Jonas shifts up to tongue my clit and pushes two fingers into me, unerringly finding my G-spot. Instantly, I’m melting even as pleasure surges higher. “Fuck, that feels good.” Too good. It’s coming on too fast, but I can’t stop, I don’t want to stop, I never want to stop. I orgasm hard enough to bow my back and cry out far too loud. If we weren’t alone in the house, we’d be caught for certain.
I’m not done, though.
I pull him up my body, and he doesn’t fight me as I push him onto his back and climb on top of him. I hear a tinny voice from my phone, but I don’t care about that anymore. I need Jonas inside me and I need it now. For his part, he’s meeting my frenzy and then some. His hands are everywhere, gripping my ass to pull me forward to line up with his cock, stroking up my sides, cupping my breasts so he can lean up and capture first one nipple and then the other in his mouth. The whole lower half of his face is wet from my orgasm, and I push him down and kiss him as I work myself onto his cock. The stretch feels particularly dirty—particularly good—and I don’t stop to give myself time. I simply take him all as I taste myself on his tongue.
“Fuck, baby girl, your pussy is so goddamn wet.”
“I know.” I kiss him again and then arch back so I can ride his cock. So he can watch me do it. “Wet for you.”
“That’s right. Just for me.”
I lean back and brace my hands on his muscular thighs as I fuck him. Jonas’s attention narrows on the spot where his cock disappears into my body. He gives a sound that’s almost like a growl and then he’s rolling us, pinning me to the mattress and driving deep. “You love that cock, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Good, because you’re going to be riding it all fucking weekend. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes!” I dig my nails into his ass, and he responds my fucking me harder, deeper, driving us up the mattress until he has to slam his hand into the headboard to keep me from bashing into it.
“Can’t get deep enough,” he growls against my temple. “Need more.”
“You’re deeper than anyone else has ever been.” I don’t know what spurs me to say it. I’ve already said such unforgivable things, have already smudged the line between fantasy and reality. It doesn’t matter. The words pour forth, dousing us both in gasoline. “No one fucks me like you do.”
Jonas curses. “That’s right, baby girl. I’m the one who fucks you hard and dirty like you need. And I’m the one who makes you come so hard you scream.”
I turn my head and then I’m speaking in his ear, low and intense. “I love the way you treat me.”
He drives deep and grinds against me, giving my clit a delicious friction that nearly makes my eyes cross. “And how do I treat you, Blake?” He’s speaking quietly too, as we’re sharing secrets even as the sound of our fucking fills the room.
I moan and spread my legs more. “Like I’m a dirty little slut who needs my Daddy’s cock.” I gasp as his motions have pleasure sparking through me. “And my Daddy’s fingers.” I turn and nip his bottom lip. “And I really, really love waking up with my Daddy’s tongue in my pussy.”
He kisses me hard and then he’s pulling out and moving down my body again. He eats my pussy in a frenzy, messy and intense, until I come all over his face two more times. Only then does Jonas flip me over and fuck me just as hard as he did last night.
By the time we surface, the call has been disconnected for a very long time.
Eventually, though, even outstanding sex can’t distract Jonas from the way my stomach keeps growling. He stretches and gives me a long look. “Did you have dinner last night?”
I have absolutely no reason to be embarrassed by the truth, but my cheeks heat all the same. “I planned on grabbing something on my way back to the airport.”
“Thought so.” He sits up and stretches again, something in his back popping. “You eat meat?”
“Considering I had your cock in my mouth last night, I’d say that’s readily apparent.”
He snorts. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“I do.” I find myself grinning as he pulls me to my feet. “But to answer your question, yes, I eat meat. I don’t have any allergies or anything, either.”
He nods. “Okay.”
Before we go to the kitchen, we detour to his walk-in closet. It’s only half full, a scattering of shirts hanging neatly next to folded jeans and sweaters. My mouth waters at the thought of him in the cream fisherman’s sweater. Jonas grabs a T-shirt and hands it to me. I don’t point out that my clothes have long since dried; the truth is that I like wearing his shirts.
Not to mention, we’re sure to be fucking again soon, and the easy access is a serious perk.
He pulls on a pair of lounge pants and leads the way downstairs. The sun is finally up, I think. Or at least the gray sky is slightly lighter, even if the rain hasn’t let up. After the relative warmth of his bedroom, the downstairs feels brisk to the point of freezing. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself.
