Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
The First Moan-el
Jasper
The dining room glows with candlelight and polished silverware.
Everything here is hushed elegance—from the soft clink of glasses to the gentle murmurs of other tables—but somehow, we’re making it our own.
Miranda’s eyes sparkle more with every sip of wine, and I swear I haven’t stopped smiling since we sat down.
“…and I just froze,” she says, eyes wide. “Like full statue mode. Clipboard in one hand, traumatised stare in the other. Stella’s lipstick was halfway down her neck and Callum—well, let’s just say his trousers were not where trousers should be.”
I nearly choke on a sip of wine. “In the office?”
“In the office,” she confirms grimly. “I was dropping off meeting notes. I backed out as quickly as I could.”
I snort. “Please tell me you brought it up in a team meeting.”
She levels me with a look. “Absolutely not. This stays between us. I mean it, Corbin… secrecy or death.”
I raise a hand solemnly. “I take my oaths seriously.”
She grins, taking another sip of her wine, and I let myself take her in for a moment—the way she laughs with her whole face, the curve of her cheekbone when she smirks, the slightly flustered little tug she gives the sleeve of her dress whenever she’s trying not to seem flirty.
She’s stunning. In that chaotic, grounded, utterly magnetic way she probably doesn’t even realise.
“Tell me more about your brothers,” she says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve mentioned them, but I don’t really know anything.”
I smile, leaning back slightly. “Well, there’s Geoff: oldest, photographer, moody, lives in a wool mill conversion in Highbury like he’s too artistic for walls that match. He’s the one who used to lock us in the airing cupboard when Mum wasn’t looking.”
She raises her brows. “Charming.”
“Oh, completely. He once convinced me that chocolate is made from bugs. I didn’t eat any for a year.”
She laughs. “And the other brother?”
“Theo. Middle child. He’s the nice one. Runs a coffee shop, amazing dad to Lucy, and somehow manages to look like he’s just stepped out of a wholesome Netflix romcom. Which to be fair is not too far from the truth because he found the love of his life recently.”
Miranda grins. “So basically, one evil genius, one cardigan-wearing saint, and you.”
I raise my glass. “The well-adjusted youngest.”
Miranda rests her chin lightly on her hand, eyes dancing across the candlelit table. “You don’t seem like the youngest,” she says. “Too… sorted.”
“Is that a compliment or an accusation?”
She considers it. “Bit of both.”
I chuckle, swirling the last of my wine. “And you? Only child?”
She shakes her head. “Older sister. Bossy. Took the lead in everything. Including giving me a fringe when we were nine.”
“Oof. Did it involve kitchen scissors and a false sense of confidence?”
“Obviously. I looked like a startled mushroom for six months.”
I grin. “I’d have liked to see that.”
She gives me a look. “You’d have laughed.”
“Only a little.”
She leans forward slightly, eyes catching the glow of the table lamp. “You’re very sure of yourself.”
I shrug. “I’ve had practice. Plus, I’m sitting across from a woman who admitted to watching gay porn and still somehow has the upper hand.”
She nearly chokes on her drink, laughing. “That was supposed to be forgotten.”
“Never. Etched into my soul.”
A beat passes, her laughter softening into a smile that lingers just long enough to shift something between us.
Then I glance up, catch the waiter’s eye, and say, “Shall we get the bill?”
We step out into the crisp night, the cold slipping beneath collars and brushing against flushed cheeks. The car park is quiet, save for the distant hum of tyres on wet tarmac and the faint rustle of trees in the breeze.
I lead her towards the car, the gravel crunching beneath our feet. She’s saying something—something about the dessert wine and how it always tastes like raisins mixed with soap—but I’ve lost the thread. Because suddenly, she’s looking at me in that way again.
Like she’s not entirely sure what’s happening. But she’s not stepping back either.
When we reach the car, I move to open the passenger door for her. But I don’t. Not right away.
Instead, I reach up, just enough to slide my hand behind her head.
She stills and I wait for a rejection that never comes.
