The moment Noelle wakes up, he's tangled in an arm, the heavy weight of it pressing him into the bed. For a second, the fog of sleep lingers, and he's almost content to stay in place. But his stomach churns with hunger, a sharp reminder of how long it's been since he's eaten. Carefully, he slides out from beneath Thorne's grip, feeling the possessiveness of that touch, even in sleep. Thorne shifts but doesn't wake, and Noelle takes the opportunity to slip out of the room.
His legs are wobbly, and as he makes his way down the hall, every step reminds him of what happened, the dull, pleasurable ache between his legs a testament to the hours they'd spent together. The kitchen is a small blessing—a few baked potatoes waiting on the counter, enough to stave off the gnawing hunger. He grabs one, eats quickly, then reaches for a glass of water, gulping it down like a man starved.
