Illicit acollection, p.120
Illicit: A Contemporary Romance Collection, page 120
“Open then. The view is perfect.”
I rub my finger across my lower lip, taking her in. “I couldn’t agree more.” I step toward her, towering over her supine form. Tonight, there is no holding back. “Are you ready for this, Halle?”
16
Halle
“Are you ready for this, Halle?” he asks, and the first thought in my mind is no. And that has nothing to do with the physical state of my arousal, because if he caught a glimpse of my panties right now, he’d know I’m more than ready. But the word this feels like he’s asking about more than sex. Or maybe I’m just reading too much into this because Jonah is still standing tall and gorgeous over me, slowly unbuttoning his dark shirt that I like too much to rip off him.
I told him I could handle just hooking up. I told him I could handle a temporary situation as long we’re open and honest about what we really are to each other. I told him I could do this, because the simple truth is, I want it too much to dig deeper into the validity of my truth. I’m not a hookup girl. I’m not a one-night stand girl. I think I already proved that.
But that’s all Jonah wants. A monogamous hookup. And after all this bullshit with Matt, all the calls he’s sending my way, I’m not all that interested in a relationship, either. Jonah feels different though. Jonah is someone I could like. Okay, that’s lie one. Jonah is someone I already like. And that’s what worries me most. I like Jonah. He’s funny and smart and sexy-as-sin, and listens to me when I talk, and fucks with reckless abandon. Like it’s a sport he’s out to perfect.
He might be close already.
So, is he going to turn into yet another tragedy in the Halle Whitcomb library of losers and horrible relationships?
Possibly.
Probably.
Can I handle that eventuality? Maybe. That’s the best I’ve got. But is maybe enough of an answer to say no to the temporary he’s offering me? I don’t think so. So, I’m going with this.
I’m going with, “Yes, I’m ready.” Even if I’m only sixty-eight percent sure I am. That’s better than half, right?
He watches me closely, staring deeply into my eyes. I stare back, letting him see it all. If he stops this, well, then it is what it is. I can’t tell if his baggage is worse than mine, so I’m going to leave this in his very capable hands.
His shirt falls to the floor, no cufflinks to remove this time. “Take off your dress.”
I comply instantly, sitting up and pulling the delicate fabric over my head. He takes it from my hands. Unlike the neglect he showed his own apparel, Jonah carries my dress over to a chair in the far corner and lays it over the back, ensuring a wrinkle will not be found when I put it back on later.
“I like that you’re not wearing a bra.” I also like it, because his heated eyes are feasting on my breasts like they’re a rare delicacy he’s about to ravage. I take him in, my eyes unable to stop as they glide across his shoulders, loving the hell out of the way his corded muscles move as he undoes the button on his jeans. He doesn’t take them off, just leaves the button open and I continue my perusal. “Like what you see, Carolina?”
I grin. “Most definitely, Jonah.” I give a half-smile. “I need a nickname for you. Jonah feels so very formal. You can’t even shorten it.”
“Master?” A clipped laugh flies out of my throat and I shake my head no. “God?”
“Nope. Try again.”
He slides onto the bed, his bent knee between my parted thighs as he hovers over me, our faces only inches apart. “I like it when you call me Jonah. I like it when you cry it out as you’re coming, and I like it when you say it softly, like it’s a secret. And I like it when you’re angry and practically shout it at me.”
“Jonah,” I say, biting my lip to hide my amused grin.
He laughs, dipping his head to run his tongue up the column of my neck. “You got it, Carolina. That’s bloody perfect. Just like you.” His lips meet mine once more and then his mouth takes over, kissing my lips and sucking on my tongue like it counts. Like I’m the only thing in the world and everything else in our universe is superfluous. My tits receive the same level of worship. Jonah cups my left breast, squeezing it firmly until I moan loudly. His mouth covers my right nipple, licking and flicking and sucking and biting until it’s diamond hard, so deliciously, painfully sensitive.
