12. “Should I StayShould I Go?”
“SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO?”
Jocelyn stared in a daze at the far wall of her living room as dust motes floated through the air and her thoughts drifted like clouds.
She mindlessly pressed her pen to her lips, lost in a deluge of sensual memories from the weekend until her whole body flinched with awareness as someone pounded on her door.
Cordelia flew into action, barking and charging toward the foyer.
Jocelyn pushed her laptop aside—not like she was writing anyway—and moved to answer the door. “Coming!”
When she opened the door, Soren stood on the front porch pressing something into his phone. In the pocket of her kimono, her cell started to ring as he scowled at her. “So your phone does work?”
“Why are you calling me if you’re on my front porch?”
“All day, Joce. I waited all day to hear from you and got nothing. Not a text. Not a call. Not even an emoji. Not a single notification to let me know I might have crossed your mind.”
She silenced her ringer and stepped back to let him in. “Get in the house, you drama queen. Did you ever think I might have been working?”
“I worked. And I still thought of you.”
“Well, you’re more needy than me.”
His eyes narrowed, and he swung the door shut. “Everyone knows it’s common courtesy to follow up after you spend the weekend with someone.”
She hadn’t known that, but she did now. “I’ll be sure to remember that in the future.”
“Good,” he snapped. His gaze then dropped to her robe. “You look hot.”
She hated how much her body responded to his objectification. “So do you.”
He continued to scowl. “I spent the forty-five-minute drive back from the city yelling at you in my head. I thought you were having second thoughts.”
“No.”
“Okay. Good. Because I wasn’t going to sit here and let you come up with a laundry list of doubts about why we can’t do this.”
“I don’t have a list.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you raising your voice at me?”
“I don’t know.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I was prepared for a fight.”
“Maybe you have doubts.”
“I don’t.”
She raised her brows. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Sorry. I honestly thought you were going to…never mind. Hi.” He kissed her softly, and she closed her eyes, leaning in for more. But when he glanced at the den, he pulled away and frowned. “What is all this stuff?”
“It’s for the shower.” Nautical wrapping paper, navy blue tissue, ribbons, and twine covered the folding table she’d carried up from the basement. “It’s my temporary craft zone.”
A blue banner that read LITTLE CATCH draped over the armchair.
Mason jars covered the coffee table, surrounded by piles of baby’s breath, eucalyptus, rope, shells, netting, and mini buoys.
The centerpieces could have been constructed by now if she hadn’t spent the entire weekend at Soren’s.
She tried working on them today, but threw the glue gun after she burnt her fingers for the tenth time.
“Turns out, I’m not that crafty,” she admitted, showing him her blistered fingers.
He tsked. “Jesus, Joce.” He automatically pulled her scorched, red skin to his lips and kissed her booboos.
She smiled, unsure why she loved it when he did that so much. “All better. Thanks.”
Soren drifted into the den and stared at the half-constructed diaper cake. “What are you trying to build?”
“It’s supposed to be a cake.”
“Out of diapers?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I don’t make the rules. Women do all kinds of weird shit when babies come along. I saw it on Pinterest.”
Of course, the one on Pinterest actually looked like a cake. Hers looked like it survived a natural disaster.
He glanced at the notebook with a list of games jotted down. “Dirty diaper game?” He looked horrified.
“You fill diapers with baby food, and the guests lick them to see if they can guess the flavor.”
He swallowed and pressed a fist to his mouth. “I’m sorry, what?”
“It’s a popular baby shower tradition.”
“According to who? People aren’t going to lick shit out of diapers!”
“It’s not shit. It’s baby food.”
He gagged. “Absolutely not. No way I’m doing that.”
She took the notebook from him and flipped a page, making a note beside Soren’s name.
“What are you writing?”
“I’m taking that as your RSVP.”
“I’ll be there, but I’m not licking a dirty diaper.”
“You’ll do what I tell you to do and like it.”
“Oh, really?” He laughed, corralling her back toward the sofa. “I seem to recall it was the other way around this weekend.”
He plucked the tie of her kimono loose and caught the back of her knees, dropping her onto the cushions in one smooth move.
“Speaking of licking. I couldn’t stop thinking about how we christened the dining room table.”
“Oh?”
“Mm-hm.” He kissed a path down her neck, dragging his mouth across her collarbone as he shrugged his suit jacket off in one impatient motion. “Gave me an instant hard on at work.”
“Did you jerk off?”
He drew back as if wondering why he hadn’t thought of that. “No, but now I wish I had.”
