Chapter 10
Jonah did not want to talk about his mother or about how he’d disappointed her so badly that she’d dropped dead.
Now that he was clear on the fact that she wanted to fuck him because she was interested in his body—not fill up some emotional hole—he wanted that. Talking about his past would only make that difficult.
Her face was crumpled with concern, and he knew his sharp left turn into DTFville had thrown her for a loop. He opened his mouth, ready to take back his words, and say something mature when she said, “You don’t have to tell me if it hurts. You can, but you don’t have to. Just try to be kind.”
“I can do that.” Both their plates were empty, so he stood and took them to the sink. It would be good to rinse them while they still had running water. “I didn’t mean to turn into a douchebag, but I don’t like talking about my family.”
“I feel like my family are the only thing I ever talk about.”
“Are they assholes?” It seemed to him like any family that would peg someone as dynamic as Carla as the family screw-up had vision problems or something.
“They’re not assholes, but my brother and sister are really smart. They both went to big schools, and they’re good with things like numbers and spreadsheets.” She sighed and leaned her hip on the counter next to him. “I don’t have any skills that help the family business, so I help where I can.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to stay the same for the rest of your life.” He kind of hated her family for pushing her into marriage with a guy who couldn’t see her. But then he flashed back to the first time he’d seen her. He was good at his job because he routinely looked past the surface of government propaganda and public relations bullshit to get to the gritty underbelly. He hadn’t done that with her right away, and maybe her family hadn’t done that ever. “Do you ever travel?”
“I’m traveling right now.” She snorted out a laugh, another thing he found endearing about her. “It’s not going so well.”
“Sorry you’re stuck here with me.” He knew he was a surly asshole, and he’d closed up on her pretty tight when she’d asked about his family.
“That’s not what I mean.” She laid her hand on his arm again. When she’d done it at the table, he’d thought of a name for that move: “the soothe the savage beast.” The instant her skin touched his, his heartbeat evened out. It was still fast because her touch shifted the ground under him, but each beat had a purpose when they made contact. That purpose was entirely prurient, each movement of his arteries and veins wanting him to get inside her, to clutch at her, taste her until they were both wrung out.
“I’m not ‘stuck here’ with you. That’s not what I meant.” She moved behind him and pressed her body up against his. He sighed and hung his head, his hands still in soapy water. He loved having her touch him, moving first. Then, he could be sure that she wanted him, that she craved contact with him as much as he wanted it with her. “You worry a lot about offending people for a journalist. Aren’t you supposed to be pushy and dogged in the pursuit of the truth?”
“I am, but I don’t want to push you around. I’m big, and I just want to make sure you’re never doing something because you’re afraid of me.”
“Why would I be afraid of you?” She laid her lips on his midback, and his skin felt the burn from beneath his shirt. “Is it because you’re six and a half feet tall, jacked to Jesus, and you rarely smile?”
“That’s enough to make most people afraid.” And after what had happened in college, anyone with Google was leery of him. That’s why he liked being out of country. People didn’t know about his past. As long as he was careful and spoke softly enough, they tended to open up to him. That’s why he got the shots he was able to get and why he’d been a finalist for a Pulitzer last year for the photo he took of a group of orphans in Aleppo. He didn’t want the awards for the publicity, but they were useful in getting him the kind of jobs that made the world look at what was going on, the kind of photos you couldn’t look away from.
“After you carried me almost a mile through the streets of Havana and made me come so hard I almost cried, I’m not afraid of you.” She moved her hands from his biceps, under his arms, and caressed his stomach. “The way you interrogated my wanting to be with you more than any man ever had.”
“I didn’t interrogate you.”
“You could write a fucking manual on enthusiastic consent.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s not just saying yes to sex to make someone else happy. It’s doing it because you want it. Like, I think you want me to touch you because your skin raises goose bumps when I do. But I don’t know if you’re scared of me.”
“I’m not scared of you.”
“Good.” She dipped her hands and tickled him beneath his T-shirt. He wasn’t ticklish, but it made it impossible to remember whether he’d rinsed the dishes. She unbuttoned his jeans and asked, “Do I have your ‘enthusiastic consent’ to give you hand job?”
Fuck. Fuck, yes. “Please.”
She pushed his pants and boxer briefs down around his thighs, and he flattened his palms on the counter on either side of the sink when she encircled him as much as she could with her one hand. When she wet the other in the suds still circling the sink, his balls went heavy.
She grabbed him with both hands, stroking him off in rhythm. Where he was afraid to handle her too roughly, Carla handled him with more force than he would have thought her capable. The pressure and tempo were just right. He could feel her breathe hard from the effort of stretching her arms around his torso and moving in a way that pleased him. He should turn around and give her more space, but this felt too good for him to move.
His usual stance on hand jobs was that they were overrated. But he’d never been touched like this before. Usually, there were a lot of other areas to explore. But tonight, without the requisite supplies, touching and stroking was all there was.
He fucked her hand, growing close to out of control. “I can feel your gorgeous little tits against my back. I want to fuck them.” At that moment he didn’t care how porny that was.
