14. “LIKE A HURT, LOST, AND BLINDED FOOL, OH NO, I’VE SAID TOO MUCH” #2
Her body drove down on his, over and over, her slick heat gripping him so tight his vision hazed at the edges.
Breath sawed out of him in ragged grunts as her nails carved crescents into his flesh.
He could come right now, but he forced his release back, giving away his need to finish in favor of hers.
The couch groaned beneath them. Her shirt rucked at her waist. She was so close he wanted to get her there.
“Let me touch you,” he begged.
Her hands stiffened around his, her fingers lacing so tightly the blood cut off.
She hunted her orgasm with determined abandon, as if it would somehow affirm she hadn’t broken them. Greedy and single-minded, her jaw clenched, and she rode him faster.
Her eyes refused to meet his, and he wondered what she was afraid to see.
She laid him bare. A vessel for whatever she needed him to be.
His gaze once again sought hers, but she evaded him.
Her hair formed a wild halo around her flushed face, no makeup, no hiding. Her salt-streaked cheeks proved this was long past casual.
He fucking loved her. The ache had been clawing at his ribs for weeks. He was done denying it. Done minimizing the things she made him feel. Never before had he felt so intensely for another person, so certain that he’d destroy anyone or anything that tried to keep them apart.
He loved her. He loved the infuriating way she broke his balls, the unpredictable way she went about conducting her life, the glorious, unmanageable way she failed to tame all that hair. He even loved the way she so thoroughly disrupted a room.
She could torch his plans with a glance, quicken his blood with a single flick of those enchanting eyes. He loved her, and he was done fighting it.
He didn’t want to change her or contain her. He only wanted to be near her. To have the right to touch her, hold her, and take care of her, which was a big ask of a woman who prided herself on being as low-maintenance and independent as possible.
The truth settled into him like a weight he’d always carried. The familiarity of its presence confirmed his love had lived there, inside of him, even when she used to torment the hell out of him and drive him insane.
Once more, the words threatened to bolt out of his mouth. He bit his cheek, holding them back as his breath beat out of him.
Harder, faster, she rode him until the pleasure turned excruciating, and just when he thought he could take no more, when he thought he would explode from holding so much inside, her body clenched around his, and she arched back on a scream so intense it went silent.
He caught her in his arms, his body jerking upwards as every muscle bounced and flexed, his release spilling into her as her sex clenched and pulsed, milking him for every last drop.
Sound seemed to siphon out of the room as their eyes met in disordered flashes. A kaleidoscope of carnal tells flashed in a frenzied blur so intense it was as if they skipped time and briefly broke the matrix. Then the whoosh of their rapid breathing whispered back in.
Sweat soaked through their clothes. They clung to each other. Panting. Trembling. His heart stuttered out of rhythm as his muscles quaked under his skin.
He couldn’t hold himself back any more. Gathering her face in his hands, he kissed her tenderly.
A storm broke across her eyes as one unguarded, defenseless breath escaped her, and then he knew she felt it too. She loved him.
She folded against his chest, boneless and spent, her heartbeat slamming against his. Burying his face in her hair, he breathed her in, holding her tight, silently vowing to never let her go.
Soren collapsed into bed beside her. “That’s the first time I ever drank twelve-hundred-dollar champagne off a woman.” He flinched when Jocelyn slapped him in the back of the head.
“That better be the first time you ever drank champagne off a woman period!”
He laughed at how easily she now showed her jealous side. “It is. Don’t worry.”
It had been a week since their fight, and things were back to being near perfect. They never talked about their feelings, because her panic seemed to remind them just how fragile love was.
Sleeping with a friend always came with risk. But sleeping with a best friend could be life-altering.
Strange to admit that Jocelyn had in fact become his best friend, but there it was. He talked to her more than anyone else, and she knew him better than all his other friends and brothers combined.
“That really wasn’t a twelve-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne, was it?”
She’d selected the Armand de Brignac, the Ace of Spades.
Not because she had expensive tastes, but because he told her to pick whatever she wanted.
He didn’t mind, and he certainly wasn’t complaining, but knowing Jocelyn, she’d make herself sick over such a number, so he lied, “No, I was just kidding.”