“Next time, you should. And you should call me while you’re doing it.”
“Why? Would you touch yourself too?”
She shrugged. “Sure. I masturbate all the time during work.”
“Ohmygod,” he groaned, collapsing into her. “You can’t tell me shit like that. How often?”
“Whenever I write a good sex scene.”
“Seriously? Do you do it before, to get in the mood, or after?”
“Before, if I need some inspiration. After if I did a good job.”
“Fuck,” he said slowly, letting the word drag out. “Next time you do it, call me. I want to watch.”
She smirked. “It’s already on video.”
His breath caught and he glanced up at the ceiling, searching for her cameras. “You dirty, little exhibitionist.” He unbuckled his belt. “I have to have you.”
She laughed at how urgently he withdrew his cock. “Does it ever occur to you that I might be too busy for this?”
“No.”
“Well, I am.” She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down.
His mouth closed around her soft nipple, pulling it into a hard point. Her fingers twisted into his hair as she arched and moaned.
“Spread your legs.” He licked his fingers. “Wider.”
“Why? What are you doing?”
“Settling a debate.”
He dropped to his knees, kissing the inside of her thighs, then higher. His breath warmed her skin, teasing her clit but not penetrating.
“Hold your knees just like that.”
“This is weird, Soren.”
“No, this is fucking hot. I can see every inch of you.”
She pursed her lips. “You’re such a fucking pervert.”
“I know. And you love it. Now, you made me wait all day, so I’m going to take my time.”
She scoffed. “That’s cruel.”
“Mm. You’re right. It is.” He glanced up at her, eyes glinting with amusement. “Keep ‘em open.”
“I don’t—” The rest of her protest died as he licked inside of her, swirling and moaning as he tasted her with deep, open-mouthed kisses.
“You’re so soft here. Warm and pink.” He swirled his finger up and down, rimming her.
“Soren, you're embarrassing me.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. You’re beautiful.”
Only he could say that to her in such a position and make her believe it. “Kiss it,” she said.
“You want a kiss?”
She nodded.
“Okay. Don’t move.” His gaze held hers as he lowered his head, tasting her with deliberate, unhurried strokes of his tongue. “Mmm.” He closed his lips around her clit, sucking her to attention as his fingers teased. “I want to hear you, Joce.”
Her jaw locked in protest, but he was too good for her not to make a sound. As he worked her slowly, knowing the exact places to touch and the perfect amount of pressure to use, until he eventually got her to sing.
When her thighs trembled, he caught her hips and draped her legs over his shoulders. He buried his face between her quivering thighs, groaning in pleasure as he slowly devoured her.
His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he intensified his touch, his mouth closing around her clit with just enough suction to draw a strangled gasp from her throat. The five o’clock shadow on his jaw scraped over her delicate flesh, adding another degree of sensation.
She tried to pull away as the pleasure mounted, losing composure. But he anchored her in that inescapable way that made it impossible to move or think.
“Don’t fight it,” he said against her, the word vibrating through her. “Just give in. Admit you like it when I take charge.”
He worked her with the same focused attention he brought to everything. His tongue circled, pressed, flicked in patterns that scrambled her thoughts until she couldn’t remember her own name or why she’d ever thought she hated this man.
His groan, rough and muffled against her, told her she wasn’t alone. He’d surrendered too. He was just as overwhelmed by this as her. He didn’t devour her to prove a point. He did it because simply being in each other’s presence evaporated all logic and stole all traces of self-control.
She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling hard enough to drag a groan from him. The sound vibrated over her clit and through her body. When he looked up at her, eyes locked on hers, mouth wet, breathing hard, she couldn’t help but tease him.
“Your tie’s crooked.”
“And your pussy’s dripping for it.”
Maybe dry insults were her love language, because she laughed. “Make me come,” she ordered, taking charge and shoving his head down.
He stole the power right back. “Beg, and maybe I’ll think about it.”
“Soren—Ah! Okay! Okay.”
He laughed and released her clit from between his teeth.
A ragged breath escaped her. “Please, oh great lover, make me come.”
His glistening lips curved with a far too cocky grin. “As you wish.”
He buried his face against her, lapping his tongue over every sensitive nerve, hooking his fingers inside her with slow, measured strokes. The combination pushed her toward an edge she couldn’t articulate, and she spiraled.
Her back arched off the sofa. She pressed herself into his mouth, chasing relief, chasing completion, and he met her every inch of the way.