Her gaze flicks to mine, searching. Then she tips her chin up just a fraction and that’s all the permission I need.
I lean in and kiss her.
Soft, careful. The kind of kiss you can still walk back from, if you need to. Testing the waters.
But she kisses me back. Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into my jacket as I step in closer, pressing her gently against the side of the car. I deepen the kiss, still slow, still measured, but with heat behind it now.
Her mouth opens beneath mine with a soft, unguarded sound. My hand’s still in her hair. The other finds her waist. I want to pull her closer. I want—
I break the kiss before I lose all good sense.
We’re both breathing hard. She blinks up at me, lips parted, dazed in the loveliest way.
“Hi,” I murmur, because it’s the only word that doesn’t feel absurd.
She huffs a laugh. “Hi.”
And just like that, the air changes again. Less charged. More… something else. Something promising.
I open the car door properly this time, and she slips in, eyes still on mine as she settles into the seat.
The drive back is quiet, but not awkward. There’s a buzz between us now, subtle but insistent, like the last chord of a song still hanging in the air. At a red light, I shift in my seat and glance at her.
Her hand is resting on her thigh—close, inviting. I reach over, palm up, and after the briefest hesitation, she slips her hand into mine. Our fingers thread together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
She doesn’t look at me, just smiles out the window, but I see it. The way her thumb brushes lightly against mine. The way she shifts a little closer in her seat.
And we stay like that, quietly connected, all the way home.
When I pull up in the drive, I kill the engine but don’t move from my seat. Neither does she.
She turns to me, lips parted like she might say something, but I lean in and kiss her again.
This one’s slower. Less urgency, more intention. Her hand comes up to rest lightly against my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my coat like she wants to anchor herself there.
When we part, I don’t move far. Just enough to speak against her lips. “I don’t want the evening to be over.”
Her eyes flick to mine, warm and a little breathless. “It doesn’t have to be.”
My heart does a quiet, smug little somersault.
“But…” she adds, teasing now, “if we go to mine, I have to share you with Twinklesocks.”
I grin. “She does love me. But let’s head to mine so I can give you my full attention.”
She nods, lips curving. “Lead the way.”
The moment the front door clicks shut behind us, Miranda’s lips are on mine, fierce and hungry.
There’s no preamble, no easing into it—just raw, urgent need.
Her hands are already in my hair, tugging gently as she presses against me, her body warm and insistent.
I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the soft curves of her frame against my chest. My fingers fumble with the zip, her skin brushing against mine, electric and alive.
“Fuck, I want this so much,” she murmurs between kisses, her breath hot on my lips.
Her voice is thick with desire. I don’t bother responding with words; instead, I deepen the kiss, my tongue tangling with hers, tasting the sweetness of her lipstick, the hint of wine from earlier.
Her hands slide down my back, nails scraping lightly over my shirt, and I shiver at the sensation.
We’re moving before I even realise it, stumbling toward the bedroom, clothes becoming an afterthought.
My jacket hits the floor first, followed by her dress, which pools around her ankles.
She steps out of it gracefully, her underwear a delicate lace that contrasts with the wildness of the moment.
I pause for a fraction of a second, taking in the sight of her—her blonde hair tousled, her cheeks pink, her eyes sparkling with want.
She’s breathtaking, and I’m acutely aware of how lucky I am to have her here, in my arms, in my house.
“Come on,” she whispers, tugging at my shirt, and I let her pull it over my head, tossing it aside without a second thought. Her fingers trace the muscles of my chest, and I feel a surge of pride at her touch, at the way her gaze lingers on me.
We’re kissing again as we reach the bedroom, the bed a welcome sight.
I push her gently backward until she’s lying on the mattress, her hair fanning out against the pillows.
I follow her down, my weight careful not to crush her, but I can’t resist the urge to hover above her, to feel the power of the moment.
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, and I groan into her mouth, my hands roaming over her body, mapping every curve, every dip.
