Chapter 43
forty-three
JONATHAN
Jonathan had come to understand that his anger over Mags’ connection with Rory came from a far less comfortable place than he’d first assumed.
It wasn’t about trusting her—he did. Completely. Mags had never been careless with people’s feelings, never disloyal, never anything less than steady and sure in who she was.
It had everything to do with him. He felt inadequate. He had been disloyal to Mags for years. Jonathan couldn’t believe she wouldn’t regret giving him a chance because the truth was, he didn’t deserve it.
His bad behavior stemmed from fear.
After sitting up all night in the quiet of his living room, contemplating his shit behavior, reliving a montage of his worst moments, he had come to a conclusion. He wouldn’t let last night dictate their future. He would apologize, grovel, whatever it would take.
With that in mind, he walked to his bedroom, stripped last night’s clothes from his body, showered, and dressed as quickly as possible, and drove to Eze’s flat.
Jol, the housekeeper, answered the early morning bell. He might have felt bad about the hour, but he knew from staying over that Eze was an early riser.
Mags, on the other hand, would have her head burrowed under a mound of pillows to keep even a hint of light from penetrating her lids.
Jol allowed him to come in, giving him a brief frown when she left him in the kitchen while she went to get the man of the house.
As expected, Eze was dressed and carrying a briefcase, clearly about to leave for the university, with Nasir walking several paces behind his employer before quietly taking up space against a wall where he could face Jonathan.
It looked like Jol wasn’t the only person in the household annoyed with Jonathan, if Nasir’s scowl was any indication. Undoubtedly, Mags had thoroughly won over the Nigerian security guard.
“What brings you, Jonathan?” Eze asked.
Jonathan took a fortifying breath before answering. “I would like to speak to Mags.”
Eze’s expression didn’t change, only raising one brow in question as he accepted a cup of tea from Jol.
He forced himself to continue even though Eze was not happy. “Mags and I had a bit of a misunderstanding last night, and I would like to rectify that.”
“You and Margaret are both quite articulate in expressing yourselves. A misunderstanding?” Eze’s deep voice held a hint of disbelief.
Nosey asshole.
“I fucked up and want to apologize,” Jonathan growled back.
“I see. She’s in her room. Abeo will drive me this morning. Nasir will wait to take Margaret to work.” With that, Mags’ friend set his tea down and left.
Without hesitation, Jonathan headed to Mags’ room. Before he could round the corner to the hallway where the bedrooms lay, Nasir said in his stiff, condescending way, “Miss Morrow’s eyes were red-rimmed last night.”
Jonathan barely kept himself from flinching. Eze’s and Nasir’s disapproval made his nerves jangling worse than ever, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t turning around. He wasn’t backing down.
His father had fought for his mother. Jonathan would do the same for Mags.
He didn’t bother knocking. He knew she’d still be asleep—and if he was being honest, there was a good chance she wouldn’t let him in if he gave her the choice.
Still, the moment he stepped inside and saw her, something in his chest eased.
Mags was curled into the bed like it was a nest, tangled in no fewer than ten pillows, with two fluffy ones framing her head like bookends. Her hair was a complete mess, strands sticking out in every direction.
A smile broke through his nerves before he could stop it.
God, he loved her.
He crossed the room quietly and sat on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle her too much. Reaching out, he tugged the top pillow out from under her head in one quick motion—like ripping off a Band-Aid.
At least, that was the hope.
“Why?” she croaked.
Her sleep roughened voice made him smile. “Mags. It’s me.” He knew the instant her sleepy brain realized who was sitting on her bed when her body stilled and stiffened.
Mags knocked off the rest of the pillows and blanket wrapped about her head and upper body, sitting up slowly and turning to face him.
She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she shifted back, putting space between them until her shoulders met the headboard. Her arms crossed over her chest, a clear barrier, even as the movement subtly changed the line of her body beneath the soft fabric of her sleep tank.
Jonathan noticed.
Of course he did.
And just as quickly, he forced his gaze upward, locking onto her face instead.
