by Mia Moon
“How can I help?” I couldn’t sit at his granite-topped kitchen island without at least being willing to assist.
“You can sit right there and enjoy yourself.” He flashed me a smile. “How about a drink? I grabbed a bottle of that white you like.”
“Sure,” I said.
He used a silver corkscrew to pop the cork on the dark glass bottle. Was he showing off or was I paying too much attention to his biceps? Hot damn, something about being alone with him was way more intense than any of our group get-togethers had ever been!
He slid my full wine glass my way and grabbed a small cream-colored card from the corner of the counter. "This is that therapy group I mentioned."
I accepted the card and took a big gulp of wine before I looked at it and murmured my thanks.
He didn't make a big deal out of it—just turned and began to pull out pots and ingredients.
I tried not to pick at my nails while I watched him work his kitchen magic. In no time, tantalizing smells filled the air.
His forearms twisted and bulged with every movement as he chopped veggies and spread them in a pan. My mouth went dry, despite the wine.
“Whatever you're making smells amazing.” Was I even worse at small talk now than I had when we met at the barbecue?
Jonathan leaned over the island to clasp my hand. “Get out of your head. Don’t panic,” he said. “You’re doing great.”
I couldn’t stop my shy smile. “Okay,” I whispered.
He watched me for a moment more, his thumb stroking my fingers before he pulled back. “Dinner is chicken with fire-roasted vegetables and my famous jalapeño cheddar bread. And for dessert, I threw together a chocolate torte…nothing fancy.”
I had no idea what a torte was. “That sounds delicious.”
“I’ve whipped up a chocolate and brandy sauce to go on top,” he said. “Would you like a taste?”
“If it’s chocolate, the answer is always yes,” I said, leaning over the counter to watch.
“Come on over,” he said, stirring the contents of a pot on one of the back burners. He lifted the spoon and cupped his hand under it. Chocolate sauce coated the tip. “It’s warm,” he said, extending his hands to me.
I made a face, unsure if I should lick the spoon he was cooking with.
He chuckled and ran his finger through the sauce. “Here,” he said.
Heat crept up my chest and neck. Okay. He definitely wanted me to lick his finger—no question there. I opened my mouth and touched my tongue to his fingertip. The chocolate was bittersweet, well-paired with the warm sting of brandy and the saltiness of his skin.
“So?” he asked on a breath, lids hooded.
I covered my mouth in case I had chocolate all over my teeth. “That’s to die for!”
“You’ve got good taste,” he murmured, stepping closer, his chest brushing mine. He traced his finger over the spoon again.
I leaned forward, lips parted, ready for another taste. He moved with lightning speed, playfully smearing chocolate up my neck. My mouth fell open with shocked laughter. “Seriously?!”
Jonathan chuckled and switched the stove off. Of course, he’d be mindful of potential fire hazards, even in light of the possibilities opening up before us…
Outside of the casual, flirtatious physical contact I’d had with the guys since we’d started hanging out, I hadn’t been intimate with anyone in a long time. I couldn’t remember the usual progression—how quickly were you supposed to move on a date? What if you already knew the guy? What if you’d been flirting for weeks? And, in my case, fantasizing about everything I wanted to do with him?
My nerves itched, suddenly remembering they were supposed to protect me from feelings. From potential landmines of embarrassment. Every neurosis I possessed pointed out that I could put this on hold. We could settle down, have a nice dinner, throw on a movie, and cuddle on the sofa. No one was pressuring me into anything.
It was the lack of pressure that had me wondering what would happen if I grabbed his hand and sucked his finger again. I wouldn't mind giving him a taste of something sweeter.
My ever-present self-doubt whispered that would be coming on too strong. Breaking through boundaries. But where were the boundaries? I’d left my home and entered his. It was still within my safe perimeter, but it was a leap I wouldn’t have taken before I got to know him. All the lines I’d laid out for myself on the map—all the rules I used to stay in line and safe were slipping.
Jonathan smiled down at me, running his hand over my hip. “It’s been a while since I’ve…”
“Me too,” I told him.
