Chapter 26
Ali
He collapsed on top of me, both of us riding out our orgasms. I turned my head and caught sight of our hands on the mattress at the side of my head.
Our fingers were intertwined. Both of them holding on.
Of all the startlingly delicious ways Jake made love to me, that gesture—grasping my hand as we both found our release—was the most intimate of my life.
Something about how he touched me. Held me.
How one minute he was guiding me, maybe even commanding me and my body, then the next he was letting me call the shots. It was like he knew exactly how to make sure we were in balance.
Sex for me wasn’t terrible. But most of the time I felt like a participant in a performance. Sure, I got off. Usually in the foreplay phase when he was working for it. Or after and I just took care of myself.
If I had an eager lover who I could tell was determined to get me off before he released, I’d fake it. Yep, I was that girl.
The alternative was awkward frustration.
Pretending was way easier than admitting out loud that I didn’t get off during sex. I blamed the male ego being far too fragile to handle that level of honesty, but it was also me.
I never asked for what I needed. I don’t know why.
Ryan had certainly never asked.
My sexual history wasn’t sad, by any means. I had fun with the men I slept with. Orgasms were had, just not with penetration and most of the time not by my partner’s doing.
No one. No one had ever paid attention to me as Jake did tonight.
No one had asked me what I wanted—how I wanted it. Before. During. After.
No one had taken the time to learn my body like it was worth studying.
I knew he was different.
I just didn’t expect I would be different with him.
And he was different.
Tender and bossy.
Focused yet fully present.
Methodical but still full of surprises.
Sweet and deliciously dirty.
He fucked with his hands, tongue, and cock like a champ, but also with his words, his gaze, his care, and his attention. He really did make me feel worshiped.
And I just . . . I just enjoyed it. I let myself be in the moment too—fully present—with Jake. I didn’t try to make myself less than in order to ensure I wasn’t too much. I didn’t disassociate into the sex goddess that my partner wanted me to be. I wasn’t trying to prove myself.
And without those burdens? Every caress, every lick, every inch of him inside me was electrifying. The connection we had was so fucking arousing. Just his eye contact from across the room made me stir.
And now, his hand clasped into mine, pressing into the mattress, not wanting to let go even though we had both climaxed—it was . . . intimate. Intimacy. Maybe that was what was missing from all the befores.
He pressed his forehead to my temple and kissed the side of my face.
He lifted his face above mine, and I turned toward him again, finding that connection in his eyes.
I wanted to bask in it. Never leave it. I was addicted to his gaze.
No . . . I was addicted to how I felt in his gaze.
Like I had been lost for so long only to find home in that gaze.
He leaned down and gently kissed my lips.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Hmm,” I said with a nod.
“Stay the night?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
He left delicate kisses along my chin before getting up to dispose of the condom.
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted something to sleep in? Will one of my tees work?” he asked, handing me a crisply folded rectangle of blue cotton.
I grabbed the shirt and let it fall open. Twenty-Fourth Annual Fun Run for the Arts it read. I snickered and shook my head a little.
“What?” he asked.
“Fun run? I believe those two words make an oxymoron. How long was said ‘fun run’?”
“It was so fun that they had several different distances to choose from.”
I pulled the T-shirt over my head and let it fall down my body. It landed just below my butt, reminding me how much taller Jake was than me.
“I also have an extra toothbrush if you want to use it.” He guided me back into the bathroom. “You’ll find a hairbrush and stuff in drawers too. I probably don’t have any of your usual face products, though. Do you want me to run to your place and grab some of your stuff?”
“No, that’s okay. I can do without for the night. The toothbrush is great.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then. Toothpaste is in the top-right drawer.”
“Thanks.” I gently pulled the pocket door closed.
Jake had an enormous en suite bathroom. A claw-foot tub. A beautifully tiled glass-door shower with gorgeous matte black seams and fixtures.
And two sinks. I could tell which one he used regularly.
I opened up the top-right drawer like he said.
It was perfectly organized, with clear dividers that filled the space precisely.