“What else?” No recriminations, no ick factor. She was down for whatever, and it only made her hotter.
“If I can’t get inside you, I want you to swallow me, take me in.”
“You think I can swallow this whole thing?”
“Yes.” And she gripped him even tighter, and sped up.
“I think so, too. I can’t wait to get my mouth on you. I’m tempted to do it right now.” Even though he wasn’t touching her, her voice was needy and desperate, as if she was getting fucked.
“Don’t fucking move.” If she stopped touching him now, he’d have a heart attack. She could certainly give a guy a stroke from stopping this stroke. Fucking genius she was.
While he spun fantasies—made plans—about what he’d do to her tonight, his orgasm snuck up on him. Everything narrowed down to her hands and his cock, her smooth motions driving him crazier by the minute.
“Fuck, Carla. That’s so fucking good. You’re so fucking good.” When he came, he bent at the waist, and her hands popped off his cock. He was so sensitive, but he wanted her touch back. When he turned to find her fully clothed, he suddenly felt vulnerable.
He let his jeans fall—he wouldn’t be wearing pants for the rest of the night and maybe not the next day if they didn’t have to see to storm damage, but he rucked his boxer briefs up. She was still fully clothed after all.
He was about to tell her to take off her clothes so he could taste all of her skin until she recovered when she looked down at her hands, covered in him.
“You wanted me to taste you.” She stuck her index finger in her mouth, licking it clean. He was half-hard again. “Think I’ll get a preview.”
He closed the small space between them and tugged her shirt up until she had to drop her arms. “You’re wearing too many clothes, princess.” She grunted when her head popped free of her T-shirt. “There they are.”
The teasing, bouncing pair that tortured his mind and dominated his thoughts were hard-tipped and pointed at him. He took a nipple between two fingers and squeezed. Carla’s mouth popped open, and “More” came out with a pant.
He squeezed harder, used his other hand to give her other nipple the same treatment, and her head fell back.
“Unzip those little cock-tease shorts if you want more.” She fumbled but unzipped and pushed the shorts and her panties down. She’d broken down his control, and he wanted to do the same for her. He wanted her to be as dependent on his touch as he was on hers. Seeing her rush to obey him gratified him because it meant he was giving her the gift she’d given him. “I didn’t say to take off your panties.”
“But—” Her words broke off into a moan when he pinched harder. He released both nipples then closed the space between them. Feeling her skin all up against his for the first time made him want to growl. She hissed in pleasure and scored his ribs with her fingernails.
He bent until his mouth was next to her ear. “Be careful, princess. You’re turning me into a wild man.”
He wrapped his arms around her, grabbing both ass cheeks. “I want that.”
“What do you want? You want to turn me into a wild man?” He slapped one cheek, and she yelped. “You want me to eat you all up?” He slapped the other cheek, and she sighed and fell against him, but she didn’t answer his questions. “You’re going to need to answer me. I need that enthusiastic consent.”
“If I were any more enthusiastic, I’d be dead.”
“Sarcastic.” She nodded sleepily and burrowed closer to him; her fingers played in his chest hair. “You seemed to like it when I talked about spanking you. Are you aiming to get spanked by being sarcastic?”
“Maybe.”
He grabbed her hips and moved her away from him. She was a tiny Venus, curvy and delicious. The freckles were everywhere, but they were more prominent on her shoulders and upper back. He pushed his fingers into her skin. “Do you like playing rough, princess?”
Her green eyes went liquid and unfocused as he increased his pressure, telling him she did. But he wanted to hear the words.
“Yes. I mean, I think so. I like whatever you’re doing to me.”
“You want me to spank you.” He stroked one hand up the side of her body, tracing her form, committing it to memory. “You have to tell me what you want so that I don’t hurt you.” He squeezed her whole breast. It fit in his hand. She stood on her tiptoes and leaned in.
“I want it to hurt. I know you won’t injure me. I want to feel more with you.”
That’s all he needed to hear. He turned her around and bent her body against the counter.
“You ready?”
* * * *
The tile was cold against Carla’s breasts, but everything else was hot. The heavy palm of one hand against the back of her neck, tangled up in her hair. The places where his fingers had dug into her skin tingled as if he still touched her. Even the skin on her ass cheeks burned with anticipation, as though they were warmed up and waiting for a thundering smack from his hand.
She didn’t know why she wanted this from him, but she needed it. Although she loved the way he’d let her have her way with him—touching him at will had filled her with pleasure—this waiting for him, giving over to him, was everything.
He had her under his control, and she didn’t have to worry about anything except for his next touch. And she didn’t have to worry about that because she would feel something, and he was always giving her more.
Where he’d been skillful and aggressive during the afternoon, this was special. Their desire had twisted somehow, morphed into something more. He didn’t leave her hanging for too long, just waited enough for her to sweat, to feel the air against her center, and get even more turned on by the waiting energy.
His first slap was light, but it made her sway and slide over the counter; his anchoring hand and her locking her knees were the only things that kept her in place. Her flesh burned even brighter and she clenched around the air. She turned her head in his light grasp and moaned into the counter.