“Jasper,” she sighs, her voice a plea, and I know exactly what she wants.
I trail kisses down her neck, her collarbone, my lips brushing against the lace of her bra.
She arches her back, pressing herself into me, and I take my time, teasing her, my fingers working the clasp of her bra until it gives way.
I pull it off slowly, tossing it aside, and her breasts are revealed, full and soft, her nipples already tight with anticipation.
“Someone is enjoying this,” I growl.
I take one in my mouth, sucking gently, and she gasps, her hands tangling in my hair.
“Fuck, Jasper,” she moans, her voice shaking, and I smile against her skin, the vibration sending a shiver through her.
I switch to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, my hands moving down her body, over her stomach, her hips.
She’s squirming beneath me, her legs tightening around me, and I can feel her heat through the thin fabric of her knickers.
“Tell me what you want,” I murmur, my lips brushing against hers, my breath hot and heavy.
“You,” she replies without hesitation. “I want you. Now.”
Her words send a jolt of desire through me, and I move quickly, pulling her knickers off in one swift motion.
“Look how wet you are for me,” I groan at the sight, at the scent of her, musky and sweet. I kiss my way down her body, my lips trailing over her stomach, her thighs, until I’m kneeling between her legs, her most intimate place inches from my face.
“Jasper,” she whispers, her voice trembling, and I look up at her, meeting her gaze.
There’s a vulnerability in her eyes, a trust that makes my heart swell.
I press a gentle kiss to her inner thigh, then another, moving closer, my breath ghosting over her sensitive skin.
She’s tense, anticipating my touch, and I take my time, teasing her, my tongue flicking lightly over her clit before I finally part her folds, tasting her, savouring her.
She cries out, her hands gripping the duvet, her body arching off the bed.
I hum against her, the vibration sending her over the edge, her walls clenching around my tongue as she comes, her voice a symphony of pleasure.
I stay with her, lapping at her gently, until she’s trembling, spent, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Your turn,” she says, her voice hoarse, and I chuckle, climbing back up her body, my lips brushing against hers.
“Not today, Princess, otherwise this will all be over way too quick.” I’m hard, so hard, my cock aching for her. I reach for the drawer beside the bed, pulling out a condom. She takes it from me, her fingers nimble as she rolls it on, her touch sending sparks of anticipation through me.
I position myself at her entrance, teasing her, my tip pressing against her, and she rocks her hips, urging me closer.
“Now,” she demands, and I thrust into her, slow and deep, filling her completely.
She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders, and I hold myself there for a moment, savouring the tightness of her, the warmth of her body enveloping my cock.
“Move,” she whispers, and I do, pulling out slowly before pushing back in, setting a steady rhythm.
She meets my thrusts, her hips rising to greet me, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
I’m lost in the sensation, in the way she feels around me, in the way her body moves with mine, in perfect harmony.
I moan deeply whenever I push into her, I can’t help it, it feels that good.
“Fuck me harder,” she pleads, and I oblige, my movements becoming more urgent, more desperate.
The bed creaks beneath us, the headboard knocking against the wall, but neither of us cares.
We’re consumed by the moment, by the raw, primal need that’s taken over.
Her fingers dig into my back, her legs wrapped tightly around my waist, and I can feel her walls fluttering around me.
“Come with me,” I call out, my voice rough, and she nods, her eyes locked on mine.
I thrust into her one last time, deep and hard, and she cries out, her body shaking as she comes, her release triggering my own.
I spill into the condom, my cock pulsing, my breath ragged as I collapse on top of her, shifting my weight careful not to crush her.
We lie there for a moment, our hearts pounding, our breaths slowly syncing. I pull out gently, disposing of the condom, before settling beside her, pulling her into my arms. She rests her head on my chest, her fingers tracing patterns on my skin, and I kiss the top of her head.
The fire eases into a steady warmth, wrapping around me as surely as she does. It isn’t frightening, not really. It’s exhilarating, the kind of pull I’ve never wanted to resist. I’m falling for her, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.