Chapter 3
ELLIE
Crazy, crazy, crazy.
Everything about this is crazy. I don’t do this.
I don’t make out with random strangers only a few minutes after meeting them.
I don’t hook up with guys in bar bathrooms. I’m someone’s mother, for God’s sake.
My typical Friday night usually consists of sweat pants, the latest Pixar movie with my kid, and falling asleep on the couch minutes after tucking him in for the night.
But here I am, clad only in jeans and a skimpy, damp camisole, sitting on a sink, a muscled, hot-as-sin man standing between my thighs, his hands gripping my face while I kiss the daylights out of him.
The weirdest part? It might just be the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. Kissing Jonah isn’t like any other kiss I’ve ever had in my life. I feel like I could do this forever.
Then his hand moves up from my hip to my breast and I let out a low whimper. Maybe kissing forever isn’t what I want after all. Maybe what I really want is more. More of his hands, more of the rough, commanding way he touches me, more of the husky groan vibrating from the back of his throat.
He gently squeezes my breast and I think I might die. I want to touch him, too. I want to see what all those muscles feel like without the barrier of cotton between us.
And since tonight seems to be about making the most un-Ellie-like decisions possible, I grip the hem of his t-shirt and pull it over his head.
The grin he gives me is both boyish and wicked, and I feel myself melt a little. This man could be very dangerous. When he smiles at me like that, I want to fall to my knees and do every single thing he tells me to.
That instinct should probably scare me. I spent the last five years trying to escape from a man who insisted on total obedience. Kevin would have been happy to keep me helpless on my knees twenty-four hours straight.
So why do I feel so safe with Jonah, a man I barely know? Why do I feel so willing to hand myself over to him, to let him make the decisions about where this night goes? Am I really that stupid? Or is my body picking up on some signal that I’m safe with him?
I have no idea. But I’ve spent so long overthinking every decision, every tiny little action.
It was the only way to survive in the hell of that house.
Tonight, I don’t want to think. I just want to feel.
I just want to experience something. Something different and raw and real.
And I want to do that with the man in front of me.
The now-shirtless man in front of me. Holy hell, that shirt did not do him justice. I didn’t know men could even look like this in real life. How is this Greek god here in Solitude, North Carolina? Shouldn’t he be staring in some Marvel action movie or something?
“Like what you see?” he asks, a smirk playing about his lips. I shouldn’t like that, either. I should totally be turned off by his cockiness. But I’m not. Because if the way he kissed me earlier was any indication, any arrogance on his part is well-earned.
“Stop bragging and kiss me again.”
“Nope. Not until we get this off of you.” His fingers reach for the hem of my camisole. “Poor thing,” he coos as he slowly slides the fabric up over my stomach. “I bet you’re uncomfortable like this, all wet and cold. Let’s take care of that, hmm?”
His gentle tease cuts off when he pulls the shirt up to my chest. I’m not the most endowed girl on the planet, and this camisole has a built-in shelf bra, which is enough to support my not-too-impressive rack, so I’m not wearing anything else.
When Jonah sees me braless and bare in front of him, his entire body seems to freeze. Then he lets out a low curse.
For a moment, fear grips me. What if he doesn’t like what he sees? What if I’m too small or—
“You’re going to kill me,” he groans, still staring. “I swear to God, Ellie, you’re going to kill me.”
“I—oh!”
His mouth comes down to cover my nipple and I cry out, the sensation so unexpected and overwhelming that white sparks dance in front of my eyes.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he growls against my skin before running his tongue around the hardened peak.
He wraps his fingers around my breast, lifting it while he squeezes, using more force now, and God, the sight of his huge hand completely covering me makes my stomach swoop.
All the while his tongue laps at my nipple, so hot and wet and good.
When he wraps his lips around it and sucks, my hips come up off the sink, my startled cry echoing around the bathroom.
“Gonna need to hear that noise about twenty more times,” he mutters against my skin, more to himself than to me. “God damn.”
I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out as he goes back to worshipping my breasts.
His movements are hurried, almost desperate, his touch much rougher than I would have thought I’d like.
It feels like he can’t get enough of my body, my reactions, like this is doing as much for him as it is for me.
