I squeeze my legs together, trying to alleviate some of the pressure that’s steadily building there.
“No.”
Another kiss. A flick of his tongue.
“No emergency room visit necessary?”
He’s dangerously close to my lips.
“No.”
“You’re thinking clearly?”
No, but I never think clearly around you. “Yes.”
“Then ask me.”
Kiss me.
The words sit on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to make myself say them.
I want to. God, do I want to.
But I can’t.
Asking Jonas to kiss me is like asking him to break my heart all over again.
I won’t give him that power.
Instead, I press onto my tiptoes and crush my mouth against his.
He wasn’t expecting it, but it doesn’t take long before his hands weave through my hair and he’s holding me to him, taking control of the kiss.
Suddenly, everything feels right again.
The way he cradles my head, how his new beard feels scraping my chin. The way his chest brushes against mine. His tongue sweeping into my mouth.
It’s all so right.
Everything I’ve been missing and more.
He pulls back, sighing as he rests his forehead on mine. “I’ve missed this. So much.”
I nod, because I can’t form words right now.
“I’ve missed you, Frank.”
Nod.
“I’m sorry I left the way I did.”
Another nod.
“Please stop being mad at me.”
I don’t answer.
I kiss him again.
Jonas lets me.
One hand remains in my hair as the other trails down my back, down and down and down until he’s cupping my ass.
Without much effort, he lifts me off the ground, and I wrap my legs around his waist.
For a moment, I worry about his knee and all the extra weight, but I push the thought aside. Jonas knows his body and his limits.
I trust him.
The reality of the thought hits me.
Even after everything, I still trust him.
Just not with my heart. Not yet, at least.
He walks us backward until I’m resting on top of the counter and he’s between my legs. His fingers snake under my shirt until his hand is precariously close to my breast.
I know he feels my heart rate pick up, anticipating his touch, because I feel him smile against me.
He kisses his way over my chin, down my neck, and across my collarbone until he’s trailed a path to my chest.
My nipples pebble, and I want nothing more than for him to close his mouth around me and help ease some of this pressure between my legs.
“Can I?”
“Can you? Good gravy, Jonas, take my damn shirt off already!”
Laughing, he pulls the material from my body, leaving me sitting atop the counter in nothing but my bra and tiny sleep shorts.
He stares down at my chest, and there’s an unmistakable hunger in his eyes.
“Do you need instructions?”
Jonas smirks at my smartass comment. “Well, this is quite the turn from the first time we did this.”
“The first time we did this, I didn’t know what I wanted, and everything felt amazing.”
“Maybe I was just that good.”
You were. “Just touch me, Jonas.”
With shaking fingers, he pulls the cups of my bra down, the pads of his thumbs grazing over my sensitive nipples.
I’m not sure if it’s his touch that makes me tremble, or if it’s the fact that he’s as nervous as I am.
“Perfect,” he mutters. “So fucking perfect.”
Lowering his head, he flicks his tongue out, teasing me. I growl in disapproval and he laughs, closing his mouth around me, letting the vibrations quiver through me.
“Oh holy… Wow.”
He pulls away. “See? Told you I know what I’m doing.”
“Well then don’t stop!”
He doesn’t.
I don’t know how long we spend on the counter, Jonas giving each breast the attention it deserves. I’m writhing, looking for even the smallest amount of friction where I need it.
“Touch yourself, Frank.”
“Like…in front of you?”
He chuckles. “Yes.”
My heart begins to hammer for other reasons.
I’ve never touched myself in front of someone before. I’ve always left that for late at night when everyone else is asleep, no one around to hear my moans.
But I’m aching. I need relief.
Swallowing, I say, “I will if you will.”
He nods, dropping one hand to the button on his jeans and working it open. The sound of his zipper is loud, the rustling of his hand as he frees himself deafening.
Unlike all those years ago, I don’t look away as he pulls himself from his jeans.
He wraps his fist around his length, working his erection in a slow rhythm as he stares down at me.
Stepping away until he’s no longer touching me, he leans forward a bit. “Fair is fair, Frank.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and slide my hand inside my shorts, but he shakes his head, stopping me.
“W-What?”
“Pull your shorts to the side. Spread your legs for me so I can see.”
His words push me nearer to the edge I’m already close to slipping over.
With an encouraging deep breath, I follow his request, pulling my skimpy bottoms aside and stretching my legs wide.
At first it feels strange being exposed to him like this, but seeing the fire dancing in his green eyes and watching his cock jump, I feel sexy.
Brave.
Wanted.
“Son of a bitch,” he mutters. His eyes flash to mine with a realization. “You’re not wearing any underwear.”
I shake my head. “I sleep naked.” Shrug. “Seemed pointless to put them on after my shower.”
“One leg up on the counter.”
I obey.
“Scoot forward.”
