Page 39 of Goodbye Again
I silence him with a finger to his mouth, opening mine to speak, but I can’t. I start laughing again. It erupts from my belly. Kevin wags his tail like he’s so proud, yelping and spinning in circles on his bed.
“We’ll clean it later,” I say, running my finger from his lips down his neck.
Then, again, time stands still.
“How did we get here?” he asks—an ambiguous question grasping at every impossibility of us.
“I don’t know,” I admit, wrapping my hand around his neck and pulling his mouth against mine while Kevin Costner speaks in the background.
“I’m sorry about your rug,” JP murmurs against my lips and I shake my head quickly, kissing him furiously.
I’m hungry for him. I don’t think it’s possible to feel him or see or touch him more or fast enough. I grip his wine-soaked t-shirt and his hands stay softly planted on my hips. He’s hesitating. Then, it all hits me like a sneaker wave on the coast.
I don’t know him—I justwantto.
I pull back, slightly embarrassed by how quickly I went in for a kiss. He’s still covered in wine, his eyes slightly dazed, and his fingertips vacillating. There’s still wine everywhere—splattered on the white wall behind the couch, penetrating the cognac leather of my couch, and soaking into the ornate rug under our feet.
“Sorry,” I mutter, my fingers touching my lips. “I just like kissing you.”
He half-smiles, hooded eyes dancing over my lips, then gazing back into my eyes. “Kissing you might be my new favorite pastime.”
Desire pulls at my core, and I grip his wine-soaked shirt, bringing his body back to mine until he’s kissing me again. I curl a leg over his waist until our bodies click into place. His hands run up my thighs and encase my ribcage as he pulls me completely onto his lap. He slips his hand under the hem of my shirt. A rough moan vibrates in the back of his throat as he finds me braless underneath. He trails one hand from my tailbone to the back of my neck, where he sinks his fingers in my hair and pulls, while the other cups my breasts, teasing me lightly. I tighten my legs tighter around his waist, feeling him harden beneath his jeans, and the need to see him, touch him, and feel him devours any sense of reasoning.
“Do you want to do this?” I ask, breathless, practically gasping for air between kisses.
His thumbs sink into my hipbones, and I grind closer to him, needing to feel any amount of friction to ease the ache. I pull off my hoodie before he answers and discard it on the floor.
JP pauses, soaking in the sight of me. There’s a dark need in his eyes as his gaze trails over my body. It’s the kind of stare I can feel on my skin—burning, tingling, pulsing. My hands grip his now purple-pink t-shirt, waiting for him to agree.
His gaze continues to rove over my body, revealing a softness on his face even though his eyes are still piercing. He meets my gaze. “Hell yeah, we’re doing this.”
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me, then I pull his shirt off and throw it on the floor in a hurry.
“Don’t get attached. I don’t want anything serious, okay?” I breathe, barely moving away from his lips.
“Okay,” he answers, swallowing my words while his fingers play with my panty line.
“I’m focusing on myself and my career,” I overexplain, breathless against his lips.
He draws back, a ghost of a smile on his face as his gaze drops to my lips then back to my eyes. “Can I focus on you for a while too?”
The question turns my insides to liquid heat and I answer him with my mouth on his. It’s more than a kiss. It’s a collision of tension. Desperate passion that leaves marks on my skin.
“Are you into anything weird? Special kinks? Safe words we need to put in place?” I ask.
He laughs against my mouth, then drags his mouth to my neck as I undo his jeans. “Safe words are always a good idea.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking, but I answer anyway as he kisses my breasts. “Couscous.”
He pulls back with a smile while also yanking my sweatpants to the floor. “What?”
The pile of discarded clothes grows in a frenzy of buttons and zippers as we discuss. It should feel strange but nothing about JP makes me uncomfortable.
“No one ever accidentally says couscous,” I reason, breathy and aching in all the best places.
“No one ever accidentally says pineapple either—” he argues but barely finishes because I dip my hand in his boxers and take him in my hand, making him groan and curse under his breath.
“Oh,” I half-moan, half-hum as I stroke him because I love the feel of him in my hand. He bites down on his lip and moves my panties to the side as he slips two fingers inside me, keeping his thumb in motion where it matters.