The pause lingering between us wasn’t uncomfortable. Both of us held our breath, though he was the one who taught me to keep breathing.
“Tell me what you want, Bree,” he whispered, cupping my cheek. He stood so close the thick heat of his erection pressed into my hip. “There's a box of condoms in my bedroom. I can get one right now, and we can take this to a whole new level. Or I can finish making you a dinner that will blow your mind and take you home at a respectable hour.”
I swallowed hard and gazed up at all his sweet, deep beauty. How had I ever caught his attention? “I want you,” I whispered.
A rumble rolled up from his belly and into his chest as he leaned over me, slicking his tongue over my neck, sucking the chocolate from my skin. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, voice rough against my hair.
He jogged through his house, footsteps fading out as he rushed to a room I hadn’t yet seen. Then he was back, tearing into a new box of condoms and sending a chain scattering over the kitchen island.
“Fuck it,” he growled, hauling me to him with one arm. With his free hand, he reached for the spoon in the pot of chocolate. The sauce was thicker, taking on a more luxurious consistency as it cooled. “I want to lick this off every inch of your skin,” he said.
The moment the dam between us broke was palpable. My heart pound in my throat. His cologne was spicy and musky. His body radiated heat against me, pulsing as he lifted the spoon from the pot. The chocolate was so dark it was almost black, the scent of brandy stronger with the pot so close. He watched me carefully as he gingerly tipped the spoon over.
I jumped when the chocolate hit me. Goosebumps prickled the delicate skin of my chest. The thick, warm sauce landed where the neckline of my blouse split to expose that suggestion of cleavage.
Jonathan drizzled chocolate on my skin in thin patterns like calligraphy ink. I watched, fascinated as he worked, effortlessly and without any messy splatters. Decorating me like I was an elegant dessert that he wanted to serve up just right.
Satisfied with his handiwork, he dropped the spoon back into the pot. “May I?” he whispered, peering up at me from where he bent, poised to trace that wicked tongue over my flesh.
“You’d better!” I teased, fingers hooked into his belt loops, holding his hips against mine so he couldn’t steal that glorious contact from me.
He grinned, and his long fingers traveled over the shell of my ear, slipping into my hair to tug my clip free. The wavy locks, still damp from my shower, fell around my shoulders. Jonathan sighed and pushed his face into my neck, taking in the scent of my shampoo and perfume. “Perfect angel,” he whispered against my skin, pressing kisses to my throat.
I moaned, sensations shocking my system. Every touch sparked my heart, sending me spinning higher and higher.
He devoured my moans with his lips, brushing fiery kisses over my cheeks, chin, and mouth. His hot tongue traced over my skin, dipping down to my collarbone before sweeping back up to tease my tongue with his sweet, scorching licks and nips.
My heart drummed in my chest as I pulled him closer, begging for more, my hands coursing over his body and clinging to his broad back.
“Shit. You drive me wild." He choked out a laugh and hauled me closer.
Chocolate was everywhere—across his shirt and my skin. It slid down between my breasts, warm and wet.
Jona
than skated his tongue over my breasts, sucking on my skin, cleaning my body and leaving gentle love bites in his wake. He traced his fingers over every cleaned inch, taking my breasts in his hand, squeezing them and gazing at me like I was some sort of miracle.
His belief in me poured into me, giving me courage I’d never known—even before I’d fallen apart. Our kisses grew deep, dark, and needy. Jonathan hoisted me onto the countertop, fingers tearing at my blouse buttons. He covered every inch of newly exposed skin with kisses, using his tongue and lips to stroke and suck up any chocolate he found. He grasped my breasts, pushing them up until my nipples peeked above the cups of my bra. He swirled his tongue over them, giving one attention before he turned to the other.
I released wild, desperate moans, extra sensitive from all the touch I’d been missing for so long. His teeth grazed my nipple, and I jerked, arching up into him. His hands followed the curve of my back, starting at the base and stroking up toward the shoulder blades. I felt like I had wings.
