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“Now, let’s get you back where you belong.”

He lifted me easily and put me on the kitchen counter again. Now it was my turn to lose my jeans. Getting out of a pair of skinny jeans was no easy task, but he was determined, stripping them off my hips and down my legs in no time flat. The counter was cold against my now-bare legs.

“That’s better,” he said, shoving my thighs apart and stepping between them. The light was dim in the early morning, but the heat in his eyes was unmistakable.

He traced his fingers up my thighs until they reached the edge of my red panties. Rather than take them off, he pushed them to the side, holding my gaze as his finger slid through my wet folds.

“Not so bossy now,” he teased as he found my clit and grazed it infuriatingly gently with the back of his finger.

“You can do better.”

He snorted a laugh. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“Never.” I leaned back on my forearms, my elbows digging into the counter, and slid my foot up the back of his bare thigh, the hair abrading my skin. His woodsy smell surrounded me as he unhooked my bra beneath my shirt.

My breasts spilled free… well, as far as A cups ever spilled from anywhere, and he leaned forward. The heat of his breath skated over my nipples. A groan escaped my throat as his lips closed around the sensitive peak.

Pleasure built as he teased my clit again. It wasn’t enough. The fabric was in the way, the touch was right where I needed it, but without the pressure I craved. My arms were still loosely tied behind me, and I pulled lightly against it. His broad chest was hovering over me, warm and defined, covered in a fine dusting of hair. I wanted to touch him, kiss that skin, feel the strength hidden there.

“You ready to strip now?” he asked, against my skin.

Never one to admit defeat, I brought my leg around his hip, sliding the arch of my foot over the tent in his boxers.

“Only if you strip me.”

“You will be the death of me,” he growled, resting his forehead against my collarbone for one long moment.

A pang of want went through me that was only partly tied to my need for release. It would be so easy to lean in, kiss the top of his head, smell his soap, and imagine us turning this temporary fun into more.

Then he was moving again, and the moment passed. My tangled hoodie, shirt, and bra all hit the floor with a gentle swish. Then the strong, capable man was on his knees.

He eagerly pressed his mouth between my thighs, forcing his tongue between the folds until he found what he was looking for. My body melted into the countertop as he teased the sensitive nub, sucking and flicking his tongue over it as I writhed beneath him.

As much as I loved the fight, and I did, I rested back on my elbows and enjoyed just how good it felt to let someone else take control.

Chapter Eleven

Jonah

Never had anyone tested my patience quite like this. I was on my knees in my own fucking house, but somehow her pussy tasted a lot like victory. I looked up the line of her body, trembling on my woodblock countertop, back arched, legs spread, hair falling over her shoulders.

I could come just looking at her.

I focused everything I had between her thighs, needing to see her fall apart. Not a want or a nice-to-have, but a physical need like air or food or coffee.

She made a little groaning sound, her fingers digging into the edge of the counter, and I doubled down. Sucking and nipping at the spot that made her breath catch.

“Jonah.”

She whispered my name into the half-darkness, then her thighs clamped around my head and she was coming. I stayed with her even as she squirmed, my knees digging into the wooden floor, my cock impossibly hard.

When she finally lay still, I pushed to my feet, looming over her naked form.

“Now, was it so hard to let me take control?”

Her attitude took all of half a second to come back. She sat up, not the least bit self-conscious about her nakedness.

“I’d say what’s so hard is you.”