Jonathan cleared his throat and shifted nervously on the mattress. There was nothing for it but to start.
Her feet were the closest part of her to him, so he wrapped one hand around her foot, needing to be touching her, connected in any way he could.
“I spent the night reflecting on my reaction to meeting Rory—well, I already knew him,” he corrected, “but not as the man who…that you… had a relationship with.
“He wasn’t a one-night stand, Mags, and even though you said you never loved him, there had to be some feelings on your side. That is the realization that came to me when he was professing his feelings towards you.
“I felt like I’d been stabbed, robbed of something essential. I wish I’d been your first,” he moved up the bed so he could cup her cheeks and look directly in her eyes, “for everything. Everything! And I fucked that up. I wasn’t there, and you gave your firsts to him.
“I lost it. My brain, my fucking common sense, abandoned me. There is no excuse. I did this to us. I don’t have the right to feel hurt or wounded or whatever,” he waved his hand in front of his face, “but I am. I was.”
“Not anymore?” she asked softly, the first time she’d spoken since he’d started.
“I am.” He exhaled heavily, relieved to admit that. “I also know I love you, and you love me. You’re committed to me, and no one is more loyal than you, Margaret Morrow.
“I was up all night regretting my part in hurting you—regretting a whole shitload of things really. The truth is, Rory’s been the better man to you for a long time. I panicked when I realized you had every right to pick him over me.”
When she looked like she would argue, he quickly added, “But then I remembered you love me. You already chose me, and I acted like an ass for no reason.
“Tell me that we can put it behind us, and I’ll promise to never…well, maybe not never, but I promise to try not to get jealous. No,” he shook his head, “that’s not right either. I promise that when I do get jealous, I’ll try not to let it show.”
Mags snorted in amusement and used her knee to bat his side.
“That promise got weaker by the second,” she grinned, “but I accept your apology because I love you even when you’re an ass.
Before you start patting yourself on the back for your half-assed apology, you need to know that I will be contacting Rory and apologizing.
Not just for last night but for not contacting him sooner and telling him that he and I are finished. ”
He felt the ugly burn of jealousy wash over him. So much for turning over a new leaf. “We’ll go together.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’m the one who needs to apologize.” He didn’t mention to Mags that he was still thinking of making Rory’s firm uneasy for a while—after all, friendly competition was fair game.
All she said was, “O’Faolains—can’t live with them, can’t live without them.”
Jonathan kneeled on the mattress, and before his intentions registered, he grasped her hips and yanked her toward him until she was flat on her back with him between her legs.
“How about I remind you why you want to live with me?” he asked, while simultaneously reaching for her tank and panty set. His left hand dragged her tank over her head while his right pulled her panties below her knees.
“Look at you, baby, so pretty and all mine.” Seeing her bare breasts and sex had every part of his body hardening. He stood on the bed, his clothes joining hers on the floor in under five seconds.
Jonathan stood long enough to take in Mags’ beautiful body sprawled below him. He let out a low breath as the morning light spilled across the rumpled sheets and over her skin. For a moment, he simply looked at her, so thankful that she’d forgiven him.
Margaret Morrow was a siren.
Not just for the obvious reasons, the curve of her waist, the sleepy warmth in her eyes, or the way her hair fanned across the pillow, but also the quiet familiarity of her. The way she watched him was like she already knew every thought crossing his mind.
He loved having her eyes on him. As she took in his physique, her teeth snagged her bottom lip. She followed his hand intently as he brushed over his abs to firmly grasp his erection, slowly stroking his length.
As her eyes traced him, her fingers began to lightly touch and swirl over her collarbones and between her breasts. It was his turn to be fascinated.
He kneeled between her spread thighs, his thumbs tracing slow circles along her hips, his sex desperate to sink into her body.
“See?” he murmured, voice rough with lust and love. “You’re already reconsidering that whole can’t live with them idea.”
Mags huffed a quiet, breathless laugh and sat up, her hands sliding up his arms until they rested around his shoulders. “You’re ridiculously confident for someone who just broke into his girlfriend’s flat before coffee. Very cocky, Mr. O’Faolain.”
