Chapter 20

Noelle

I’ve never wanted to suck a dick more in my life, but right now, seeing the way York stares at me has my heart pounding in my chest.

I make quick work of his pants, bringing them down so I can release the beast of a dick he has. Seriously, his hockey stick needs its own zip code.

I lick my lips as I gaze up at him.

He traces a thumb across my cheek. “I swear I had a dream like this once.”

And I swear the things he says to me, when we’re alone, make my heart melt. It’s like I’m walking on a cloud, and I don’t want it to end.

I swipe my tongue over the engorged tip of his dick and he groans. I love making him groan like that. It turns me on, and I squeeze my thighs together to ward off the want. There’s no way I’ll be able to fit this thing down my throat, but that doesn’t keep me from trying.

York guides his dick to my mouth, and he basically feeds it to me. I open my mouth, letting him push inside me.

And then I suck. I keep sucking, eliciting moan after moan from him. It makes me heady, and I keep going, his sounds egging me on. It’s erotic, and the thrill that we can be caught at any moment makes it that much more exciting.

I keep sucking, letting my tongue work along the groove of the head. I even let my tongue slip into the slit and taste the precum there. God, he’s so handsome.

His eyes flutter closed as his mouth hangs open. He’s got both hands braced on the wall behind me as I work his dick in and out of my mouth like a pro. Or at least I’m thinking I’m a pro at this, and by the way he’s reacting I know he’s enjoying it.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sliding one of his hands into my hair, tugging loosely at the strands. “Keep sucking me deep down your throat.”

I do exactly as he says, sucking, letting my tongue swirl around the tip. I reach a hand to cradle his balls, playing with them, letting my finger press in the spot between the base of his balls and anus. I press toward me, and this gets the reaction I was looking for.

“Fuck, keep doing that,” he groans out.

I hum against the dick in my mouth, loving that I’m turning him on this much. With his hand he holds my head still, fucking my mouth. He takes me how he wants me. Hard. He’s relentless and it nearly drives me insane knowing I’m having this kind of effect on him.

I’ve dreamed about this so many times, and now it’s actually happening, and I want it. I want all of it.

Every. Single. Thing.

“I’m about to come,” he says, trying to pull out of my mouth, but I won’t let him. No way. I want to taste him. His eyes crash into mine, questioning me. “Are you sure?”

I give a small nod, and not even a second later he’s coming deep down my throat. I swallow all of him down, milking the last of his release from his balls with my hand.

As soon as he’s done, he helps me up and crashes his lips to mine. The way he plunges his hands into my hair, holding me close tells me so much. It tells me he wants me. Or at least, I sure hope it does.

“We should get back out there,” he whispers against my lips.

I gaze into his eyes, not wanting to leave this little bubble we’ve created. I’d happily give up my life to stay here forever in his arms, but I know that can’t happen. Obviously.

So, we get cleaned up and head back into the store. As we’re coming out of the back area a camera flashes, and I’m mortified.

“Hey, what were you two doing back there?” A voice calls out behind us, loud and intrusive. It’s the man with the camera again, his smirk wide as he raises his lens to snap another picture. “A little mistletoe magic?” he laughs, the sound grating as he clicks off a few more photos. The flash stings my eyes, making my heart race with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

York’s jaw tightens as he quickly raises his hand to shield our faces from the camera. “Not now,” he growls, his voice firm, but I can hear the tension underneath. Without missing a beat, he grabs my hand and pulls me away from the paparazzo, leading me through the crowd. His grip is tight but protective, and I can feel the frustration radiating off him.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, glancing over his shoulder as we put distance between ourselves and the photographer. His tone is soft now, apologetic.

“It’s not your fault,” I say gently, trying to ease the guilt I know he’s feeling. But when we’re finally far enough away, York stops. He turns around, positioning himself in front of me, his face clouded with something heavier than just frustration. His hand finds mine again, but this time, there’s a vulnerability in the way his fingers thread through mine.

“It is my fault, Noelle. All of this,” he says, his voice low but intense. “You shouldn’t have to live your life like this. It’s not fun having cameras shoved in your face everywhere you go, having your every move scrutinized.” His eyes are filled with a mix of guilt and something deeper, something that tells me this isn’t just about today—it’s about us.

