22. Jonah #2
“Need help?” she teases, her lips quirking into that half-smile that’s been driving me crazy since we met.
“I’ve got it,” I murmur, finally working the zipper down. “Lift your hips.”
She complies, and I carefully slide her jeans down her legs, revealing toned thighs scattered with freckles that match those across her shoulders. My breath catches at the sight of her simple black underwear, nothing fancy but somehow more erotic than any lingerie could be.
“You’re staring,” she points out.
“Can’t help it,” I admit, running my hands up her calves, over her knees, to her thighs. “You’re incredible.”
Lila rolls her eyes, but I catch the flush spreading across her chest. “You really need to work on your dirty talk, Professor.”
“I wasn’t aware there would be an oral examination,” I reply before I can stop myself.
Her eyebrows shoot up, and then she bursts into laughter—real, unguarded laughter that creases the corners of her face. “Did you just make an ‘oral examination’ joke? And here I thought I was the one with the bad jokes.”
“I’m a man of hidden talents,” I say, unable to stop my smile as I watch her laugh. When she catches her breath, she looks at me differently—a mix of desire and something else I can’t quite name.
“I’m starting to see that,” she replies, her laughter fading into something more heated. “Why don’t you show me what other talents you’re hiding?”
My mouth goes dry at her invitation. I move closer, settling between her legs, careful not to put weight on her injured side. She leans back on her good arm.
“I should warn you,” I murmur, trailing my fingers up her thigh, “It’s been...a while.”
“Theory without practice is just masturbation,” she quips, then immediately bursts into laughter at her own joke. “Sorry, that was terrible.”
I can’t help laughing too, even as my fingers trace the edge of her underwear. “That was the worst science joke I’ve ever heard.”
“You loved it,” she challenges, her breath hitching as my fingers dip beneath the elastic.
“I did,” I admit, leaning forward to press my lips against her neck. “Almost as much as I love the way you react when I touch you here.”
I slide my fingers against her, finding her already wet, and she gasps, her head falling back, exposing the long line of her throat. The sight of her like this—vulnerable, wanting—sends a surge of heat through me that’s almost overwhelming.
“Fuck,” she breathes, her hips rising to meet my touch. “That feels?—”
“Good?” I suggest circling my fingers against her most sensitive spot.
“Don’t get cocky,” she manages, but her voice breaks on a moan as I increase the pressure slightly.
I can’t stop watching her reactions—the way her lips part, the flush spreading across her cheeks, the flutter of her eyelashes. My own arousal is almost painful now, straining against my boxers, but I’m determined to focus on her first.
“Tell me what you want,” I murmur, slowing my movements until she whimpers in protest.
“More,” she demands, her good hand reaching for me. “And less talking.”
I laugh softly. “I thought you wanted me to use my voice.”
“Not for conversation,” she groans, her fingers tangling in my hair to pull me down for a kiss that’s all heat and demand.
I slide one finger inside her, then two, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. Her eyes flutter closed, her body arching toward mine as I establish a rhythm that has her breathing harder with each stroke.
“Oh my god,” She gasps suddenly. Her hips rock into my touch, seeking more, and I give it to her—slow, deliberate strokes that make her whimper my name like a prayer.
“Jonah,” she breathes. “Less theory, more fieldwork.”
I chuckle against her collarbone, dragging my lips lower, tasting salt and skin. I hook my fingers under the edge of her underwear and tug, grinning when she lifts her hips to help me peel them off.
“Someone’s eager,” I murmur, tossing them aside like they’re evidence of a crime.
“Someone’s slow,” she counters, reaching for me with her good hand and yanking me down until I’m flush against her. “You’re still wearing your boxers. That’s a problem.”
I shimmy out of them awkwardly, nearly kneeing myself in the face in the process. She snorts, and I glare at her.
“Not all of us are graceful naked ninjas.”
“You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” she says, and then her hand wraps around me, and I forget how to speak entirely.
“Oh,” I rasp, my forehead dropping to hers. “That’s...that’s?—”
“Yeah, I know,” she smirks, stroking me once, twice, until I’m panting into her neck like I just ran a marathon in dress shoes.
I slide a hand between us again, finding her slick and ready, and this time when I touch her, it’s not tentative. She gasps, her body arching into my touch as I circle my thumb against that sensitive bundle of nerves.
“You like that?” I whisper, pressing my lips to her ear.
“Obviously,” she pants, her hand tightening around me in response. “Don’t ask stupid questions when your fingers are—oh god.”
I smile against her neck, learning what makes her breath hitch, what makes her fingers dig into my shoulder. Her responsiveness is intoxicating—every touch, every stroke revealing something new about what she likes.
“I need you,” she breathes. “Now.”
“Demanding,” I murmur, but I’m already shifting my weight, careful of her injured shoulder as I position myself between her thighs.
“Always,” she agrees, then gasps as I slide against her, not entering yet but letting her feel how much I want her. “Stop teasing me, Professor.”
I press my forehead against hers, suddenly overwhelmed by how much I want this—want her. Not just physically, but all of her. Her humor, her courage, her wild, untamed spirit that’s somehow become essential to my carefully ordered existence.
“Lila,” I whisper, needing her to understand what this means to me.
