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“Come here.”

“What?”

“We should probably try it before you talk yourself out of it.”

“I’m not talking myself out of—”

Jonathan beckoned with one finger. Rolling her eyes, mostly to hide the fact that she was internally freaking out, Phoebe stood from her chair and walked the half step around Arden’s small kitchen table, stopping in front of Jonathan’s knees. With one easy motion, he placed his hands on her waist and slung her onto his lap.

Phoebe’s arms looped automatically around his neck. Why had sitting on his lap always felt so right? Why did it still?

“Hi,” she said.

Without a word, Jonathan gently pushed her hair back from her face, his eyes intent on her mouth, and kissed her. The sensation of his lips on hers, warm and sweet, of his fingers twined in her hair, set something off inside her. She had wondered, all these years, what this would feel like, and now it felt like something she had known all along. Immediately, she angled her body toward his and pulled him closer, one hand on the back of his neck. The closer they got, the deeper they kissed, and the more Phoebe wanted.

She pulled away briefly, eliciting a murmur of protest from Jonathan. “Sorry, I just need to—” She repositioned herself so she was straddling him, something she wouldn’t have been able to believe a minute ago, but the heat between them had turned into an urgent need. Their mouths opened hungrily as Phoebe pressed her body into his. She couldn’t control the way her hips rolled against him. She didn’t want to control it. What she wanted was to get closer to him, as close as possible. Even as their bodies crashed together, as they kissed as if they’d been holding back all these years and had finally given in, she wanted more.

“Take off your shirt.” Her voice was raspy and breathless. Jonathan didn’t hesitate. He ripped his T-shirt over his head, and Phoebe moaned as her hands pressed into his bare chest. She lowered her head and kissed him in the warm center over his heart, feeling the softness of his light layer of chest hair, inhaling the scent of him. She appreciated the faint scent of soap and cologne, but the tang of his sweat made her feel feral.

She came back up, kissed his ears, his jaw, and finally found his mouth again as she fumbled with his belt.

“Let me help you.” There was a low rumble in his voice that Phoebe had never heard before. It only made her want to remove his clothing faster.

He undid his pants, and Phoebe’s breath quickened as her hand roved downward, feeling his hard warmth through his boxer briefs. For some reason, her mind flashed back to the time she had seen him in his black boxer briefs before, the night of their first sleepover. At the time, though he hadn’t yet grown into his frame, she’d had to tamp down a flame of desire. She’d pretended to look away when he’d stripped down to get into bed, but she’d peeked. The sight of his nearly naked body, the faint black hair on his chest and legs, and then the smell of him as he’d climbed into bed next to her had made her heart pound. She’d clenched her legs together to try to make the throbbing stop.

If she could go back in time and whisper to her twenty-two-year-old self that she was about to remove Jonathan Lee’s clothing entirely, was about to take full advantage of being two thirty-year-old, experienced, consenting adults…

She tried to shut off her brain and focus on the task at hand: removing her own pants as quickly as possible. Half naked, she tried to lower herself back onto his lap, but he stopped her.

“If you think we’re not taking off your shirt, you are much mistaken.” He got up, lifted her shirt over her head, and then stepped behind her to undo her bra, much too slowly for Phoebe’s liking.

“Hello,” he whispered, his lips brushing from her ear to her neck as his hands cupped her breasts.

Phoebe’s head fell backward onto his shoulder. Her knees went weak as he toyed with her nipples. His hands roved down her rib cage to her waist, then skimmed up her belly and back to her breasts. Phoebe moaned.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” Jonathan said.

“And you can take your time. Please do. But I—I need—”

She wasn’t sure what she had planned to say. Surely, Jonathan could feel her legs trembling, could feel how she could barely stand. Her hand groped behind her, unable to stay away from the hard length of him that pressed into her back.

He spun her around to face him.

“What do you need?” His brown eyes bored into hers, his pupils liquid pools of desire. “Phoebe.”

“I need you, Jonathan. Please.” Hearing the words come out of her mouth, her voice breathless, almost pleading, made her inhale sharply with longing.

“Okay.” Gently, he kissed her, backing her through the doorway into the bedroom. With one arm around her waist and the other on her hip, he tipped her backward onto the bed. He caged her in, his strong arms on either side of her head.

The sight of Jonathan Lee above her, shirtless, his hair falling forward, was more than Phoebe could stand.

“Wait.” She rolled out from under him, then rummaged around in her toiletry bag. “I usually have…”

She tore a condom off the pack and handed it to him.

“Bring the whole roll,” he growled.

Phoebe didn’t hesitate. When he didn’t immediately put a condom on, she looked at him questioningly.