She exhaled with relief. “Thank the gods.”
The cost didn’t matter to him. She mattered.
She was here. She was his. And she was worth every drop.
Being with Jocelyn was a little like being a goalie. When life moved fast, he had to keep an eye out for threats and bat them away before dangerous worries slipped past her defenses.
Mapping out her freckles that still lingered from summer, he kissed her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. His fingers lazily laced with hers, and he smiled at the jagged chips of polish covering the nails.
Jocelyn didn’t bother with manicures like other girls. She said it got in the way of her typing. She didn’t care about designer clothes, didn’t lose sleep over celebrity gossip, and would probably pick a one-of-a-kind vintage bag from a thrift shop over a Birkin any day.
Rolling to her back, she sighed. “I’m going to be a stressed-out maniac tomorrow, and it’s all your fault.”
When he dragged her to his house earlier, she put up a fuss, claiming she had words to write and a million things to do tonight to prepare for the baby shower this weekend.
He begged her to come over anyway, because he was selfish and never satisfied with just a little of Jocelyn.
He always wanted more. In the end, he convinced her that she needed to eat, but somehow, they opened a bottle of champagne instead and wound up pouring it all over each other and sipping it out of every crevice.
“You’re right. I take full blame,” he admitted, feigning contrition.
She scoffed. “You’re not even sorry. And, because you never fed me, I’m now too tipsy to get any work done.”
“How about I come over tomorrow and help you?”
She snorted. “That won’t work. You’re a big, fat distraction.”
“I’ll have you know I have less than twelve percent body fat.”
“What a flex.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re still a distraction…fat ass.”
He laughed. “Come on.” While she was on her back, he pinned down her arms and blew raspberries into her stomach until she squealed.
“Soren!”
He relented. “I promise not to be a hindrance. You’ve never seen me at work. I’m an unstoppable project manager. We can get everything done, and then you can thank me with one of your prize-winning blowjobs.”
“I love how you just assume I’m willing to prostitute myself for your lame company.”
“Are you not?”
She debated for a second. “Fine. Be there by six and be prepared to work. Sex doesn’t happen until everything gets done.”
The following day, Soren arrived at Jocelyn’s house by ten to six, unprepared for the amount of baby paraphernalia he walked in on.
Lifting a children’s book off the stack on the counter, he scanned the title. “What happened in here?”
“Put that back! I have a system, and those are already organized.”
He set the book back where he found it. “I see.”
He didn’t see. All he saw were piles and piles of craft supplies, wrapping paper, and baby shit everywhere.
“Did people drop their gifts off for you to wrap?”
“No, this is all mine. I need your finger.”
His brows shot up. “For?”
She grabbed his hand and shoved his index finger over the knot of a ribbon. “Keep it there.” She tied a bow over his knuckle, and waved him to pull it back. “Don’t go anywhere. I have like twenty more bows to make.”
“How many gifts did you buy them, Joce?”
“I might have gone a little overboard.” She wrapped another box with blue ribbon and pointed for him to place his finger on the knot. “This is the first baby, and Wren’s my best friend.”
Wren was one of Soren’s best friends too, and Grey was his brother, yet he’d only had Marie purchase a card and planned to drop a check inside. Maybe he should consider adding something else, or doubling the check.
His gaze returned to the stack of books. “You bought them a whole library.”
She used his finger until those little ribbon nooses started to pinch. “Well, everyone’s contributing to that. Didn’t you read the invitation? It said to bring a book to help build Baby Hawthorne’s first library.”
He nodded, making a mental note to text Marie and make sure she bought a book for the kid.
Things had been nonstop at work as they prepared for next week’s board vote. He spoke briefly to Logan and Greyson, reminding them how important their presence was at this meeting, but they still didn’t seem to comprehend the significance.
If they lost the vote, Hawthorne Fishery would survive. It would go on making money as it always had, but eventually those outdated ways would cost them. Maybe not in their lifetime, but in their children’s, and that was something that Greyson especially should care about.
“Okay.” Jocelyn turned in circles, reminding him of King when he couldn’t figure out where to lie. She blew a loose piece of hair out of her eyes. “What’s next?”