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"Stood up too fast," he says cheerily, hugging me to him tightly.
"You think?" I ask dryly.
"I know,” he says, the sarcasm not registering, or he just ignores it. “The blood rushed out of my brain too fast. I normally come out of them slowly."
"Then why did you get up so fast? You scared me!"
He gives me a duh look. "Because you asked me to."
"I didn't want you to pass out. I just wanted to talk to your face instead of your butt."
He drops his head to the floor. His hands are making slow strokes up and down my back. I don't even think he realizes he's doing it.
"I find myself quite...reactive to you, Janey,” he says, staring blankly up at the ceiling.
"What does that mean? Reactive how?"
"When you ask me to do something, I'm doing it before I think about it. It is quite unlike me. I like to think and plan, but around you, that does not happen. It is very strange."
Strange that when I ask him to do something, he does it without thought. Yeah, strange is one word. Another might be...incredible. Scary's another good word.
"Jonas," I ask, propping myself up on his chest. His arms loosen, but don't fall away. "Can I ask...about the touching?"
He freezes, eyes darting between mine. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to —“
"No! No, I'm not upset. I just...at work, you don't seem to enjoy being touched. I guess I'm just a little surprised at how...affectionate you are."
He relaxes, and his hands start that slow up and down stroke. "I don't like random touches by strangers. They bother me."
"Bother you how?"
He wrinkles up his face. "They are just...too much."
I bite my lip, rolling his words around in my mind. "I'm sorry, I don't really understand. What do you mean by too much?"
He does a sit up, and somehow slides me right into his lap, cradling me like a child. The speed and strength it takes to do that is impressive. I stare at the material of his black hoodie, wondering what he might look like out of it. A man with that kind of strength, can be a sexy thing, or a scary thing, depending on the man.
On Jonas, it's a very sexy thing.
I'm not a fool. I always saw Jonas as an attractive man. But I didn't let myself think of him that way very much. It's like a pauper falling in love with a prince. It's heartbreak city, and I wanted no part of it. So I downloaded that dating app, and instead met a man who decimated me. I would have been better off letting myself fall for Jonas, even if he never returned my affection.
"I feel everything. I hear everything," he says, rocking side to side. I don't even think he realizes it, and I don't know if the gentle movement is for me or for him. Either way, I find it hard to stay tense in his arms. It's just too soothing. "I spend my day trying to filter out all the extra stuff so I can function. For me, an inadvertent touch from a stranger feels like a slap. Too many of those in a day, and I'm overloaded."
"But you're touching me. A lot." I point out. He gives me that duh look again, which, honestly, is growing on me. Maybe because I'm used to people putting on a mask, then dropping it when it doesn't suit them. Jonas isn't worried about saying the wrong thing, or doing the wrong thing. Well, maybe he is, but he also is letting me see the real him.
The real him is enticing.
"You are not a stranger. You are my Janey," he says, like it should be the most obvious thing in the world.
I rest my hand on his chest, right over his heart, and his eyes roll down to stare at it. "So this is ok? It doesn't feel like a slap?"
His eyes swing to mine, and the heat radiating from them stops the breath in my chest. "It feels like your hand is wrapped around my cock."
I make a weird gurgle in my throat and freeze. That word coming out of Jonas's mouth just hits me right in the clit. Who knew he was so damn hot?
The ding of a cell, then another, rings from the kitchen, and Jonas breaks my gaze. He takes a deep breath and stares hard at the wall before carefully moving me off his lap. He rises to his feet, then tucks his hands under my arms and lifts me straight up.
"They're waiting for us. They're all upstairs."