Jonas glances at me. “I’ll get a fire going.”
“You don’t have central heat?”
“I do, but I don’t need it that often. I prefer the fireplace.” He walks to the oak chest at the back of the couch and pulls a thick blanket from it. I stand perfectly still as he comes over to wrap it around me. “It will only take a minute.”
I clutch the blanket around me and watch, my foolish heart in my throat as he gets to work. The sex has been out of this world, but this moment feels strangely soft and domestic. It feels real in an entirely different way than anything with this man has to date. Not to mention, he looks really good as he kneels and pulls wood from the metal tray thing to arrange it in the fireplace.
To distract myself, I turn and pad toward the glass door that leads to the back of the house. To the backyard.
Curiosity quickens my steps and I grin at the sight that meets me through the cool glass. I should have known that Jonas wouldn’t overly curate his grounds. There are tons of trees, but they’re all large enough to tell me that they’ve been here a very long time. It’s the wrong time of year for flowers, but I bet they’re all local, too. The only nod to design he has is the stone patio that houses a barbecue, a smoker, and a hot tub. There’s also a narrow stone path that leads into the trees, curving carefully around the trunks so it doesn’t hamper the trees’ growth.
It’s perfect.
He’s so damn good. I’ve seen portfolios of his work, and the man is always so skilled at adapting to whatever the location and client requires. He got famous for his minimalist designs, but the true genius is in the smaller projects he did over the years. They remind me of this house, though they don’t look remotely similar. But the way they capture a particular feeling is the same. It’s downright magical.
“You’re ogling my property again.”
“I am.” I say it easily, still studying the stone patio and path. “Is that local rock?”
“Yeah, they were dug up when the foundation was built, so I decided to repurpose.”
He’s so damn intentional, right down to the smallest detail. “It’s beautiful. How much property do you have?”
“A little over an acre. It seems bigger because of the trees, but without them, you’d be able to see the back fence from here.” His voice moves as he walks into the kitchen. “Don’t go wandering. It’s shitty outside and you’re not dressed for it.”
Since I was just considering stepping outside, I laugh. “Can you blame me? It’s not often I get to see a Jonas Barnett house up close and personal.” I turn in time to see him hesitate as he opens the fridge. I sigh. “I’m not bringing up business. But we’re both interested in stuff like this, so it’s silly to not even be able to talk about it.”
He shakes his head and ducks into the fridge, returning a moment later with a carton of eggs, a handful of vegetables, and some bacon. He sets them aside and then walks to the narrow door beside the fridge that reveals itself to be a pantry and disappears inside.
Curiosity takes hold again, and I wander over as he walks out. The pantry is larger inside than I expect, running a good fifteen feet down the side of the house. “Cozy,” I murmur.
“Blake.” He sounds exasperated, but in a fond sort of way. “It’s going to take me a few minutes to get this going.”
I step back into the kitchen and grin. “Does that mean you’re giving me the green light to explore?”
“Do it now, because you’re not going to have the energy for it later.”
His meaning sends a pulse of heat through me, but the thought of getting free rein of his house is too tempting to let sex distract me. I bounce to him, press a quick kiss to his lips, and head for the living room.
Exploring Jonas’s house is like hunting for treasure. The rewards are in the details. In the tile work I find in the downstairs bathroom. In the mud room with custom shelves that has a door directly into a laundry room with its own custom shelves. Each window offers another slice of the outside world, except it doesn’t look like our world at all.
Or at least it doesn’t look like my world of steel and concrete and cement. It’s peaceful here, and Jonas has expertly brought elements of that peace into this house. It’s cozy and comfortably isolated.
Then I find the study.
Three of the walls are bookshelves, and a quick perusal finds paperbacks of every genre, from thriller to romance to nonfiction. They are, of course, sorted by genre and then alphabetical within their genre. Their spines are creased from being read, and the apparent imperfection of their varied heights and colors only seems to make the office cozier. Plenty of businesspeople stock their offices with pretty books that they’ve never opened in order to create an aesthetic, but that doesn’t seem to be the case with Jonas.
And the desk. The desk is its own work of art, a huge sturdy thing that reminds me a little of the one in my father’s study. I circle it and, sure enough, see the distinctive design on the drawers that marks the craftsman. It makes sense, in a way. There are plenty of things that my father and Jonas have in common. They wouldn’t be friends otherwise.
It’s still a reminder of the strange situation I find myself in.