My eyes are glued to his face, to the erotic sight of his mouth sucking and licking at me, and every once in a while, his gaze will dart up to meet mine.
The dark fire in his eyes steals all the breath from my body.
“Jonah,” I whimper. “Please. I want…I need…”
“What do you need, sweet girl?” he pants. “Tell me.”
But I don’t have words. I don’t even know. All I know is that the pressure building low in my center is unbearable. There’s an ache between my legs and fire pumping through my veins and I just need something.
“More,” I finally gasp out as he scrapes his teeth over my hardened nipple. “I need more, Jonah.”
He releases my nipple, making me want to whimper in protest, but then his mouth is taking mine again, his tongue plunging deep to swipe against mine.
Just as my head starts to spin from lack of oxygen, one of his big hands comes down to cup me over my jeans, right between my legs.
I cry out into his mouth, my hips jerking up, desperate for more friction.
“Are you aching here, darlin’?” he murmurs against my lips. “You are, aren’t you? This sweet little pussy feels so hot, even through your clothes.”
I gasp, shock ricocheting through me—shock at his dirty talk but, even more than that, shock at how much I like hearing it. I feel the corners of his mouth tilt up as he presses a hot kiss to the skin below my jaw and I wonder if he can tell how his words are affecting me.
“You need my help, sweetheart?” he asks in that same low, dangerous purr that has liquid heat gathering in my core. “You need me to help you feel better?”
“Please, Jonah.”
“Such a good girl, saying please.”
I shouldn’t like that as much as I do—I’m a grown-ass woman, not a good girl.
But there’s something about the heat in Jonah’s voice when he says it, the pleasure I can hear in his tone, like nothing could make him happier than me being good for him.
And for some reason, I find I want to make him happy. Very, very much.
“Jonah,” I beg, then gasp when I feel the button of my jeans unsnapping.
A moment later he has the zipper down, and then his hand is slipping under the denim.
His movements are sure, confident, like he knows exactly what he wants and is determined to get it.
The idea that I’m what he wants makes me feel weak in the knees.
Then his fingers move over the lace panel of my underwear and we both let out needy sounds, his groan mixing with my whimper. “You’re so fucking wet,” he growls. “I can feel you through your panties.”
“I want…I need…Jonah, please.” I’m basically incoherent at this point, and he hasn’t even touched my skin yet.
“Shh,” he soothes. “I know just what you need. Relax and let me make you feel good.”
He wraps an arm around me, pulling my ass closer to the edge of the sink, and it’s a good thing he’s there to anchor me, because I nearly melt into a boneless puddle at the rough rasp of those words.
And then his fingers are pushing the lace aside to brush directly against my hot, wet flesh and I nearly come right then.
“Fuck, Ellie. You feel amazing.” He slides the pad of one finger around my clit and I have to grab onto his arm to keep from sliding off the sink. “Jesus, you’re so wet. I can hear you.”
I can hear me, too, the slick slide of his fingers over me.
I’m so drenched for him I’m almost embarrassed—I can quite confidently say I’ve never been this aroused in my entire life.
But it feels too good to care very much.
And from the low growl he emits I get the feeling he’s not displeased by the obvious sign of my desire.
“Need to feel you from the inside,” he grunts. “Is that okay with you, darlin’? You want me to put my finger inside your sweet little pussy?”
Holy shit. I’ve never given much thought to dirty talk.
My ex certainly didn’t talk like this—sex with him was route and robotic, something that I did in a vain attempt to keep him happy.
He certainly never tried to make sure I enjoyed it.
He barely spoke to me during, too preoccupied with his own release.
I close my eyes, hating that I’m even thinking of him right now. “Kiss me, Jonah, please,” I beg, desperate to fall back into the mindless bliss I’d been feeling a moment ago.
“Not so fast. I asked you a question.” I blink at him, mind hazy and confused, and he gives me one of those little smirks. “Do you want me inside your wet cunt? You want my finger pushing deep, making you feel good?”
“Yes,” I blurt, even as my entire body seems to flush with his filthy words. I can’t believe he just said the c word. I can’t believe I liked it.
Maybe it’s just Jonah. Maybe I’d like anything he wanted to do to me. The very thought has my legs spreading wider, eager for more, and he chuckles.
“That’s a good girl. Let me in.”