I do.
“Now touch yourself.”
Slowly, I drag my fingers over my shaved mound and trace a single digit over my swollen clit.
His eyes flare again, and he grips his cock tighter, biting at his lip.
I add another finger and begin to rub short, slow circles over my bud, my own eyes glued to what he’s doing to himself.
I’m not focused on what I must look like to him, spread wide on the counter. All I’m thinking about is how I feel.
And right now, I feel like I’m going to explode.
I slide a single finger into my hole, and Jonas stutters in his movements.
I add another.
“Fucking hell,” he whispers with a gravelly voice.
He takes a step closer, reaching out for me. I watch as his fingertips dance along my inner thigh and down, down, down, inching closer and closer to just where I want him.
His gaze meets mine, and his Adam’s apple bobs heavily as he swallows. “I need to touch you.”
I don’t say anything, and I don’t break eye contact.
A single finger grazes against my clit, and I come undone with the simple touch.
“Oh shit,” he drawls out, and then his mouth is on mine, like he can’t stand to not touch me.
He wraps my hair around his hand, his grip so hard it almost hurts. He pulls me to him roughly, fitting himself between my legs once again, and I go to him with eagerness.
“I need to be inside you again.”
I moan. “Please.”
“Do you have anything? I wasn’t planning on this.”
“I…” Crap. “N-No. I, uh, I’ve never had a reason to have anything.”
He pulls back, looking at me with pinched brows. Then, his eyes widen.
“Frank, have…have you been with anyone since me?”
> I’m flaming red right now, and it’s not from the orgasm I just had.
I shake my head. “Not all the way.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. “We can’t do this.”
“What?” I nearly cry out. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we can’t do this. We rushed it last time. We can’t rush it again.”
“We didn’t rush it. I wanted it then and I want it now.”
“Come on, Frankie. You know we rushed it. You know it wasn’t what you wanted your first time to be—a hurried romp and me splitting before our bodies even came down from the high.”
His words hit me like a bucket of cold water, reminding me that Jonas Schwartz isn’t just good at playing football.
He’s good at playing hearts.
And he played mine.
“I don’t want to rush this, Frankie. I want to savor it.”
I’m hurt by his rejection and a little embarrassed, but deep down, I know he’s right.
I always jump in heart first when it comes to him, and this time, I need to use my head. I don’t want this time with Jonas to be another thing I look back on and wish had gone differently.
I want it to be perfect.
I slide my legs off the counter, moving back to a seated position.
“You’re right.”
“I am?”
I glare at him. “I’m not repeating it.”
He smirks. “Fine. Can’t blame me for trying though.” He pecks a kiss to my forehead. “Look, not to seem like a dick or anything, but I think it’s probably best if I head home. Clearly we can’t be trusted to be alone together right now.”
“Clearly.” I laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. You should go.” I look pointedly at his still-hard dick. “You could probably go for a shower right about now.”
“A very, very cold shower.”
He tucks himself away as best he can, and I can’t help but grin at the tent in his shorts, which is still painfully obvious.
He looks down and shrugs, not ashamed of his arousal at all.
When he glances back to me, I’m surprised to find his eyes glowing with happiness.
“You’re not mad?”
“No? Should I be?”
“Well, I don’t know. You’re leaving.”
“It was my idea,” he reminds me. “Besides, I got to watch you get off. That’s going to take up the bulk of my spank bank for quite some time.”
“Just the bulk?”
“I’m sorry, have you seen Scar Jo?”
I laugh. “Fair enough.”
Jonas steps toward me again. His hand coming up to cup my jaw, he brings my eyes to his.
“Thank you for tonight.”
“Shouldn’t I be the one thanking you?”
“Spank bank.” He drops his mouth to mine in a quick, tame kiss, and I miss him the moment he pulls away.
I’m going to miss him doubly when I finally get my heart rate to settle down and I’m tucked into bed alone.
He brushes his nose against mine, the touch so intimate it surprises me.
“Good night, Frank.”
“Good night, Jonas.”
Slice Nine
Jonas
It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I last saw Frankie, and I have something I need to prove to myself—can we spend time together that doesn’t end in an argument or sex?
Hence why I’m standing outside her apartment with my version of an apology: food.
What exactly I’m apologizing for, I’m not certain.
I just know I feel bad for last night.
Mostly for my own balls, but also for turning Frankie down.
She might have gotten off, but it was clear she wanted more. I did too, but the last time we let things go too far, nothing ended the right way.
I have another shot with her, and I’m not going to screw it up this time.
Sure, the screwup last time was mostly on her father’s part, but also mine. I was the dumbass kid who believed her father could ruin my football career with a few phone calls.
As it turned out, her father couldn’t touch me, but I didn’t realize that until it was too late and the damage had already been done.
Frankie wanted nothing to do with me, and I couldn’t blame her.
