24. Jonah #2
I growl against her flesh, the vibration making her cry out. I slip one hand from beneath her, slowly pressing two fingers into her slick heat. She arches off the bed, a string of desperate pleas falling from her lips. “More,” she demands. “Give me more.”
I can feel her tightening around my fingers, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
I could make her come like this, but a primal need takes over.
I want to be buried inside her when she comes undone.
I want to feel her pulse around my cock, see the look on her face when pleasure claims her.
The thought alone sends a surge of heat through me.
I lift my mouth from her, but my fingers keep moving inside her tight warmth. Her eyes snap open, confusion and protest mingling in their depths.
“What are you?—”
“I want to be inside you when you come,” I say, my voice low. “I want to feel every second of it. I want to claim every single moan. “
Her breath catches. She stares at me like I’ve just rewritten the laws of physics.
“Jesus, Jonah,” she breathes. “Say that again.”
“Which part?” I murmur, letting my fingers curl deeper, watching her jaw go slack. “The part where I tell you how badly I want to feel you come apart around me? How I’ve been thinking about fucking you since you opened your pretty little eyes this morning?”
“All of it,” she manages. “All of it, and then get up here.”
I move up her body slowly, deliberately, holding her gaze. “I want to watch your face,” I tell her. “I want to hear every sound you make.”
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me in. “Then stop talking,” she whispers, “and give me something to make noise about.”
I reach between us, guiding myself to her entrance.
I push inside her slowly, watching her face as I fill her completely. She gasps, her good hand clutching my shoulder, nails digging into my skin. The sensation of being inside her is overwhelming—hot and tight and perfect—and for a moment I have to close my eyes to maintain control.
“You feel incredible,” I whisper, beginning to move in long, measured strokes.
She moans beneath me, her legs tightening around my waist to pull me deeper. “Harder,” she demands. “Give me more.”
I obey, driving into her faster, harder, being mindful of her injured shoulder but losing myself in the pace, in the rising rhythm between us.
Her hips lift to meet each thrust, her breath hitching with each impact.
Watching her like this—eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted, pleasure raw and real on her face—has me teetering on the brink of losing control.
But then, I want more. I want to see her above me, taking what she wants. I want to watch her chase her own pleasure.
“I want you on top,” I growl, slowing my movements just enough to speak. “I want to watch you ride me.”
Her eyes flutter open, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. “My shoulder?—”
“I’ve got you,” I promise, my voice low and steady. “I want to see you take control. Take what you need.”
A spark ignites in her eyes—desire mixed with determination. She nods, and I carefully withdraw, helping her shift positions. With one smooth motion, I roll onto my back and guide her on top of me, supporting her injured side as she straddles my hips.
“That’s it, baby,” I encourage, my hands gripping her thighs. “Show me how you like it.”
Her eyes lock with mine as she sinks down slowly, her body taking me in inch by inch. The sensation is almost too much—her warmth enveloping me completely as she settles fully onto my lap. I keep my hands steady at her waist, supporting her weight to protect her injured shoulder.
“You good?” I ask.
“Better than good,” she breathes, experimentally rolling her hips. The movement sends a jolt of pleasure through me that makes my fingers tighten around her waist.
Lila places her good hand flat against my chest for balance, and I cover it with mine, pressing her palm harder against my skin. She begins to move, finding a rhythm, and I let out a low groan that I don’t bother to swallow. “That’s it,” I say. “Just like that.”
Her wild curls fall forward as she rocks above me. I reach up and push them back so I can see her face. “Look at me,” I tell her. “I want to see you.”
Her eyes find mine. “Like what you see, Professor?”
“You have no idea.” My hands tighten at her hips. “Tell me what you want.”
“More,” she says. “Harder.”
I oblige, driving up to meet her, and she gasps. I reach between us, my thumb finding her center, and her rhythm stutters. “Oh, fuck—” Her head drops back. “Don’t stop. God, don’t stop.”
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, watching her face. “Come on. Let me feel you.”
“Jonah—”
“I know.” I press harder. “Give it to me.”
Her eyes flutter open, locking onto mine, and it’s like a lightning strike—raw, electric, and completely exposed.
There’s a hunger in her gaze, a need that mirrors my own, that has nothing to do with the friction of our bodies and everything to do with the desperate connection that’s grown between us, wild and uncontrollable as a storm.
“Jonah,” she gasps, my name on her lips like a secret, a plea. “I’m so close?—”
I can feel her tightening around me, her hips jerking erratically, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
My own release is a molten pool at the base of my spine, threatening to spill over, but I grit my teeth, holding it back.
I need to see her shatter first. Need to watch her face as she comes undone.
“Don’t hold back, baby,” I growl, circling my thumb faster, pressing harder. “Let me see you come. Let me hear you scream my name.” Her nails dig into my chest, her eyes wide and dark. “That’s it,” I coax, my voice rough. “Give it to me, Lila. Let go.”
She does. With a cry that she muffles against her own arm, she comes undone above me, her body shuddering as waves of pleasure wash over her.
The sight of her completely abandoned to ecstasy, combined with the exquisite sensation of her tightening around me is too much to resist. My control snaps, and I thrust upward, holding her steady as I follow her over the edge, my release hitting me with an intensity that makes me cry out her name.
For several moments, we stay frozen like this—her above me, both of us breathing hard, connected in the most intimate way possible.
Then, carefully, I help ease her down beside me, mindful of her injured shoulder.
She winces as she settles against the pillows, but the satisfied smile on her face tells me she has no regrets.
