24. Jonah
JONAH
I’ve never seen numbers dance before, but the data on my screen has been moving like a perfect waltz for the past three hours.
Each column tells a story more compelling than any poem—wind velocity, barometric pressure, temperature gradients—all coming together to map that magnificent stovepipe tornado.
This might be the most complete dataset ever collected on a storm of this scale, and somehow I’m the one studying it.
Two weeks ago, I was a professor who’d never been closer to a tornado than my computer screen. Now I survived a direct hit, nearly lost Lila, found her again, and somehow gathered the exact data I spent my career trying to model. The universe has a strange sense of humor.
“You’ve got something special with her,” he told me, nodding toward Lila, who was checking Girthmaster for damage. “Don’t mess it up by overthinking it.”
Coming from Lucas, advice like that should’ve been easy to dismiss, but something in his expression stopped me. He knows me too well.
I shift in the stiff motel chair, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension from hours hunched over the laptop. My eyes burn, but I can’t stop. Every time fatigue creeps in, I picture that stovepipe formation, and the energy comes rushing back.
Max snores softly from the bed, curled protectively around Lila as she sleeps.
She hadn’t meant to pass out—we’d planned to celebrate the chase properly once we got back—but the crash hit her hard.
One minute she was describing the storm in detail, and the next she was out, her head tipped against the SUV window.
I didn’t have the heart to wake her when we arrived.
Instead, I carried her inside, carefully removed her shoes, and tucked her in.
She barely stirred, murmuring something unintelligible before burrowing deeper into the pillows.
Max immediately took up his position beside her, throwing me a look that clearly said “I’ve got this covered. ”
So here I am, analyzing data while the woman I’m in love with sleeps ten feet away. It feels strangely domestic, this quiet midnight work session with the soft soundtrack of her breathing.
I fire off a final email to Dr. Winters, attaching the preliminary findings.
Her response will likely come with the sunrise—she’s notorious for checking her email at 5 AM sharp—but I wanted to get this to her as quickly as possible.
The university has invested a lot in this research, and today’s dataset is exactly what we needed to justify their faith in me.
If this doesn’t get me the grant, no data will ever be enough to satisfy them.
I’m about to close my laptop when a warm arm slides around my neck from behind, and suddenly my lap is filled with soft curves and sleepy warmth as Lila slides into my space, her body fitting against mine with drowsy precision.
“You’re still working,” she murmurs, her voice husky with sleep. She rests her chin on my shoulder, her wild curls tickling my cheek as she peers at my screen. “It’s the middle of the night, Professor.”
“I know,” I admit, my hands automatically finding her waist to steady her. “I just couldn’t stop. This data is?—”
“Life-changing? Revolutionary? Better than sex?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say, feeling a smile tug at my lips. “But it’s pretty spectacular.”
“Mmm.” She nuzzles against my neck, and I feel her smile against my skin. “Better than Lucas’s commentary?”
“Definitely better than that.”
Her laugh vibrates against me, warm and intimate in the quiet motel room. Max lifts his head from the bed, watching us with sleepy interest before deciding we’re not doing anything worth interrupting his rest. He sighs dramatically and flops back down.
“How’s your shoulder?” I ask, my fingers instinctively moving to trace the outline of her sling.
“Sore,” she admits, “but worth it.” She shifts in my lap, wincing a little.
“You should get back into bed,” I tell her, running my fingers gently along her good arm. “You need rest.”
She looks up at me through those heavy-lidded eyes, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Only if you come with me,” she murmurs against my ear. “And with significantly less clothing on.”
My body responds immediately to her suggestion, heat pooling low in my stomach. “Lila, your shoulder?—”
“Is the only thing that needs to stay secured,” she interrupts, her good hand already working at the buttons of my shirt. “The rest of me is capable as you might remember.”
I hesitate, torn between desire and concern. “Are you sure?”
In response, she shifts in my lap, deliberately pressing against the evidence of how much I want her. “Very sure,” she whispers. “Besides, I believe I was promised a celebration.”
That breaks my resolve. I stand, lifting her carefully in my arms. She weighs almost nothing, her body fitting against mine like she was designed to be there. Max barely stirs as I carry her to the bed, depositing her gently on the mattress.
“You’re overdressed, Professor,” she teases, watching me with that knowing look.
