Chapter 23 #2
He reaches forward, prying it from her and setting it on the table. She wipes the back of her hand over her mouth.
“Better?” he asks.
“Better,” she says in a low voice. She looks around at the food spread out. “What’s all this?”
He slaps the table.
“Let’s make cinnamon rolls.”
She laughs. “Why? We just ate doughnuts.”
He shrugs, scratching under his chin. “You said it calms you down. We don’t have to actually eat them.”
She smiles, walking until she stands next to him in the kitchen, her body brushing against his. “I’m in charge of whisking.”
For the next twenty minutes, they stand side by side in his kitchen, laughing, talking, and forgetting.
Jahlani questions him about high school, and he obediently offers up the information, telling her about anything and everything she wants to know.
Occasionally, his hand will skate down her back, her elbow, her fingers.
He pushes each time. Seeing what he can get away with it, which is apparently a lot.
Because every now and then, she’ll press her shoulder to his, she’ll touch him as she laughs, she’ll move a little closer. She’ll break a rule and invite him into her space.
After they slide the tray into the oven and set the timer, Jahlani settles back on the kitchen island, her glass in hand, her braids in a loose bun.
His chest thunders against his ribcage because she looks comfortable.
She looks comfortable in his home.
And it’s everything and nothing and he needs it to be something.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Jahlani says from her position on the island. Her feet swing from the edge. She’s onto her second glass of wine as they wait for the timer to go off. He stands adjacent to her, his own glass in his hand.
“Mhm.”
Her eyes widen, and she lets out a giddy laugh. “Okay, but you can’t tell anyone.”
He snorts, setting his glass down. “Okay.”
She laughs again, biting her lip. She fans her face before exhaling slowly. “Okay, you know Dr. Hunt?”
He crosses his arms across his chest, his mind firing through all the faculty from the school. “Vaguely.”
Jahlani makes an annoyed grunt. “Come on, she has blue eyes, brown hair …” She trails off when he continues to stare.
“Okay, well. I caught her and Jackson hugging in his office earlier today!” she says, seeming so impressed with herself for gossiping that he can’t help the slow grin spreading on his face.
She sighs, reaching for her drink. “It sounded juicier in my head.”
Roman laughs, sending his head back. “Yeah, I can see that.” He spins, inspecting the food in the oven before grabbing two porcelain plates from the cabinets and setting them down. With his back turned, he asks, “You think something’s going on?”
He turns back around as she frowns, looking into her glass. “I don’t know. I guess it wouldn’t be allowed if they were,” she says, meeting his eyes.
He inhales, wondering for a moment if they’re talking about the same thing, but she swiftly changes the subject.
“Your turn now. Tell me a secret. Tell me something deep and dark and tragic,” she says in a mockingly deep voice.
He laughs, folding his arms across his chest. “What do you want to know?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. You seem to know everything about me. I’m always spilling my guts to you, so it’s only fair.” She pats his shoulder, “Tell me something, and make it good.”
He sighs, shaking his head.
“Come on,” she croons. “Tell me all your secrets,” she says in a horrible, witch-like voice.
He laughs, dropping his glass in the sink. He wipes his hands on the back of his shorts, turning to face her.
“Okay,” he says, drumming his fingers on the countertop. “I don’t like celebrating my birthday anymore.”
She tilts her head. “Okay. Tell me more.”
He exhales. “Um, well, I don’t feel like I’m worth celebrating.”
His words hang in the air between them, and the timer goes off. He rotates, turning it off and grabbing the oven mitts.
Jahlani is next to him, peering down as he tries to maneuver the tray out without burning either of them. “What do you mean you don’t feel like you’re worth celebrating?”
Setting the tray down, he slams the oven door shut with his hip. He shrugs, removing the lid from the icing. He slathers it onto the first bun before handing the spoon to her.
He sighs, watching as she moves onto the third one.
“I’m a failure, Jahlani. I can’t take care of my kid. She’s always sick and I can’t do shit. I’m always just there. Watching. I failed school. I already know that my mom is disappointed in me. She actually admitted it the other night … So, yeah. There’s nothing about me that’s worth celebrating.”
She hums, glazing the final bun before dropping the spoon into the sink.