“Ah, yes,” I cry out, running my hands back through his hair and holding him right there. God, yes, right there. “Don’t stop.”
“Baby, I don’t think I ever could.” He squeezes me, lifting my nipple up so he can devour more of me. I’m lost. Succumbing exquisitely to this beautiful sensation. But at the same time, this is not where I really need him. I need him farther south. He knows it. This sexy, irresistible man knows exactly what I crave because even though his hands and mouth are loving the hell out of my tits, he slips away from them with a wicked smirk. Warm, hot lips glide down my stomach, kissing a wet path lower . . . lower. So nearly there as he takes his time building up this sweet, blissful torture.
I can’t stop moving, writhing.
“Tell me what you need.” His tongue peeks out, swiping at the top of my panties. Goddamn tease.
“More.”
“You need more than just more. Tell me what you want me to do to you, Halle.”
I close my eyes and arch my back, desperate to show him, but he pushes my hips down with his large, strong hand. He’s gonna make me say it. Beg for it. And I’m too wound up to care.
Digging my elbows into the mattress, I prop myself up, starting down at him with an unapologetic devil in my eyes. “I need you to go down on me, Jonah. I need you to lick my pussy and make me come.”
He growls out something I can’t understand. It’s feral and primal and I think I just reached a new level with this. Shit. I’m a fireball. Like those cinnamon ones you suck on and your lips turn red and your mouth goes up in heat. That’s me. Except instead of just my mouth, my body is in flames. So hot.
“So hot.”
He grins against me.
“Yes, you are. Especially here.” He slides the crotch of my panties to the side and then his mouth is finally there, eating me, licking inside me, sucking my clit between his lips like it’s his last meal and he’s on death row and shit just got real. “I could do this forever. I can’t get enough of the way you taste.”
“Mmmmm. Then don’t stop. Please.”
“Beg me, baby. I love it when you beg.”
Baby. He’s calling me baby and I don’t think I care enough to stop him. I might even like the cheesy endearment, even if it sounds oddly placed with his hint of an accent and strong, dominant ways.
“Oh. My. God. Yes. Yes. Yes!” I scream. It’s so obscenely loud, I actually hear it echo off the tall ceilings. My legs clamp around his head as my body twists and contorts. I grab onto his hair. Jesus, is this good. Like so unbelievably I-can-never-get-enough good.
Jonah draws back slowly as the last of my aftershocks wrack through me. He grins, his lips slick with my arousal. Wow, who knew that would be so hot? I think he gets where my mind is at because his lips smash into mine, his tongue forcing entrance, forcing me to taste myself on him.
“Now you can remove your panties.”
I do. I slide my thong down my legs and let the lace drop to the hardwood floor.
“Spread your legs for me, Halle.”
Was he like this last time? So in control? I can’t remember, but I’m absolutely loving it now. Jonah stares at my pussy, my most intimate part. Instead of being embarrassed or wanting to cover myself up, I spread myself further. I want him to see all of me.
This sexy, godlike man wants me. The sensation surges up through me like a geyser. Never before have I felt this beautiful. I feel like I could fly. That’s how high he makes me. “Do you like what you see?” I ask, echoing his words from earlier.
He grins, his dark, sex-filled eyes finally finding mine. “You’re a goddess. A siren. You’re it, Halle.”
Out of all of the things he just said, calling me it makes me smile and flutter in a way that can only be trouble. Jonah rolls on one of his old condoms. I don’t even care if it breaks. I trust him. I’m clean and still on the goddamn pill, because I haven’t been able to schedule my IUD appointment.
I gasp as he pushes into me, thrusts to the hilt. My back arches and my mind goes wild, color swirling behind my eyes. “Yes,” I pant.
Jonah pushes my legs up until they’re above my head, and then he fucks me deep, each thrust stroking a different sensation out of me. In one swift movement, Jonah spins me around, hoisting my ass up in the air, and fucks me deep. Kneading my ass, he pounds his cock into me. It’s like the perfect symphony of sex. Like the ultimate concerto that only two aligned souls can create.