He had a home for each thing. A long one for the toothpaste tube, one for extra disposable toothbrushes—still in their packaging.
Two smaller ones in the center for dental floss, lip balm.
I marveled at the structure of it all. He had taken so much care to arrange space for his everyday items. Neatly arranged. Easy to find. The Container Store would be jealous.
I, on the other hand, surrounded myself with chaos, and my drawers and cabinets reflected it. The person I hired to clean my apartment in Chicago would try to keep me organized, but I would come in like a tornado—one night of getting ready or one trip to pack for and poof, it was all chaos again.
Would the second sink be the same? The drawers and cabinets also had dividers and holders precisely placed, but they were completely empty. Not even a hair tie left behind.
He reclined on the bed wearing just pajama pants, his chest bare. God, this man was hot. All length and lean muscles. Just the right amount of chest hair. Smooth, taut arms. Washboard abs. He even had the V-cut above his pelvis.
He opened up the covers on the other side to invite me in. I walked to his side of the bed instead. He sat up a little taller. Took my hand.
“You okay?” he asked.
I lifted my leg and straddled him. He looked a little surprised.
I took his face in my hands, and he met me with a strong kiss.
Not tender or gentle. But also not desperate or frantic.
This kiss was anchoring. I pulled away and pressed my forehead to his.
I wanted to express how much I felt in this moment. But I didn’t know where to begin.
He caressed my upper leg. My hip. Gently. He was letting me have a moment while reassuring me that he was ready to listen. Not an impatient impulse to be found.
“Who knew you had such a dirty mouth, Dr. Elliot,” I said.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You bring it out in me.”
I smiled. I loved knowing that version of him was mine.
“It was probably the dress,” I said lightly.
“It was a good dress.” His fingers traced higher. Up to my cheek. Brushed my hair back. “But it was the woman in it.”
“It’s never been like that for me,” I confessed.
“Ali, none of this—with you—has felt like anything I’ve known before.”
“You’re not just saying that?”
His thumb stroked my jaw. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
Something in my chest eased.
He kissed me then—softly. Lips. Chin. The curve of my neck. Unrushed. Intentional.
“You,” he murmured against my skin. “God, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.” I felt him inhale my scent.
“Don’t be so sure about that.”
That stopped him. He lifted his face to mine. Met my eyes.
He didn’t look shaken. He looked resolved.
“Good,” he said softly. “Then I won’t have to hold back proving it to you over and over.”
He nudged the side of my nose, hovered his lips over mine, then whispered, “I want all of you, Ali.”
When we kissed it felt like a chase, but without either of us getting ahead or losing steam. He always met me and matched me with ease and harmony. A fluidity that made every movement sing.
This time we took our time. Exploring each other’s bodies and letting things build slowly.
Jake didn’t hesitate when he made love. He was so assured in his touch. No caution. No holding back. I let the intensity consume me. I wanted to swim around in the quiet smolder.
“God, Ali, you feel so good.” I rocked my hips back and forth over him, feeling every inch of him fill me up.
“You were made for me. Yes, baby.”
He called me baby.
I’d never liked being called that before.
It always felt generic or forced. But out of his mouth, hushed and gravelly, dripping with need, it pierced me like an electric shock.
It was more than a pet name. Out of Jake’s mouth it was a statement.
A proclamation. It made me feel honored. Cherished. Claimed.
He added his mouth, his hands, mapping every sensitive place with slow, deliberate intention. Sensation layered over sensation. Heat. Friction. The tension tightening until I wasn’t sure where I ended and he began.
His hands moved over me like he was committing me to memory. Every curve. Every move. Every tremor. Then he tugged gently at my hair, bringing my mouth closer to his ear.
“Let me hear you,” he whispered. “Don’t hold back, Ali. I want to know when you’re close.”
The command wasn’t forceful. It was reverent.
Something inside me let go.
I stopped trying to stay composed. Stopped trying to be graceful. The sounds that left me were honest. Unfiltered. His name broke apart on my tongue as pressure built and built.