“Well, it was dark. And a bunch of bullshit,” she says, turning to face him.
His head rears back. “What?”
“Most of those things you just described are completely beyond your control. Did you make your daughter sick? Can you force your mom to be proud? Can you go back in time and make sure you pass your classes?” she asks, leaning forward slightly.
He shakes his head.
“Right, so. Maybe focus on the things that you can control, and you’ll find all the things that make you worth celebrating.”
“Like?”
She narrows her eyes. “Oh please, you’re not slick. I’m not gonna say a whole bunch of nice things about you. Your ego is big enough.”
He lets out an exaggerated exhale. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
She bumps his shoulder, looking away. “Like, I’m not going to tell you that you’re … annoyingly determined, and have … incredible patience, or that your daughter is lucky to have a dad like you in their life, because that would just be …” She licks her lips, looking up at him.
He angles his head down, closer to her. “That would be?”
She blinks at him, and he doesn’t miss the way her eyes fall to his mouth, before stepping back.
Rubbing her hands together, she steps toward the tray. “Think it’s cooled down enough,” she says, looking up at him. Ripping off a piece, she chews, letting out a small moan of approval.
Fucking hell.
“It’s good. Try it,” she says through another bite.
She holds out the other piece between them. Stepping closer, he tilts his head down, grabbing her wrist that holds the piece. Her lips part when his mouth meets her fingers, and he feels her hand grow limp as he deliberately licks the icing from her fingers.
“You’re right,” he says. “It’s delicious.”
She shakes her head with wide eyes. “Roman, what—”
He pulls her forward until she’s flush against him, her wrist still caged in his hand, her other hand warm on his abdomen.
“What are you doing here, Jahlani?” He asks, whispering.
“You invited me,” she says through heavy breaths. “Should I go?”
He presses her closer, wrapping his free arm around her waist. “No, that’s not why,” he whispers. “That’s not why.”
She shifts against him, and he shuts his eyes as the sensation causes the pressure against his shorts to increase.
She’s barely touched you, get a fucking grip.
“I came because I needed to get out of my house. You know, neglectful parent and all,” she says through a strained chuckle.
He lowers his face, turning them so that she’s pressed against the kitchen island. “No, that’s not why, Jahlani.”
Letting her wrist go, he wraps his hand around her waist as he curves her into his body. His heart knocks against his chest as he drops his nose into the curve of her neck, followed by his mouth.
“Roman,” she says, but it comes out all raspy and weak and not like the Jahlani he knows.
Oh fuck.
He pulls back to see that her eyes are closed, her cheeks flushed.
Suddenly, her eyes open and bore into his, and he tries to control his breathing. “Tell me why you’re here, Jahlani, because I’m trying not to cross the line even though … I’m fairly confident you already have. So, maybe just lie to me. Tell me it’s in my head.”
Her eyes bounce around his face. “I came because I …” She licks her lips. “I—” She looks down at his mouth before meeting his eyes. “I wanted to, Roman. It’s not in your head.”
He swallows, not moving, wanting to give her a chance to push him away because she’s been drinking, but her hand is suddenly against the front of his shirt, and she’s twisting it, forcing him to stay.
“Is that what you wanted to hear?” she asks, tilting her head.
“That I wanted to be here. With you. That I like being around you, Roman, and I shouldn’t,” she says, moving so that she’s inches away.
“I shouldn’t be here, doing this. And yet it’s all I’ve been able to think about because I crossed the line way before you did. ”
And then she’s fully pressing their mouths together, dictating the duration of the movement, the angle of his head, the amount of pressure, and it’s not enough at all.
Not at all.
His palms press flat against the small of her back, traveling up until one hand covers her neck and she sighs into his mouth. She pulls her head back, and his eyes open as he gazes down at her. Her skin is flushed, and her eyes are low.
For several seconds, they watch each other. His fingers ghost over her mouth before traveling to her jaw. He inhales deeply, leaning back in, but not completely closing the space. Wanting to be sure.
But he’s the one sighing when she presses her mouth to his again with more intensity than before. This time it’s harder, like she’s angry.
Like she’s desperate.
He slides his tongue across the bottom of her lip before pulling gently.
