off my shirt. How soft his lips are when they meet my breasts. How effortless his movements are as he slips out of his jeans. How in sync our gasps are when we’re finally skin to skin. How intense his eyes are when he begins to push into me.
It’s a completeness I’ve never experienced before.
It’s as if he knows exactly where to touch me, how soft, how firm, where I want his lips. He feels like a professor of my body, and I feel like an inexperienced student, cautiously touching him, unsure if my fingers or my lips can even come close to making him feel how he’s making me feel.
I press my mouth against his shoulder and whisper, “I’ve only ever been with Chris.”
Jonah is deep inside me when he stops suddenly and pulls back. Our eyes meet, and he smiles. “I’ve only ever wanted to be with you.”
He kisses me tenderly, and that’s how it continues—him kissing me, moving gently in and out of me until I can no longer keep silent. I pull him closer so I can bury my face against his neck when it happens.
I finish first, an explosive moment of emotions and pleasure and years of suppression finally coming to the surface. My body is trembling beneath him, and my nails have raked their way down his back when he groans against my cheek, shuddering on top of me.
I expect it to end here, with him catching his breath and then rolling off me with a sigh. That’s how the last seventeen years of sex with Chris always ended.
But Jonah isn’t Chris, and I need to stop comparing them. It’s unfair to Chris.
Jonah is gently cradling the side of my head as we continue to kiss. This doesn’t feel like it’s over yet. This thing between me and Jonah. Now that I’ve had this side of him, I don’t know how I can go on without it.
That scares me, but I’m too satiated to stop his mouth as it moves over mine, across my jaw, finally coming to rest against my chest, where he calmly lays his head. We spend the next few minutes waiting for the current to settle between us.
He slides his hand down my stomach and begins to run his finger lazily over my skin. “I’ll do it.”
I feel my breath catch.
Jonah lifts up onto his elbow, hovering over me. “I won’t tell Elijah. If you promise me you won’t put a stop to this—that you’ll eventually tell Clara you want to be with me—I won’t tell Elijah.” He brushes back my hair and looks at me with eyes full of sincerity. “You’re right. Clara deserves every great memory she has of Chris. I don’t want to take that from her.”
I feel a tear slide into my hair as I look up at him. “You’re right too,” I whisper. “I do love you.”
Jonah smiles. “I know you do. That’s why we’re naked.”
I laugh. He pulls me on top of him, and I realize as I look down at him that I’ve never felt like I belonged with another person more than I belong with Jonah Sullivan.
CHAPTER THIRTY
CLARA
“Let me get this straight,” Lexie says. She kicks her feet up on the coffee table, nearly knocking over one of the bottles of wine. “Your mom is sleeping with Uncle Teacher?”
I hiccup. Then nod.
“Her dead sister’s fiancé?”
I nod again.
“Wow.” She leans forward and grabs more wine. “I’m not drunk enough for this.” She takes a swig straight from the bottle. I take it from her, not because I think she’s gone overboard but because I don’t know that I’m drunk enough for it either. I take a sip, then set it between my legs, gripping the top of the bottle.
“How long do you think it’s been going on?” she asks.
I shrug. “No telling. She’s over there right now. We have that app, and that’s where she is. Over there. With him.”
“Bastards,” she says. After that insult leaves her mouth, she suddenly grows animated, hopping up from the couch. She stumbles but catches herself. “What if your mother and Jonah caused the wreck so they could be together?”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m serious, Clara! Do you not watch Dateline?”
I motion toward the television. “We don’t have cable anymore.”
Lexie begins pacing the living room, a little wobbly but successfully. “What if this is a conspiracy? I mean, think about it. Your dad and Jenny were together when they died. Why were they together?”