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“Not yet,” he says. “Not yet, beautiful. You can last a little longer.” He crooks his finger just right, and my legs shake. Too good. Too fucking good. It’s never been like this before. Eric was acceptable in bed, nothing more. Sometimes I had an orgasm, and sometimes I didn’t. Part of that was my own damn fault, for being too self-conscious to let go. But with Jonah, there’s no space for thoughts. And if even a shred of embarrassment could leak through my desire-fogged brain, his sounds of enjoyment would eliminate it.
“Give me more,” he demands, his breaths ragged. “I’m close. I’m so close just from the way you feel.”
He’s ruthless now, his finger pumping into me, his tongue swirling over my clit. His body is shuddering, and I want him to touch himself. I don’t want to be alone in this. I want him to press a hand to the erection under his shorts and—yes. He palms himself and his hips buck into his hand.
“Fuck,” he mutters, gasping a breath against me. One more pass of his hand, one more clench of that veined forearm, before he groans low in his throat, and squeezes his eyes shut. His shoulders shake. There’s a damp spot on the front of his shorts. Holy shit. He came from just a few passes of his hand and the way I taste.
Why is that so hot?
And then he sucks on my clit, hard enough that my hips jerk and an orgasm tears through me. It’s enough to make my spine bow, and my eyes fall shut as the pleasure spreads through me like lightning, then like honey. I open my eyes to see Jonah watching me, beautiful and brutal. His lips are parted and swollen. His cheekbones are red.
“Oh, Callie,” he breathes. “Look at you.”
My eyes fly wide at his use of my first name.
He freezes. The moment stretches between us. Beautiful. Oh, Callie.
I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. Jonah shoves back from me and rises to his feet. He douses the fire in his eyes. His cold mask snaps back into place.
“Jonah.” I don’t want it to end. Not like this. But I’m not brave enough to admit it.
I want more of his raw honesty. I want to give him pleasure too. I didn’t even get to touch him.
He looks horrified. And somehow, I think the sex was not the reason, but the use of my name. Like it broke down some final barrier and he hates himself.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” he says shortly. His lips are still damp from going down on me, and I expect him to wipe his arm on his sleeve, like Eric always did, but instead he licks them, and an expression of pure satisfaction crosses his face. “We definitely shouldn’t have done that,” he repeats.
“Why? Why does it matter so much?” My pulse is thudding in my chest as I adjust my leggings. I need to know his answer. Is he going to walk away? Am I a fool for getting involved with him? I’m terrified that the answer is yes.
“Why?” He sounds incredulous. “I don’t know, let me count the reasons. I’m your boss. You hate me. I don’t trust you.”
The words are a knock-out punch. “I thought—I don’t know. I thought we might be working on that.” My voice comes out faint. I thought you were forgiving me. I thought we might be friends.
He shuts his eyes briefly, one of the only signs of weakness I’ve ever seen him permit himself. “It doesn’t matter. We are not friends.” He shakes his head, as if to clear his thoughts. “We have chemistry. We got it out of our systems.” He’s so clinical about it, and I want to shake him. I want to get in his face and yell. Desire. This feels like more than desire. This was more than desire when you begged me. Asshole.
Why do I feel hurt by this? He’s right. I know he’s right, and yet, I feel adrift. And that feeling, more than anything, is what spurs me to say, “Why are you so eager to compartmentalize this? Unless—” I cock my head. “You want more.”
“I do not.”
“Okay, Jonah.” I shrug, but my heart is thudding and my skin is hot.
“Don’t okay, Jonah me,” he growls. “This is how it needs to be. I’m your boss.” He rounds on me, eyes flashing. “We hate each other, remember? I’m not a nice person.” He says the last like he’s trying to convince himself. Why is that even relevant?
“You can be a nice person.”
“Stop.” He sighs. “I’m not like you. Stop trying to lump me in with you.”
Anger flashes through me. I step toward him. “You were the one who wanted this.” I poke him in the chest.
“Are you mad at me? Thompson, this is ridiculous.” He pushes my hand away and grabs his sweatshirt from the floor. His movements are sharp and jerky.
“Of course I’m mad. You gave me the best orgasm of my life and five seconds later, you’re eager to put this all behind you.” Oops. I didn’t want him to know that.
He skates right by that one, shaking his head and stabbing his arms into his sweatshirt. “I just want to be clear where we stand.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Oh, believe me. It’s clear. You’re still on top. Don’t worry, boss. Do you want me to call you Mr. Crown again?” The distance between us is wider than ever before. It’s a pit yawning between us, filled with spikes.
“Don’t be like this,” he hisses. “This is the only way it can be.” His jaw is tight and his lips are a thin line as he steps back. Little does he know, telling a woman don’t be like this is a surefire way to get his eyes clawed out.