I don’t need to be told twice. I tug my shirt over my head, letting it fall to the floor. Lila’s expression shifts as she watches, something heated settling in. She’s propped against the pillows, but there’s nothing fragile about her now.
“Better,” she adds, her tone low. “But I’m pretty sure I asked for significantly less clothing.”
I can’t help but smile as I reach for my belt. “You’re quite demanding tonight.”
“I almost died in a tornado, then watched you collect data on another one,” she points out, shifting on the bed. “I think I’ve earned the right to make demands.”
I work my belt free, then my pants, sliding them down my legs with more efficiency than grace. “Fair point.”
“Now come here,” she whispers, reaching for me with her good hand.
I move toward her, carefully settling beside her on the bed. Max has already relocated to the foot of the mattress, apparently unfazed by our activities. My fingers find the hem of her sleep shirt, gently lifting it.
“Let me help you with this,” I murmur. “Arms up—well, arm up.”
She laughs softly, raising her good arm while I work the fabric around her injured shoulder with painstaking care.
When the shirt finally comes free, revealing her bare skin inch by inch, my breath catches.
No matter how many times I see her like this, it feels like a privilege I haven’t earned.
She’s beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with conventional standards—all wild energy and unfiltered passion wrapped in soft curves and freckled skin.
“You’re staring again,” she whispers, her good hand reaching for me.
“I can’t help it.” I trace my fingers along her collarbone, down to the swell of her breast. “You’re extraordinary.”
She shivers under my touch, goosebumps rising on her skin. “Less talking, more touching,” she commands, though her voice has gone breathless.
I lower my mouth to her neck, tasting the salt of her skin as my hand cups her breast. She arches into my touch, a soft moan escaping her lips that sends heat straight through me. My thumb brushes across her nipple, feeling it tighten beneath my touch.
“God, Jonah,” she breathes, her fingers tangling in my hair.
I trail kisses down her throat, across her collarbone, taking my time as I move lower. When my mouth finally closes around her nipple, she gasps. I take my time, savoring her reactions as my tongue traces circles around the sensitive peak.
“Lower,” she commands, tugging at my hair. “I want your mouth on me.”
I look up, finding her watching me. “Demanding,” I murmur against her skin.
“You have no idea,” she replies.
I smirk up at her, letting my hands slide down her sides to her hips. “I think I’m getting a pretty good idea.”
Her breath hitches as I hook my fingers into the waistband of her sleep shorts, tugging them down over her curves. I move carefully to avoid jostling her injured shoulder, though from the look in her eyes, she couldn’t care less about pain right now.
“You’re moving too slow,” she complains, lifting her hips to help me.
“Patience is a virtue,” I remind her, deliberately taking my time as I slide the fabric down her legs.
“Not one of mine,” she retorts, and I can’t help but laugh.
The shorts join my clothes on the floor, and I take a moment to appreciate the sight of her nearly naked before me, wearing nothing but her underwear and that damn sling. Even with the bandages, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I press a kiss to her inner thigh, feeling the muscle tense beneath my lips. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” I admit, moving higher with each kiss.
“Less reminiscing, more action,” she says, but her voice has gone breathless, betraying her impatience.
I laugh against her skin, letting my breath warm her through the thin cotton of her underwear. “So demanding,” I murmur, hooking my fingers into the elastic and pulling them down her legs. The sight of her fully naked before me takes my breath away.
“Beautiful,” I whisper, unable to hold back my admiration.
“If you don’t put your mouth on me in the next five seconds, I swear I’ll?—”
Her threat melts into a gasp as I seal my mouth against her heat. Her good hand fists my hair, holding me captive, not that I have any intention of escaping. I’m consumed by her taste, her scent, the raw sounds she makes as my tongue delves into her folds, exploring every intimate crevice.
“Fuck, Jonah,” she breathes, her hips bucking against my mouth. “Right there.”
I slide my hands under her, grasping her ass to lift her higher, feasting on her like a man starved.
My tongue circles her clit, varying pressure and speed, responding to every gasp and moan.
I’ve studied her reactions, learned what makes her breath catch, what makes her fingers pull harder in my hair.
“God, don’t stop,” she moans, her thighs quivering around me. “Your mouth feels so fucking good.”