I have no idea how many times we do this particular dance. I lose count. His hands never leave me. His mouth is always on my skin. His words perpetually infuse my mind. All I know is that when the sun starts to crest above the horizon and the air warms up, I fall asleep in his arms just as Boston starts to wake. With my heart full, my mind empty, and my body sated.
This time, when I wake, hours later and perfectly sore, I’m not alone. He’s still here. I can’t stop my smile. I. Can’t. Stop. My. Smile.
Oh no. Then it hits me. I’m at his place so of course he’s still here. Crap. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed so long? Jonah’s nose runs along the column of my neck, his legs intertwined with mine, his hand on my breast as he feels my heart beat. “Will you spend the day and night with me?” I hate that I just sagged in relief.
I close my eyes against the intrusive early afternoon sun. “What did you have in mind?”
“The Public Gardens.”
I open my eyes, not even caring if it’s bright as hell in here since we never closed the curtains. “You really have a thing for that park.”
“There are these benches in there. They’re the perfect place to eat”—he leans over and checks his alarm clock on his nightstand—“a late lunch. But since we skipped breakfast, maybe we’ll do that?”
“I like bacon on my egg and cheese sandwiches.”
He gives me a crooked grin, hovering over me, green eyes to blue. “No gravy, Carolina?”
“Oh, do I get a southern benedict?”
“A what?” he laughs. “That sounds oddly dirty.”
I also laugh and shake my head. “No gravy then. Just a standard bacon, egg and cheese. And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.”
“Sweet and creamy. Just like you.”
Jonah kisses the side of my face. My lips. My eyes. My cheeks. My nipples. My stomach. Then he gets out of bed, walking across his bedroom completely naked as he opens drawers and puts on clothes. The sun shines through his large floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing him in a glow of light. For a second, I think about how easily I could get used to this. To him. To this feeling.
“You all right, love?” he asks as he turns around and catches me watching him. Again, I wish he weren’t so damn observant.
“Yes. I’m perfect.”
“I already know that. But I’m asking if you’re all right.” He stares at me after pulling on his green shirt. It matches his eyes making them stand out further. He resembles a god and I’m naked under his sheets that are tucked under my chin.
“I’m scared of getting used to this,” I admit because we promised honesty, and since it was my stipulation, I refuse to go back on it now.
Jonah walks over to me, his eyes never wavering before he drops to his knees and takes my face in his hands. “Me too. I’m scared out of my mind. But in a good way, I think. Last night was the most fun I can remember having in ages.” He smirks. “Other than the last time I was with you.” Now his eyes search mine, raw and vulnerable. “Do you think we should stop?”
I shake my head. If we stop now, I might die.
“Me either. So, how about that breakfast in the park?”
“I’m in.” Because I am.
Even if this might kill me later.
17
Halle
It rushes over me like a wave. Like an irregular heartbeat. It crawls up the hairs on the back of my neck and has my stomach doing a funny, swooshy thing. It’s the feeling of being watched. Every woman in the world is intimately acquainted with it. It’s something that, unfortunately, we instinctively learn. And right now, it’s consuming me.
I try not to be obvious as I surreptitiously glance around. I do my best not to make my uneasiness known. But I can’t shake it and as Jonah and I walk down the street, my eyes pick up their pace, searching every face we pass.
Then I spot someone across the street.
He’s casually leaning back against the side of a building, his foot propped up behind him. And yeah, he’s looking at me. But is he just looking, or is he watching? And why does he seem familiar?
Matt automatically springs into my head. Maybe he’s friends with Matt? Maybe that’s why he looks familiar? The guy smirks at me. I don’t return it. Dark hair, tall, average features. That’s all I’ve got of him. He’s too far away for much else. No eye color. No discernable stubble or scars or tattoos. Just a face in the distance—fifty yards out easily.