And when release came it was more than chaotic.
It was consuming.
He held me through it. Didn’t rush. Didn’t look away.
After, his forehead rested against mine. His breathing still uneven. Mine barely settling.
“There she is,” he murmured. “So beautiful.”
When he flipped me onto my back, he pulled my leg up to his side and moved into me with such deliciousness that I stopped thinking altogether.
He made me feel wanted. Not in a possessive way. In a present way. A poetic way.
I couldn’t stop looking at him with amazement, and when I came again—God. It was a surrender and reclamation all at the same time. Like I was letting go and becoming more myself.
Lying in bed together, both sated and sleepy, he wrapped his arms around me and kissed my shoulder. I felt so safe. So adored. So right. I almost forgot all the reasons I had armor in the first place.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of the teakettle whistling. I slipped into the T-shirt Jake had lent me the night before and hopped into the bathroom before making my way downstairs.
He was on a call with his back to me. I didn’t want to eavesdrop or linger rudely, so I walked in front of him and pointed to the kettle. He smiled and nodded.
Whoever he was talking to said something that made him laugh.
His laugh. At times it came out like a sigh through a smile. Other times a nodding jolt of his chest accompanied it. It was commonly soft. Endearing. Gentle. But those were his everyday, any person laughs. The person on the phone got that laugh.
It was sincere. Always sincere. His generous laugh involved kind eyes and encouraging glee. But rarely, at least in the few weeks I’d gotten to know him, did he offer his real laugh in response to just anyone. And yet, I got to see it. Hear it. Regularly.
It had deep pitch. His face animated the tickle that ignited in his core.
His eyes glinted with tiny sparks. For a split second at the start of the laugh, he betrayed surprise, as if he was struck with delight from within.
An uncontrolled expression. And that tiny glimmer of awe.
That’s what made me feel like a star. Knowing it was reserved for only the most engaging interactions and the most authentic of moments.
It made me feel like . . . the most. Or at least enough.
If I could inspire moments with that much raw happiness in someone like Jake by being me or saying something typically “Ali,” well then maybe that meant I was special. I was enough.
And that was terrifying.
He ended his call and wrapped his arms around me from behind.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “That was my dad. He’s worried about me—since Chic. He asked if I could visit him this weekend.”
That was my cue to leave.
“Oh. That’s really nice.” I took a chastened sip from the mug, burning my tongue on the hot liquid. “Hmm. I’ll get out of here so you can get packed and on the road.”
He pulled away from the counter where he had me pressed. Gave me the space to turn. To maneuver through the awkward dance of the morning after. I hated this part. Never sure if the guy was as into the woman he woke up with as he was with the woman he went to bed with.
“You don’t have to leave.” He paused. “Come with me?” he asked, hope and excitement twinkling in his eyes.
“You want me to meet your dad?” I lifted my brows dramatically, a deeper question there.
“You’d love him.”
“But—”
“I know he’s going to love you.”
He must have noticed the look on my face.
“What?” he asked.
I searched his expression for . . . what? A tell? A sign telling me how to play this? I found nothing but sincerity. And something else I didn’t recognize.
Jake is different, I reminded myself.
“Um . . . the store needs me in a couple days. It’s closed again today in observance of the holiday, and then Eric works tomorrow, but I have to cover all day Sunday.”
“I can get you back here before Sunday. A couple days is perfect for a trip to Pineville. There isn’t much to see there. Other than . . . well, Dad.” He kissed me gently and pulled my teacup from my hands, placing it on the counter before refocusing on me.
He leaned into my ear to whisper, “I’ll book us a hotel room. It won’t be much of a getaway, but we can take advantage of being alone.”
His hands slid between my legs. “Say yes.”
His finger pressed deeper, and a broken sound fell from my lips meant to be a yes, but it came out thin and breathless like air from a punctured balloon.
It barely resembled a word.
He angled me against the kitchen counter, dropped to his knees, and worshipped me with his mouth till my yes was sure and undeniable.