I spread my legs around him, and he pressed as close as he could get. My whole body shivered as he ground his hips against my most sensitive spots. Every motion made me wetter until I’d soaked through my panties and jeans.
He reached a hand between us and gasped at the wetness. That was the moment his sensuality turned feral, and he tore the rest of my shirt open. Buttons scattered as he yanked the fabric away to close his hands around my bare waist. His touch was electric; like lightning, but I wasn’t afraid, even when that storm struck within the pit of my stomach. Instead of fear, it was ecstasy. My core tightened in anticipation, ready to snap. I whispered his name against his lips, and he spoke mine back to me—those few syllables between us saying all we both needed to hear.
Then we were reaching, a tangle of hands racing to see who could undress the other first. I lifted my ass off the counter to help him slide my pants and panties down, even while I worked the fly on his jeans. When my pants stopped at mid-calf, he knelt, tugging off my shoes and socks before adding my pants and panties to the growing pile of discarded fabric on the floor. I thanked the ounce of luck that had prompted me to get a fresh wax at my haircut that week. My legs and lips were pink and smooth.
My assisted my desperate tugs at his pants, dragging his jeans and boxers down his muscular thighs. His cock was thick, wavering in the air between us. His head was flushed dark red, precum already beading at his slit.
“Shit, yes,” Jonathan whispered when I spread my legs wider, urging him closer. His cock rose up to greet me. He kissed me with reverence before reaching for a foil packet and tearing it open with the skill of a man who cracked eggs one-handed. He rolled the condom over his shaft, stroking up and down as he hooked an arm around my waist and dragged me closer to the edge of the counter.
His thighs were hot against mine when he wedged himself between them. He slicked his cock up and down between my lips before pressing against my entrance, ready and seeking. I was so wet and needy. “Please,” I pleaded when he stopped to look down at me—begging for my permission with those clear, bright blue eyes.
I tangled myself around him, burying my face in his neck. Unable to stop the wild, reckless moan that ripped from my throat when he pushed his hips forward. He slid into me slowly, shuddering my tight walls stretched to accommodate his size. What followed was a delicious ache, dull and constant. He pressed closer, stretching me wider. I took all he had to offer, wondering if he’d ever run out of length. Then, it happened—he bottomed out, hips flush against mine.
He groaned, and his throat bobbed when he swallowed hard, clinging to his reserve. “God. Damn.” His words ruffled my hair as he held himself still, tight within the clutch of my walls. “You okay?”
I nodded, breathless and wordless, only able to nudge him with my hips, begging him to move. To increase the sweet heat building in my spine.
He held me close as he pulled back and slid out with agonizing leisure. Every inch of his body stroked hot and heavy against mine until the ridge of his cock was right at my entrance. Then he pushed himself back into me, with identical precision, dragging out another sound I didn’t even know I could make.
“Fuck me,” I whispered, when his lips met mine, savoring me. With fervent need, I begged him. “I want you to fuck me.” And I did. I wanted him to fuck me as hard as he could—to feel him bottom out every time, with bruising passion. I wanted him to mark my body from the inside out.
“Shit—I want that. Are you sure?” His plea fell from his mouth on a slip of breath.
“Yes.” I dug my nails into his broad shoulders for emphasis. “Yes—please! Fuck me!”
He eased me back on the countertop. One arm braced beneath me to hold me up from the cold of the granite. The other hand gripped the back of my thigh, spreading me wide. He drew his hips back, then drove into me again, faster. Harder. Again and again. Pulling back and pistoning in with enough for to rock me against the counter beneath me.
“More,” I cried, dragging my nails down his back.
“Yeah?” he asked, a cocky grin spreading over his face as he gazed down at me. Every thrust caused his short curls to bounce in an adorable way.
“Yes!” I moaned, tossing my head back, getting louder as my voice climbed higher with each thrust.
“Tell me,” he demanded, sliding a thumb over my clit. “Tell me you want more.”