Because I knew her parents wouldn’t let me anywhere near her, I waited for our shot in college.
Only she never showed up, so I could never explain.
Before I knew it, four years flew by.
Now I have a chance to prove to her what she means to me, what she’s always meant to me. I’m not about to let that chance pass me by.
I rap my knuckles against her door.
There’s a rustling behind the wooden frame, and it reminds me of the first time I came here.
Never in a million years did I expect Frankie to be behind the door. I paid zero attention to the name on the order—not that it would have done me any good since all it said was Doctor Frankenstein, and that could have been anyone.
When I did realize it was her, I was floored.
Just as I am now when she swings the door open.
Frankie Callahan has always been beautiful, snagging my attention from the beginning, but she was shy. She hid behind her hair and her glasses and her books.
Now, she carries herself with a confidence that makes her stunning.
And it makes me all the more attracted to her.
“Jonas?”
“Frank!”
She pokes her head out, looking around the hallway. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought you dinner.”
Her brows shoot up as she stares down at the box from Slice. “Why?”
“Because you need to eat.”
“I can make my own dinner?”
“Is that a question or are you telling me?”
She huffs. “Telling you.”
“Right.” I shake the box. “I brought your favorite.”
“My favorite? What exactly is my favorite?”
“A Slice of Love.”
Her eyes light up, her plump lips pulling into a wide smile. “You brought me a slice of Molly Daniels’ famous white chocolate strawberry cake?” I nod. “For dinner?”
“Yep.”
“Well then why the hell are you still standing in the doorway? Get in here!”
She fists my shirt, pulling me inside her apartment. She snatches the box out of my hand, barreling toward the kitchen, suddenly on a mission.
“There are two forks in the box,” I inform her.
“Two?” She barks out a laugh. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Jonas, because you’d make an awful comedian.”
“So you think I’m cute, huh?”
“You brought me my favorite cake—of course you’re cute.”
“Why are you still headed for the kitchen?”
“I need milk!”
I follow her, shaking my head as she grabs a carton of chocolate milk—skipping the glass—and hops up onto the same counter I had her on top of just last night.
Leaning against the counter opposite her, my eyes are glued to the spot where she was spread open for me, fingers plunging deep into her pussy.
As if on cue, Frankie moans.
My dick twitches, a miracle considering how many times I got off last night conjuring up the same images and noises.
I reach down to adjust myself, and Frankie doesn’t miss the movement.
“Stop thinking about sex. I’m trying to enjoy this moment.”
“You say that like you wouldn’t enjoy sex with me, which we both know is bullshit.”
She blushes, and my cock jumps again.
“So, why are you really here, Jonas? It can’t just be to bring me cake.”
“What if it is?”
“Then you’re lying.”
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong.”
She pauses mid-bite. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“
No ulterior motives?”
“Nope.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Not a single one.”
She eyes me like she doesn’t believe me, and I sigh, motioning over my chest.
“Cross my heart, Frank. I’m just here for the friendship.”
“Ah, yes, our scintillating conversation skills. How could I forget.”
“You are the only human in the world who could use a word like scintillating in an everyday discussion and not have it sound weird.”
“Thank you.” She shovels another bite of cake into her mouth, washing it down with a drink of milk. “This is weird, you watching me.”
“Well, I didn’t intend to just watch you. I was supposed to be enjoying that cake with you, but no. Someone’s stingy.”
“Can you blame me? This cake is heaven. A literal slice of—”
“Love?” I provide.
She smiles. “Yes.”
Her eyes flit to the box and she gasps. “No way!”
“Yes way.”
Setting her cake to the side, she unsticks the composition notebook that’s taped to the lid of the box and flips through the pages.
“It’s empty.” She frowns.
“Because we’re going to fill it. Just like old times.”
“Just like old times,” she repeats quietly, running her fingers over the cover tentatively. “Is it weird that I’m nervous?”
“Why would you be nervous?”
“Because last time we did this, these notebooks lead to a lot of…um, big decisions. Are we ready for that again?”
Her eyes are pleading with me not to hurt her again. It sucks, but it’s warranted.
“I’ll meet you at the 50-yard line if you’re game.”
Hope sparks to life in her gaze, but it’s the only hint I have as to whether she’s truly up for this in a way that’s beyond physical.
“I’m game.”
Grinning, she sets the book aside and picks her cake back up, swinging her feet back and forth like she’s never been more excited in her life.
Though I’m not sure if that’s just the cake talking or because of the notebook, I’m hoping for the latter.
“So, how was your day?”
“Really? That’s what you’re going with?”
I nod. “Yes. How was your day?”
She looks skeptical that all I want is a simple conversation, and to be fair, if I were her, I’d be wary too.
But it’s honestly all I’m here for.
A Slice of Love Page 9