She meets my eyes, and for a moment, the teasing falls away. “I know,” she whispers. “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
I hesitate, momentarily overwhelmed by how she sees me. How did I get here? A week ago, I was plotting data points in my office, and now I’m poised between her thighs, completely undone by her touch.
“Are you planning to analyze this all day?” she asks, raising an eyebrow, “or are you going to?—”
I push forward, entering her in one slow, deliberate movement that steals the rest of her sentence. Her mouth falls open in a silent “oh” that might be the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
“You were saying?” I manage.
“I—” she starts, then gasps as I withdraw before pushing deeper. “Never mind.”
I establish a rhythm, careful of her injury but unable to hold back entirely.
The feeling of her around me is overwhelming—so hot and tight that it defies logic.
I watch her face, cataloging every reaction, every gasp, every flutter of her eyelashes against her freckled cheeks, committing it to memory.
“I can’t describe how this feels,” I murmur, shifting the angle.
“Then just enjoy it. Stop analyzing…Oh!” Her back arches, her good hand clutching at my shoulder. “Right there. Don’t you dare move.”
I follow her instructions, maintaining the position that quickens her breathing. “Like this?”
“Don’t stop, Jonah. Right there.” Her breath hitches with each thrust now, her good hand gripping my shoulder so hard I’ll probably have marks tomorrow.
I can barely think straight. The sensation of being inside her, watching her face transform with pleasure is almost too much for me to process. Her body tightens around me with each movement, drawing me deeper.
“I won’t,” I promise, maintaining the angle that has her breathing in shallow gasps.
I dip my head to capture her mouth, swallowing her moans as I continue to move inside her. The pressure building at the base of my spine tells me I won’t last much longer, but I’m determined to make sure she finishes first.
“Touch yourself,” I whisper against her ear, surprising myself with my boldness.
Her eyes fly open. “What did you say?”
“Touch yourself,” I repeat, my tone dropping to that register that seems to affect her so deeply. “I want to watch you come apart.”
“Fuck,” she breathes, her good hand sliding between us. “When did you get so bossy?”
I smile against her neck. “I believe you requested this particular voice.”
She laughs, the sound transforming into a moan as her fingers find her most sensitive spot. “I did, didn’t I? Good call on my part.”
The sight of her touching herself while I move inside her is almost my undoing. I have to close my eyes to regain control. I need to focus, to make this good for her, but the combination of her touch and her body tightening around me is testing every ounce of my self-restraint.
“Jonah,” she whispers. “Look at me.”
I open my eyes to find her watching me with desire that steals what little breath I have left. Her fingers are moving in tight circles now, her rhythm matching mine, and I can feel her body beginning to tense.
“I’m close,” she admits.
“I know,” I murmur, maintaining the angle that makes her breath catch. “I can feel it.”
And I can—the way she’s tightening around me with each thrust, the flush spreading across her chest, the quickening of her breathing. This brilliant, fearless woman coming undone beneath me.
“Keep talking,” she gasps, her hips rising to meet mine. “Do the voice?—”
“Do you like the feeling of me inside of you?” I ask her.
Her eyes widen at my words, clearly surprised by my boldness. Then a moan escapes her, louder than before, as her whole body goes rigid. I feel her tightening around me, pulsing as she comes apart, and the sight alone nearly pushes me over the edge.
“Oh my god,” she gasps, her hand clutching my shoulder. “Jonah, I’m?—”
I kiss her, swallowing her cries as she shudders beneath me. The sensation of her climaxing around me is too much—I can’t hold back any longer. My rhythm falters as my own release builds, and then I’m following her over that edge, burying my face in her neck as pleasure crashes through me in waves.
For several moments, we lie tangled together, breathing hard. I’m careful not to put weight on her injured shoulder, but I can’t bring myself to move away completely. The connection between us feels too precious, too new to break just yet.
“Well,” Lila finally says. “That was worth waiting for.”
I lift my head to look at her, finding her watching me with a mix of satisfaction and amusement. Her hair is a wild tangle around her face, her lips swollen from our kisses. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
“Was it?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious again. “It’s been a while since I’ve?—”
“Trust me, Professor,” she cuts me off with a lazy smile. “Your practical application skills are fully up to academic standards.”
I laugh, pressing my forehead against hers. Relief washes over me that I didn’t disappoint her. Her skin is warm against mine, damp with sweat, and I can feel her heartbeat gradually slowing beneath my palm.
“So much for data collection today,” I murmur, carefully shifting my weight to avoid her injured shoulder.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’d say we just collected some very interesting data points.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” I can’t help but smile against her neck.
“Mmm-hmm. Very thorough research.” Her good hand slides lower, giving my backside a playful squeeze. “Though I think we might need to run a few more trials to ensure statistical validity.”
I lift my head to look at her, finding her watching me with that mischievous glint in her eyes. “Already? Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”
“I feel very rested,” she argues, though the effect is somewhat diminished by her wince as she tries to shift positions. “Okay, maybe a short intermission.”
I carefully disentangle myself from her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before padding to the bathroom.
When I return with a warm washcloth, she’s already fast asleep.
I find my pants, retrieve my phone from a pocket, and fire off a text to Lucas to keep an eye on Max for a couple of hours before climbing back into bed and holding her.