playing with fire, Amara.” “Maybe I am, but you’re to blame for setting me ablaze.” He smirks, his eyes dropping to my lips. “Oh baby,” he whispers. “I haven’t done anything yet.”