Jonathan leaned down, brushing his nose against hers.
He led one of her hands to his aching erection, moaning when she stroked him base to tip. Very, very cocky,” he hissed.
Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging just enough to make his chest tighten. The teasing spark in her eyes softened into something warmer, deeper—the look she only gave him after all the joking fell away.
“Jonathan,” she said quietly.
The way she said his name did things to him. Always had.
His hand moved to her cheek, thumb stroking along her jaw before he kissed her—slow at first, unhurried, like the morning belonged only to them. The kiss deepened naturally, the kind that came from knowing someone completely. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
They were new and insatiable, but with their history, there was also comfortable familiarity and trust. And love.
Mags arched slightly against his chest, brushing her tight nipples over his skin. “Are you ready for me?” Jonathan asked before watching two of his fingers disappear inside her body, moaning as she moaned.
“You’re wet, baby. I bet I can make you come all over my fingers. Should I try, Mags?” He asked, groaning as her hips started meeting his strokes faster and faster.
“Don’t. Stop. Jon!” she screamed as her body bucked and pulsed, squeezed. He watched, amused, as she sighed in contentment and fell back on the mattress, groaning louder when his fingers slid out.
“It’s not naptime yet, baby,” Jonathan chuckled, bending over her lax body to kiss and bite at her neck, earning more satisfied sighs.
“You still with me?” he asked softly.
Her answering smile was lazy and certain.
“Always.”
That was all he needed.
Jonathan gathered her closer, kissing her again as the quiet morning wrapped around them—the soft rustle of sheets, her laughter mixing with his, the sunlight creeping higher across the bed.
“Mmm,” she whimpered as the kiss became more demanding, his length sliding insistently between her wet folds.
She turned her head to break the kiss, panting and demanded, “Roll us over, Jon. I think you’ve been in control long enough.”
“Say no more.” Burrowing his hands beneath her body, he fisted her ass tight and rolled. Her squeal of delight made him chuckle.
Once she was situated over his lap, her hot center driving him crazy as she shifted her hips up and down, enough to tease, she announced, “We’re calling in sick today. I’m decreeing it.” She raised her fists in the air and whooped in excitement, driving her further against his sex.
Grasping her hips to keep her still, he growled, “I’ll call in sick for a week, baby, but for the love of God, let me in your body already. You’re killing me.”
She leaned down and placed a quick kiss on his lips, his neck, then his chest, flicking her tongue over his nipples.
“Mags,” he groaned, running his fingers through her hair until he gripped a bunch of strands, trying to move her mouth back to his lips, but she shook him off.
Jonathan felt his abdominal muscles ripple and tense as she kept the brush of her lips moving ever south over the ridges and planes of his stomach.
“You have a stunning body, Jon,” she hummed against his V-line, swiping her tongue closer and closer to his sex, the head already rubbing her cheek.
“Mags, Christ, please,” he begged.
Jonathan was so turned on that by the time her hot mouth closed around his length, he was a gasping fool.
His hand hovered above the back of her hand, wanting desperately to take control, but if he did that, the moment would be over before it’d barely begun, and this wasn’t ending until he was deep inside her body.
“That’s it, baby. Your mouth is heaven.”
Minutes later, Jonathan was pulling Mags up his body, rolling them once more. He couldn’t wait another moment before sliding home.
He pushed fully into her heat in one thrust, taking her mouth at the same time to swallow her scream.
He grinned against her lips, wondering how many times he could make her come during their vacation day.
“You have the best ideas, Mags,” he panted as he pulled out as far as he could without leaving her warmth completely.
Mags gasped at his slow, friction-building in-and-out glide. “Christ, baby, you feel so good, it drives me insane.”
Her gasps and groans punctuated the list she was reciting. “Sex. Coffee. Sex. Lunch. Sex. Shower. Sex. Work from bed. Sex. Dinner. Sex. Shower. Sleep. Morning sex.”
“I love how your mind works.”