“More!” I cried out. “More! Oh! Yes, fuck!” The words formed on their own and tossed themselves off my tongue. I was so close. Every time he rubbed my clit was sweet torture. Dragging me to the brink, then pulling me away, always right on the threshold of pleasure. “Jonathan!
“Come for me,” he cried. His mouth was at my neck, kissing and nipping, blazing trails over my skin.
When I broke, I flew into a million pieces. I clung to him, rising and falling with the tide of my orgasm. It crashed into me like waves and slicked my thighs, dripping onto the countertop beneath me. “I’m sorry!” I gasped, embarrassed at making such a mess.
“Why are you sorry?” he purred in my ear, a satisfied growl—a man on a mission to deliver pleasure. He thrust again, filling me with exquisite lust, stroking my still-tender core, and drawing out every ounce of shock from me when I rocketed into another orgasm. His cock throbbed inside me, so hard. So needy. His heated breath puffed against my skin as he pumped within me.
As I came for a second time, he let out a strangled groan. His whole body jerked, and his dick twitched inside me, spilling into the condom. He caressed my trembling, aching thigh with one hand, holding us together with the arm under my back.
“Christ,” he whispered through gasped breaths.
“Yeah, me too.” I tilted my head up to kiss his sweet, soft lips.
He sighed and snuggled against me. “You can’t be comfortable,” he said, though he made no move to lift his weight from my body. I was grateful; it was grounding to hold him so close.
“I haven’t even fed you,” he lamented. He groaned as he withdrew from my body and pressed up onto his forearms. “I could get dinner going again,” he said, giving his stove a forlorn glance.
“Or I could show you how good I am at ordering pizza,” I suggested. “And once it gets here, we could put on a movie, and you could even try to get to second base,” I added with a wink.
He tossed back his head with a laugh. “Pretty sure we're a little past that. But I love the way you think.”
Chapter Seven
Every morning for the next week, I woke to sweet, sexy messages from Jonathan. Unfortunately, I had to wonder if I’d made a choice between the guys without meaning to. Eric and Andrew had been quieter since my dinner date with Jonathan.
I told myself they weren't snubbing me. They still waved, winked, or grinned when I passed them on my morning runs. Still, it felt off, so I took matters into my own hands.
That Friday morning, I spotted Andrew polishing the fire truck and slowed my pace, getting his attention.
“Hey!” he said. “Been missi
ng you.”
“You too,” I said, surprised when he scooped me right into a hug. “Is this okay?” I asked, glancing around his shoulder.
“Hell yeah,” he said, keeping my hand in his. “You’ve never stopped before. Something on your mind?”
“Actually, you’re exactly who I was hoping to find.”
His smile grew. “I love where this is going,” he said, all tease. “What do you need?”
“Well, you kinda proclaimed yourself as a BDSM expert at the barbecue,” I said, teasing back. “And since I didn’t get my last article about it quite right, I could use your expertise.”
“What’s the topic?” he asked, that smile turning naughty.
“Tips for spicing up the bedroom, kinky style,” I said.
A laugh left him on a breath. “Well, I do know a thing or two about the community.”
“Would you be up for helping me?” I asked.
“I’m free after six. Why don’t I pick you up and take you back to my place? You up for that?”
Cold sweat spread over my lower back. “Where do you live?” I asked, anxiety about my safe zone creeping up on me again. And I'd thought I was doing so well…
Andrew rubbed a comforting thumb over my knuckles. “About half a mile from your place. It’s within the perimeter, I promise.” There was no tease.
I appreciated his understanding. He had no idea what it meant to me.
“That would be great,” I said, shoving my fears back down. I wanted to branch out beyond them, but it was so hard…
“Awesome,” he said, tugging me into another hug. His breath caressed my ear. “Can’t wait to start your education.”
“Should I worry?” I asked.
“Only if you misbehave,” he told me with a wink.
“Now run your sweet ass right on by me. I love watching it go.”
I cackled out a wild laugh and did exactly what he said, earning myself a wolf whistle that sent another streak of laughter pouring from my throat. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel all sorts of hot and sexy, too.
