His hands landed on my hips, holding me tightly. His fingers slipped beneath my sweatshirt, finding hot, bare skin. We both gasped at the feel of his palms against my hips. And when our mouths came back together, we were more intense, more desperate for each other.
Unlike the glamping experience, Jonah wasn’t content to slowly kiss me this time. His mouth moved intentionally down the column of my neck, tugging at my sweatshirt to find my collarbone, while his hands slid up, up, up until they found ribs and then breasts.
I’d only bothered with a lace bralette today. Enough support if hidden behind a gigantic sweatshirt, but hardly anything but a scrap of delicate fabric.
His hand was hot against my breast. Rough and masculine against my soft femininity. Frustrated with the barricade of the oversized sweatshirt, I tugged at the hem until he joined me in ripping it off with his free hand, tossing it somewhere behind us. His hand had not let go of my breast, holding it as if it were a rare and precious thing. His thumb brushed over my nipple, and the sensual act and pure sensation of it made my knees wobble.
I made a high-pitched sound that was somewhere between a moan and a squeak. He did it again. And then again.
“Jonah?” I murmured, unable to speak the unspoken question. Were we doing this? Was this really happening? Did he want to go further than kissing?
His hand cupping my boob would suggest yes, absolutely, but I hadn’t realized until now that this was what I had agreed to.
Was I complaining? No.Hell, no.
I was currently arching my back so he could do more with his thumb. And tilting my head so he could have more access to my neck. I was working on the hem of his sweatshirt, sliding it up, over his smooth skin, chiseled abs, and the ladder of rib bones.
He stepped back so I could get it all the way off. I threw it in a pile with my own. The T-shirt he’d had beneath it was a mess of tangled clothing. Then I reached for him, pulling him back against me. Reached for his head to bring it to mine.
All signs pointed to me being all the way in.
But was he feeling the strangeness of what was happening? Was he ready for this next step too? Or was I the one pushing him into spaces he wasn’t ready for?
In case it wasn’t clear, making out with your best friend was complicated.
“Is this okay?” I asked in a whisper, afraid my question would break whatever spell had pulled us under, and he’d run out of my apartment half-naked and screaming in panic.
“Fuck, yes,” he breathed against my skin. “Fucking finally.”
Finally? Oh, if my libido had been able to slow down just a little bit, I would have pinned him to the ground and asked all the questions.
Instead, his answer kicked it into overdrive, and we started... well, it couldn’t be called kissing. Kissing was something PG. Civilized. Appropriate for other people to witness.
This was not that.
This was something carnal and hungry. Completely indecent.
He unlocked some kind of next-level kissing that completely undid me. I stopped worrying about what that meant or what would happen next. I stopped thinking completely.
I just let him have his way.
When I pulled back to gasp for breath, he moved to my jaw, then my neck, and then my breast. His tongue flicked over the lace, creating delicious friction against my nipple. And there he stayed, working me into an absolute frenzy.
His hands moved lower as well. Down over my hips, palming my ass, and then to the outside of my thighs. And then to the inside.
I clutched his shoulders as one hand traveled back up and up and up until he was at the apex of my thighs, pressing against the seam of my joggers... the seam of me.
“If you want me to stop, tell me.” His whispered words were against my breast.
“No, please don’t.”
He growled a reply and then worked at the waist of my sweatpants. Kneeling, he peeled them off me. His hands kept moving, kept touching every single inch of newly exposed skin. His lips too. Kissed and tasted and moved over my stomach, the top of my pubic bone, the underside of my breast as I toed my pants off my ankles.
By the time he was back to my lips, I was wondering what I would do if he tried to stop now. Had I ever wanted someone this much? Had I ever been this turned on?
I’d dated several guys between Jonah’s first kiss and this one, but sex had always been more of an obligation than a desperate need.
This. With Jonah. Was as important as my next breath.
