He smiled softly, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a sip. The sight of him, the strong line of his neck, the way his throat bobbed as he drank. The perfect distraction.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You seem…I don’t know.”
I shook my head, swallowing down everything that still weighed too much to put into the right words. “I promise, I’m okay,” I insisted. “When was the last time you saw your family? You seem close.”
He took a seat opposite me, that towel still over his shoulder, a kind curve to his lips. “I’ve been here six months. Which might be the longest I’ve been away from them. Even when I was at college, I went home regularly.”
“And when is the book due?”
He grimaced. “Three months ago.”
I made a low noise of warning. “That doesn’t sound so good.”
His head dipped, gaze falling to the counter. “It’s not great.”
“What’s the problem?” I asked, leaning a little closer to him.
“I can’t seem to find the ending.”
“That simple, huh?” I said sarcastically.
“Aren’t most problems?” he said, his eyes fixed on mine. “Simple.”
The photoshoot, that photographer, the fur coat hanging beside the door. All easy problems, all simple solutions. Give up. Let them take what they asked for. And yet that all felt harder.
Jonah’s hand stretched towards me, his fingers caressing the side of my face. The touch was easy and soft, sparking my pulse into overdrive. “Maybe I’ve been procrastinating so I could stay here long enough to run into you.”
“Oh, so your next excuse to your editors is going to be that you were waiting for a girl to move in next door?” I teased, leaning into the touch.
“I needed my muse,” he crooned playfully.
“Baby, I’m no muse.” I laughed, shaking my head out from his touch. “I’m a much better distraction.”
Jonah rounded the breakfast bar, standing in front of me, pressing between my legs. He leaned down, his hand guiding my face up to meet his. “Let me be the judge of that.”
With those words, his lips crashed into mine, slow and aching.
twelve
JONAH
Ribs - Lorde
Icould never put my finger exactly on what drove me crazy about Kit. The glide of her lips against mine; the drag of her sharp nails against my skin; the gentle, soft moans of satisfaction that escaped her. Maybe it was every single thing about her.
It had only been one night since I first tasted her, and I was already craving more, like she was a drug I’d never have enough of. Always coming back. Always wanting more. Never fully satisfied.
Kit deepened the kiss, her tongue pulling against my own, teasing and playful. I pulled her closer to me, my fingers pressing into the curve of her thigh as she sat on the stool, but it still wasn’t enough. She’d looked so sad when I came back, that smile gone, and I knew then I’d get on my knees to see it again, even for the tiniest of glimpses.
I pushed my hands further, tracing the curve of her ass. Dragging her to the edge of the chair, I pulled her up, her legs and arms wrapping around me on instinct. The heat of her bodyso close to mine only drove me madder, her grip on my body tight, the vibration as she groaned.
“What are you doing?” she mumbled as I pushed her back, her ass sliding against the counter of the breakfast bar, using her body to push everything from the surface. Some carrots fell to the floor. I ignored them, focusing only on her. It was hard to care about anything else while she was around – she, my sole obsession. I’d barely spent ten minutes on the phone with my family, impatient to return to her.
I’d prepared to be so alone this year, telling myself I’d enjoy the peace and quiet, confident in my solitude. But the more Christmas neared, the more it had turned into loneliness.
And then she’d walked into the pub.
“I need you on the counter,” I said, my lips leaving hers, tracing down her neck, dipping to the edge of the sweater she’d stolen from me.