I try to smile, but the weight of his words lingers in the air between us. “But you manage just fine,” I point out, though I know it’s not the same for him. York’s been living this life for years, used to the constant attention and the flashing cameras.

He sucks in a deep breath, his chest rising as he tries to steady himself. “Yeah,” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I guess I’m used to it, but that doesn’t mean you should have to deal with it too.”

His words sink in, and for the first time, I realize how much this is weighing on him. How much he’s worried about what this life might mean for us. The thought tugs at me, a dull ache forming in my chest. I squeeze his hand, wanting to tell him it’ll be fine, that we can handle it. But before I can say anything, we spot my parents up ahead, and York’s expression changes, a mask of calm slipping over his features as we approach them.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of holiday shopping and small talk with my parents, but there’s a heavy weight hanging between York and me. It’s subtle at first—just a quiet tension—but it grows as the hours tick by. I can feel it in the way his hand grips mine a little too tightly, in the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he looks at me.

Like there’s something unresolved, something lurking underneath the surface, disrupting the happiness we felt just this morning. And no matter how hard I try to push it away, it lingers between us, a silent reminder that our worlds are colliding in ways neither of us fully understands yet.

We’re all sitting around the fire, the heat from the flames doing little to ease the knot forming in my stomach. The crackle of the wood burning is soothing, but the tension between York and me is thick enough to cut with a knife. I can feel it, unspoken and heavy, ever since we got back from shopping. My parents are oblivious, chatting about the upcoming charity event, but all I can focus on is the uncomfortable silence between York and me.

My dad clears his throat, breaking through my spiraling thoughts. “So,” he starts, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes flicking between me and York, “I’ve been thinking about what we’ll need to do after the holidays. You know, to wrap this thing up for the media.”

My heart sinks, the weight of what he’s saying hitting me like a ton of bricks. I glance at York, expecting him to say something, anything. This is the moment—our moment to tell my parents that this isn’t a fake relationship anymore. That we’re real. But York just sits there, staring into the fire, his jaw tight, not saying a word.

I can’t speak either. My throat feels like it’s closing up, the words trapped somewhere deep inside me. This was supposed to be it, the perfect moment to come clean. But now, with my dad watching us so expectantly and York not stepping up, I feel like I can’t do it alone.

Dad continues, oblivious to the turmoil in my head. “We need to come up with a story for your breakup. Something simple, believable. The press will eat it up, and then Noelle won’t have to worry about any of this when she heads back to college.”

I feel the air leave my lungs. A breakup? My mind is spinning, my heart pounding in my chest. This is the exact opposite of what I wanted. I look at York again, silently pleading with him to say something, to stop this conversation from spiraling out of control. But he just sits there, tense, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“York?” My dad prompts, waiting for his input. “What do you think? We could say it just didn’t work out, that you both decided to part as friends. It’ll be clean, no drama. Then nobody will bother Noelle when she goes back to school.”

I want to scream, to stand up and tell them both that this isn’t fake anymore, that York and I are really together, that we don’t want to break up. But the words won’t come. Not with York sitting there, silent. If he’s not going to say anything, how can I?

I force a tight smile, nodding along as if I’m okay with this whole ridiculous plan. “Yeah,” I manage to say, though my voice sounds far away. “That could work.”

York finally looks up, his eyes meeting mine, but I can’t read his expression. There’s something there, something I can’t quite place, but he doesn’t speak. He just nods, agreeing with my dad’s plan as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. As if the idea of publicly breaking up doesn’t tear me apart inside.

The conversation drifts after that, my dad satisfied with the plan as he leans back in his chair, talking about logistics and timing. I barely hear him. All I can think about is the silence between York and me, the opportunity slipping away, and the ache building in my chest.

After what feels like an eternity, I stand up, my legs shaky. “I think I’m going to head to bed,” I mumble, avoiding everyone’s gaze. I can’t stay here any longer, pretending like everything’s fine when it feels like everything is falling apart.

My mom gives me a gentle smile, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night,” I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper as I head down the hall.

I get to my room and close the door softly, but the second I’m alone, the tears come. I slide down to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me.

York and I were supposed to be real. But right now, it feels like we’re slipping into something we can’t come back from.