My lips find his, and then our minds connect and merge again until our bodies explode in ecstasy for the second time in less than an hour. The flowers I’d unleashed on Annar hours before were a paltry show to what rains down in my bedroom now. But I can’t help myself. I’m just too damn happy to try to control these feelings.
For twenty-four hours, I float on a cloud of pure bliss even after having to zap hundreds of flowers out of my bedroom. Jonah and I hole up in our apartments and do the domestic thing, pretending we’re already married. We turn the ringers off on our phones, order in food, and spend the better part of our time pushing the boundaries of the whole no-sex-before-marriage deal. But the frustrating truth is, for as much as we do to and with the other, I’m still a virgin. I’m a nineteen-year-old, incredibly sexually frustrated virgin who is engaged to be married to someone who, with a single glance or touch, can reduce me into lust personified.
He’s promised me forever. We’re forever. This is stupid. I’ve had four orgasms in the last day alone, him the same. Why are we waiting? What difference does it make?
“You’re doing it again,” Jonah teases, his voice nearly all breath and little sound. We are on the couch, attempting to watch a movie.
“Doing what?” My voice is no better.
He presses his forehead against mine, his damp hair tickling my cheek. It’s been warm today, and what with our marathon make out sessions, we’ve both just gotten out of the shower. Jonah, by the way, is totally sexy with wet hair. It’s got a slight wave to it, making me itch to twist my fingers up in the strands for hours. “Chloe . . . do you know how hard it is for me to keep my promise to your dad when you’re like this?”
Gah! “Screw my dad.”
“Is it truly terrible of me to follow that up with, I’d like to screw you?”
To say I’m delighted is an understatement, especially after the torture he’s put me through this last day and night. “Then you should.”
He pauses over me. I can practically hear the wheels turning in his head. I can definitely feel how much he likes the idea against my belly.
I press my advantage. “This here . . . this isn’t about my dad. Who I ought to point out isn’t even speaking to us anymore. It’s about you.” I gently nip at his earlobe; he moans and presses himself a bit harder against me. “And me.” I lay a trail of kisses down the length of his chin. “And us.” My lips graze his, so, so lightly, but it’s enough for both of our hearts to go into overdrive.
“I want you,” he whispers. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.”
I hook one of my legs around his waist and tug him closer. “The feeling is mutual.”
He trembles in my arms, but when his mouth finds mine, I know I’ve won. We’ve won. We’re kissing, and it’s the hottest it’s ever been—so red-hot that I’m shocked the room doesn’t go up in flames. Lightbulbs explode, though, and the television hisses and pops and melts down, but none of this is because of anger. No—this is all lust.
Love.
Wanting.
Need.
It’s hard to breath, it’s hard to see, it’s hard to think, it’s hard to do anything, anything, but feelfeelfeel every amazing, wonderful thing he’s making me feel, doing to me, it’s magic, real magic, he’s magic, and it’s like I’m alive, first time ever really alive and yet floating and ohmygods, OHMYGODS, I need to get his shorts off, I need him in me, want us to be one and—
And then he’s swearing in my ear.
Which cannot possibly be right.
Jonah pushes off me and I grab at him. “No, forget my dad, come back—”
And then I hear it. Pounding. And shouting.
“Dammit, Jonah! Will you answer the door already? We know you’re in there! Is Chloe there too? Neither of you are answering your phones! WILL YOU OPEN THE DAMN DOOR ALREADY? We need to talk!”
My focus is blurry. Jonah hands me my tank top and shrugs into his t-shirt. He shouts something about them waiting, but then it’s him who waits. He sits down on the edge of the coffee table and takes deep breaths.
I tug my shirt on and straighten my shorts, even though my body feels like it’s about to liquefy and my arms are useless as jelly. “Um, who . . .?”
Jonah has to clear his throat. He looks like he’s in physical pain. “The Guard. I think.”
More pounding and shouting. Jonah squeezes his eyes close and takes one more giant breath. Then he stands up and goes to answer the door.
I struggle to get my heartbeat under control before Zthane and Karl enter the living room. They survey the scene with wide eyes, which has a bit more destruction than I’d previously thought, before smiling weakly at me.
I didn’t think it possible, but I think I just might hate these two guys at the moment. They have the crappiest timing ever.
I attempt to smooth my sweaty hair down, even though I’m positive it’s plastered against my face. Jonah’s certainly is. “Have a seat,” he tells them before settling next to me on the couch.