The next meeting of their mouths is open and deep, and he tries to savor the motion of their tongues infusing, its languid pace punctuated by the warm, intoxicating taste of grape and cinnamon and a whisper of vanilla on her lips.
He really tries, because he doesn’t know how long he’ll have her like this. All loose lips and pliant and her against his form.
Nothing like the Jahlani that he’s grown accustomed to.
No, this Jahlani is risky. A rule-breaker. Willing to fall into the abyss with him.
They move together in earnest, and all the blood seems to rush to his groin in an instant when she pulls his bottom lip between her teeth. He groans and she pulls back a fraction, her words a whisper against his mouth. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, you didn’t,” he says against her lips.
Sliding his hands under her thighs, he forces her onto the counter.
Gripping her knees, he drags them apart until he’s standing in between them.
He guides both of her arms around his neck and sinks her fingers in, gripping the strands in earnest as he guides her mouth back to his.
His hands move up to clutch her neck as he works his tongue over her top lip. They both groan as their tongues meet, and her legs lift to wrap around his hips.
She pulls away and they both breathe against each other until he’s moving her braids, tilting her neck, and sucking. Her moan is soft. Quiet even.
He wants her louder. Screaming. But then it occurs to him as she draws her hand to her mouth to stifle a slightly louder moan that she’s trying to be respectful. She’s trying not to wake his daughter.
She’s being considerate.
He pulls her mouth back down to his and gives her a punishing kiss for being so goddamn good. For being off limits.
Jahlani’s hand starts to lower. Slow. Discreet.
It brushes over the front of his drawstring.
Pulling back, he lowers his head watching as she tugs the knot loose.
The snap of the waistband reverberates through the room.
He watches intensely as her fingers start to inch down. He inhales sharply, catching her wrist.
“Being around you,” she says breathlessly. “It’s not good for me. I lose sight of my goal, my dream. You make me want to give it all up. You make me want to find a way to fit you into my plans, and I can’t have that. There’s only this.”
His lips brush over the side of her neck. “Jahlani—”
“Do that again,” she says. “It feels fantastic.”
Like a puppet under her control, he moves his mouth over the bridge of her neck again, and again, until she’s bending into him.
“That feels amazing. Why does that feel so good?”
And he isn’t sure how long they stand there together. Her in his arms, her legs around his waist, his tongue on her neck, but every second it turns more frenzied, more rushed, less controlled. It’s like they’re trying to make up for all the times they missed out, and it still isn’t enough.
He hears the static from the monitor before she does, and he pulls back to meet her eyes, but it’s too late.
Because Lucy’s cries sound through the kitchen, and she drops her eyes to the screen, touching her mouth. He watches her blink, her expression morphing into one of guilt as she looks away.
“Jahlani—”
“Go. Take care of her,” she says, still not meeting his eyes.
He steps back as she adjusts her shirt, feeling torn.
“I’ll be right back, just—don’t move, please.
I want to talk.” He walks backwards, watching her shoulders hunch over as she nods her head, not seeming to fully register his request. He dashes into the bathroom that’s in the hallway, sees his tousled hair, bruised lips, manic eyes, and thinks about how fucked he is because it was so much better than he imagined it being.
But in all his imagined scenarios, he never made it to this part—the aftermath.
He knows she’s a rule follower, he knows she’s sitting on his island overthinking everything that just happened, if he could just soothe Lucy quickly.
He hears the soft click of the door closing and walks back out to the kitchen, a sniffling Lucy in his arms.
“Fuck,” he whispers, moving to the entryway to turn the porch light on. He doesn’t bother chasing after her. She needs space to think. He understands, really. He rubs Lucy’s head, bouncing her before moving her back to her room and placing her in the crib.
They crossed the line. This time together, he thinks as he moves to the kitchen to place the cinnamon roll in a container. He snaps the lid shut, shoving the container so hard it slides down the counter and falls off the edge.
“Damn it,” he mutters, tugging his hand through his hair.
Wiping a hand down his face, he reaches for his phone to text her, but stops himself, throwing it onto the counter.
Sighing, he bends, picking up the larger pieces of glass before sweeping the remainder with the broom. As he drops into the stool, he decides that he’ll give her two days.
After that, all bets are off.
Because if there was one positive thing that came from tonight, it was that he knows she wanted this just as much as he did.