I’m held captive as he pushes off the building, our eyes still locked. I’m granted a curt nod of acknowledgement. The he walks off. That’s it. Moment over. All that within a matter of five seconds. Did I imagine it? Was he actually looking at me or someone near me? My breath picks up as I force rationalization after rationalization through my mind in rapid succession. It was nothing. He might not have even been looking at me. He was just checking me out. Maybe he was checking Jonah out. It was nothing. That last one cycles on repeat.
I brush it off. There isn’t much else to do. Because like I said, it was nothing.
And it’s over.
Glancing behind us, I can’t find the guy anywhere. It’s a relief, I tell myself. Just my imagination running wild. So I focus on the task, on the man, at hand.
Jonah and I started out with the intention of going to the Public Gardens, a beautiful park in the heart of the city. He’s holding my hand and though I should pull mine away, we’ve already done this so many times that, at this point, it’s futile. We meander around his neighborhood in search of breakfast—or late brunch anyway—to take on our picnic. All too quickly I become distracted by the fancy market up ahead on Newbury.
“Do you wanna get some things for dinner?” I ask. “I can cook us something.”
We’ve been quietly chatting about nothing all that important, but for some reason, this question, this innocuous, nothing of a question makes him stop dead in the middle of the sidewalk with the city rushing around us. His impenetrable gaze is intense. “What would you make?”
I swallow hard. Something in the tone of his voice and the expression on his face make me nervous. “What do you like? I’m a pretty versatile chef. I eat anything except crawfish.”
A half smirk breaks through his hesitant quiet. Thank God. “Crawfish?”
I nod, giving an exaggerated shudder. “A trip to New Orleans in my senior year of college. I won’t get into the dramatics of it, but let’s just say I now have a strong aversion to the small crawly things.”
“No small crawly things. Got it.”
He starts to walk again, my hand still clasped in his, but something is wrong. I stop us again, and Jonah pivots to face me, a puzzled V between his brows. Without hesitation, I reach up with my free hand and cup his cheek. “You can talk about her, you know.”
He blinks, shuddering back an inch. “How did you know it was about her?”
I shrug a shoulder, running the tips of my fingers through his blond stubble. “Just a guess. I’m generally good at reading people. It’s the nurse in me. But I’m serious. I get needing to talk about the people we lost who are important to us. Probably better than most.”
He shakes his head slightly, like he can’t believe I’m offering to listen to him talk about another woman. A woman he admittedly loves. Still. “You don’t think that’s off-putting or awkward?”
I think on that for a moment. I’d like to believe Jonah is my friend in addition to being my temporary lover. I’d like to imagine that whenever this physical connection comes to an end, our friendship won’t—even if I’m a bit overly optimistic or naïve on that. I know he misses Madeline. I don’t know how many real people he has in his life to talk to. I get the impression Jonah doesn’t open up much, but he opened up to me about his family last night and I’d like him to do it again.
“No, Jonah, I don’t think it’s off-putting or awkward. You can talk to me about her. I want to hear whatever you want to tell me. I care about you. You’re my friend and my . . . whatever we are. So yeah, tell me about your life,” I say, feeling a bit surer about it. “About Madeline.”
He leans down and kisses me, gliding his hands through my hair before holding me tight. So tight that everything else around us—the city, the noise, the people shuffling—all fade away into nothing. It’s just him and me and this kiss. This kiss that is so very different than any before it. There is no tongue. No lust, per se. But the passion behind his force, the emotion behind every swipe of his lips, makes my knees weak. And when he’s done with what could easily be described as the simplest and best kiss of my life, his forehead drops to mine and his eyes close.
Jonah blows out a breath, the warmth cascading over my flushed face. “The last time I went to this market was three months before Madeline died. I was trying to get her to eat, which she wasn’t doing much of at the time. I got her stoned.” He pauses, and I feel his smirk against me even though I cannot see it. “I thought her having the munchies might seal the deal. As we approached the market, I asked her, ‘Do you want to get something for supper? I can cook for us.’”
I suck in a rush of air. That’s almost exactly what I just asked him. I lean up and press my lips to his nose.
