Page 64 of 28 Dates

“Slow later sounds like a good idea,” Jonas concedes before his mouth slams down against mine. His hand tangles in my hair, forcing my chin up, my back to arch, and I grind against him, already so close I can feel my first climax heating and spreading like a teenager making out on a parent’s couch. His hand goes between us, zipper lowered. Pants and boxers shoved to his ankles, and as he steps out of them, kicking them to who knows where and who cares where, I finally look down and see him in all his glory.

He’s so damn perfect. I unbutton his shirt, needing to see him, and his hands are at the hem of my dress, lifting it while I shove off his shirt, and then I lose sight of him as he rips off my dress. It joins a pile of clothes on the floor. I kick off my lace thong to add to the mix and then it’s us. Naked.

Panting.

And God, I’ve waited so long for him, I reach out and wrap my hand around his length. Hot velvet over hardness. He pushes into my grip, moaning as he presses his mouth to mine, pulling back and gasping, “Give me a sec. I need a condom.”

My grip on him tightens. I lick my lips, sealing in the taste of him. Now that I have him, I want to have all of him. Give myself to him in a way I never have before. “I’m on the pill.”

He flinches, closes his eyes, and presses his forehead to mine. “We’ll wait for that.”

Right. Because while there’s been no one since him, he’s had at least Ashley, and while I love that he wants to keep me safe and protected, the reality is a douse of cold water. I swallow harshly, unable to help the emotion that brings.

“Of course,” I whisper, although it sounds strangled, and because he’s Jonas, he notices.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is just as tortured.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Except for me, because I’m currently sorry for so many things, and yet as he kisses me again, I know I have to get over this hurdle, too.

His hand presses my stomach until I’m plastered against the wall, and he pulls back from our kiss, a glint of deliciously wicked intent in his eyes. “Stay there.”

“Where else would I go?”

He bends down, digs through the pile of mess, finds a condom, and by the time he’s back to me, he’s sheathed himself, pumping his perfect length in his strong hand, and then he grabs my hips, lifts me so I have to wrap my legs around his waist.

He adjusts us and slides into me.

“Oh my God.” My head hits the walls as he fills me. His hand presses against the door by my head, arms bunching and flexing. And Good Lord, I’d forgotten how completely perfect he felt inside of me.

“Shit. So damn hot,” he says. Jonas drops his head to mine, sealing us together where an atom of space can’t be found between us, and as he kisses me again, he promises, “We’ll talk about that later, too. But you have to know even if there was someone else, it’s always been you, Caitlin.” As if to prove his point, he pulls back, slams inside of me again, groaning. “Always. Only you.”

I no longer care, no longer know why there’s anything I have been upset about since we walked into his apartment because with his scent of man, the hint of his shampoo, the way his body feels pressed against mine and lodged so deep inside of me, I’m no longer capable of producing another coherent thought besides my response.

“Only you. It’s always been you, Jonas.”

“Jesus,” he says, and kisses me again. He slams against me, hips moving, and then we’re clasping hands, and he gasps and as we come together, my sex pulsing around him as he finds his own release, I no longer care about other women in his life.

I only care that he’s now mine, and I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep him forever.

Chapter 24

Jonas

The scent of Caitlin’s shampoo and the heat from her petite frame infiltrate my senses before I open my eyes. The sun is coming in through the window, the gentle glow telling me that while it’s morning, I haven’t slept in. It’s really freaking early, but I don’t care. I’d lose hours of sleep if it means I get to wake up with Caitlin cradled in my arms.

I’m on my back, and she’s curled up right against me. My hand is at her lower back, and hers? Her slim fingers are tucked just inside the waistband of the boxers I threw on last night after I cleaned up the last time.

She arches and straightens her legs, groaning as she stretches and wakes up.

“Morning.” I kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter.

“I need to tell you something,” she says, “about why this has been so hard for me. Or at least, part of the reason.”

She doesn’t remember mentioning it before. I’m not surprised with how drunk she ended up being that night, but as much as I want to hear her tell me everything she needs to, the last thing I want marring this morning is memories of that. I’m liable to demand the asshole’s name so I can smash my fist into his face.

She has a lifetime to talk to me about it.

“I already know.”

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