I pull the covers over us both, and she immediately curls against my side, her head finding that perfect spot on my chest as if it was designed specifically for her. Max, who had discreetly relocated to the floor during our activities, hops back onto the foot of the bed with a soft huff.
“Your dog’s a gentleman,” she murmurs against my skin, her voice growing fainter as sleep reclaims her.
“Our dog, and he’s figuring it out just like we are,” I agree, running my fingers through her tangled curls.
She goes quiet for a few minutes, so quiet that I wonder if she’s fallen back asleep.
“Jonah?”
“Yeah?” I respond.
“What happens tomorrow?”
The question hits me like a bucket of cold water. What happens tomorrow?
The weight of what she’s really asking hits me all at once. She thinks I’m leaving— now that I’ve gotten my data and completed my research, I’ll pack up and head back to my sterile lab and windowless office. Back to my old life.
I shift to look at her face, seeing the vulnerability there that she tries so hard to hide. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” She hesitates, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. “The grant. The research. You got what you came for. Clean data on a storm that gave you everything you needed.”
Understanding washes over me. Of course she’d think this was temporary—that I was just here for the research. Everyone else in her life has left or been taken from her. Why would I be any different?
“Lila,” I say softly, tilting her chin up so she has to meet my eyes. “Do you really think I’m going back to grading papers and faculty meetings after this? After you?”
“Your life is there,” she says simply. “Your career, your students, your everything.”
I can’t help but laugh, the sound surprising both of us.
“My life? My life was sitting in a lab staring at simulations while the real world happened outside my window. My life was faculty politics and grant applications and publishing papers that five people read. That’s not a life.
” I cup her face with my hand, needing her to understand.
“This—you, Max, the road, the storms—this is living.”
She watches me, her expression cautious but softening. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t want to go back to that existence. Not when I’ve found something real.” I trace my thumb along her cheekbone. “Not when I’ve found you.”
“You’d give up your tenure track position? Your lab? Everything you’ve worked for?” Disbelief colors her voice.
I consider this for a moment. The truth is, I’ve been thinking about it since that first tornado nearly killed us—how empty my life felt before, how alive I’ve been since meeting her.
“I wouldn’t be giving up anything worth keeping,” I tell her honestly.
“So you want to chase with me full time?” There’s a hint of a smile now, though she’s trying to hide it.
“Why not? I’ve already survived two direct hits. I think I’m getting pretty good at this storm chasing thing.”
She laughs then, the sound warming me from the inside out. “Marginally at best, but I’ll let it slide. You’re new to this.”
I pull her closer, careful of her shoulder. “So you’re saying I need more practice?”
“Years of it,” she murmurs, and there’s something in her voice that makes my heart skip. “Decades, even.”
The weight of what she’s implying settles between us. Not just tomorrow or next week, but years. A future together that stretches beyond this motel room, beyond this chase. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
“I think I can handle that,” I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She’s quiet for a long moment, her breathing steady against my chest. Just when I think she might have drifted off to sleep again, she speaks.
“I’m scared, Jonah.”
The admission, so quietly spoken, catches me off guard.
“Of what?” I ask, though I think I already know.
“Of this. Us.” Her good hand presses against my chest, right over my heart. “Of wanting something I could lose.”
I reach for her hand, gently twining our fingers together. “You’ve spent your whole life chasing things you can’t control, Lila. Storms that form and dissipate on their own terms. Your father taught you to respect that power, but he also taught you to keep following it, right?”
She nods against my chest, her wild curls tickling my skin.
“Maybe it’s time to chase something different,” I continue, my voice soft in the darkness of our motel room. “Something that wants to be caught. Something that’s chasing you right back.”
A small, vulnerable laugh escapes her. “That’s cheesy as hell, Professor.”
“I can’t promise that nothing bad will ever happen. That’s not how life works, especially not for storm chasers.”
She gives a small, watery laugh against my chest. “Not exactly the reassurance I was looking for.”
“Let me finish,” I say, running my fingers through her wild curls. “I can’t promise we won’t face disasters—natural or otherwise. But I can promise that I choose this. I choose you. Not just today or tomorrow, but for as long as you’ll have me.”
Lila shifts, looking up at me. “That’s a pretty big promise, Professor.”
“I’m aware of the statistical implications,” I say with mock seriousness that makes her smile. “I’ve run the numbers. The probability of me wanting to be anywhere else but with you is effectively zero.”
“Did you just turn my emotional vulnerability into a math problem?” she asks, but she’s fighting a smile now.
“It’s what I do. I quantify the unquantifiable.” I trace the line of her jaw with my thumb. “And you, Delilah Brooks, are everything that can’t be measured with instruments or explained with equations. And I love you for it.”
For a moment, she just stares at me. Then something shifts in her expression, like clouds parting after a storm.
“I love you too,” she whispers, the words barely audible but unmistakable. “God help me, I do.”
I pull her closer, careful of her injured shoulder, and press my lips to hers. This kiss is different from our others—not desperate or hungry, but something deeper. A promise. When we finally break apart, she settles against my chest again, her breathing gradually slowing as sleep reclaims her.
I lie awake for a while longer, listening to the soft rhythm of her breath and the occasional snuffling snore from Max at the foot of the bed. The data on my laptop waits to be analyzed, but for once, I’m content to let it wait until morning.
For the first time in my life, I’ve found something more fascinating than atmospheric science. Something more unpredictable than any storm system I’ve ever studied.
I’ve found Lila.
And I’m never letting her go.