After earlier today and right now, it was a good thing the tiling was going to be replaced. She’d never be able to look at this kitchen without blushing. Worse yet, she would never be able to look at this kitchen without longing for the freedom she felt right now with this man.
He spanked her again. “All right?” The force of his palm against her coupled with checking in made her feel so safe, so cared for.
She wanted to scream, “You’re not going to hurt me!” Instead, she nodded and purred out something that she hoped sounded like “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
Even though she knew it couldn’t happen, she wanted his cock inside her so much. After holding his girth in her hands, she would never be able to get the idea of fucking him to leave her brain.
He stopped spanking her, and she pushed her butt into the air. It was too soon. She needed more, and he couldn’t just stop like this. His hand on her neck didn’t move, but he ran two fingers over her clit. She arched her back, wanting more.
“What do you need? You want my fingers inside or outside?”
“Both.”
“Greedy girl.” She heard the amusement in his voice, so she knew he didn’t mean it literally. But she was greedy for him. He was in short supply, and she demanded as much of him as she could afford. He penetrated her with one finger, and they both cursed at the pleasure of it. “Such a sweet, tight grip, princess.”
“Yes.” She arched back in time to the thrust of his hand. He had one fingertip on her clit that set her on fire with every stroke. He added another finger, and sweat started rolling down her face onto the counter. The contact point between her neck and his hand started sliding around, adding more delicious friction until he moved his palm down her spine, holding onto her lower back so he could get more leverage.
It might only be his fingers, but there was no mistaking the fact that she was being fucked.
She wanted him to never stop, and he didn’t, even when an orgasm broke her apart. His fingers didn’t have a refractory period, and when it came to him, she didn’t either. He kept on, until his arms must have tired, but she came again. When she did, when fire rocked through her entire body, and she’d surely turned into a puddle of thoroughly fucked woman, he withdrew.
They both slid to the floor, skin sticking to each other and the cabinets. She kissed his pectoral, and he sighed with contentment.
His hand moved up and down her back, and she would have fallen asleep there.
“We should get up.”
“I don’t want to.” She wanted to stay right where she was, separating from him was unthinkable.
But the storm didn’t care what she wanted. The branches from the palm trees in the courtyard thwacked against the outer walls of the house, beating at the weathered stucco. The heavy rain echoed against metal gutters outside.
“If the lights go out, I don’t want us fumbling around down here in the dark.”
He had a point, but she still wasn’t convinced. So, she didn’t move. She breathed the smell of their mingled sweat in, and she ran her mouth back and forth over his nipple with her arms wrapped around him. She smiled—inside and out—with her whole body. When she closed her eyes, her cheeks warmed at how much he made her feel.
“I don’t care. I can’t let this go right now.”
He seemed to understand that because he closed his arms around her and squeezed. Carla was an affectionate person. She’d missed touching someone, having someone to touch, in the past few months. Yesterday, she never would have thought that she would be cuddled up to Jonah, but it felt right today. She was going to embrace it while she could.
A few minutes in to their cuddle-fest, something from outside crashed into one of the boards covering the window over the sink, and the glass shattered. She didn’t feel any glass hit her because Jonah had moved so quickly to cover her body.
With him holding her, she didn’t panic. Everything inside her went still, and she waited for him.
“Where are your shoes?” She looked around. She’d kicked them off earlier, while they were eating, so they were out of reach.
“Shit.”
She looked down at his bare feet. “You don’t have any shoes either.”
“Yeah, but my tetanus shots are up-to-date.”
She supposed they would have to be, given his profession. The reminder that he was always in danger was more of a shock to the system than the broken window had been. She’d never forgotten the storm completely, but she’d been able to put Jonah’s job out of her head when his hand had been between her legs.
When she reached to lever herself up on the counter, he grabbed her hands. “The glass blew everywhere.”
“Both of us are going to get cut. There’s no way of avoiding it.”
He grunted, and the floor disappeared beneath her as he lifted her up on his shoulder and stood. She’d been impressed when he’d carried her almost a mile. She was small, but not that small. This here was some superhuman shit. It turned her on, even though it was kind of fucked up that it did. But everything about him was a turn on to her, what was she supposed to do? Deny it?
“You’re going to get your feet all cut up.”
“Stop wiggling.”
He passed through the threshold into the dining room where, from her vantage point, there didn’t seem to be any glass on the ground.
“I’ll stop wiggling when you put me down.”
“There could still be glass.”
“There aren’t any windows broken in here.”
“Why are you arguing with me?”
“You don’t have to carry me.” She liked him carrying her, but she didn’t need it. “You can put me down anytime.”
“I like carrying you, though.” So much blood rushed to her head that she couldn’t have heard him right.
“Why?” He got to the stairs, and the ride got bouncier. “At least let me get upright.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He slapped her ass, shocking her. “I like the view here.”
To be honest, her view didn’t entirely suck either. Still, out of retaliation, she slapped his boxer-brief-covered ass back so hard her hand stung.
“Violence is never the answer, princess.”