“Maybe a bit bigger.” He pauses a beat. “Big enough for us and twelve kids.”
“Only twelve?” I mock as flutters stir in my stomach. “How about we try for one and see how it goes?” Of all the things I appreciate about Jonah, his directness is near the top of the list. It forces conversations to happen that otherwise might not, if I’m left to my own devices. He first brought up the topic of kids back in Toronto. Almost as a checkpoint, I suspect, because his relief when I confirmed that, yes, I do want kids eventually, was palpable.
“Sounds good to me.” Jonah seizes my waist and hoists me onto his lap to face him, guiding my thighs around his. A deep sound rumbles in his chest as his hands grip and outline my curves, working from my hips to my waist, to the swell of my breasts in one smooth motion.
I toy with strands of his ash-blond hair as my body responds with raw need. Meanwhile, my chest surges with a new level of appreciation for this man. I have no intention of becoming a mother anytime soon, but that Jonah is so resolute, so confident, so unafraid of the idea is unexpectedly sexy. And here, I didn’t think he could become more so.
With dexterous fingers, he slides my flannel coat down my arms, letting it fall to the floor behind me. My sweater goes next, leaving me in a thin cotton shirt. I shudder, though I’m no longer feeling the cold.
“What did you think about that place?” I ask, smoothing my hands over his broad shoulders, across his hard chest, over the ridges of his defined stomach. Jonah credits his Norwegian genes for his physique. I haven’t seen him venture out to a gym since I met him, so maybe it’s true.
“Which place?” His calloused fingers slip beneath my shirt, skimming over my back to find the clasp
of my bra. With a flick, the tension in the material gives way. An eager shiver runs through my body as he pushes the lace aside and cups my breasts within his palms, his touch far gentler than I ever expected from him.
“The one I sent you on Saturday?”
“You sent me a listing for a 3000-square-foot house in Anchorage, near a Walmart.” He guides my arms up and then hikes my shirt over my head. He discards my bra as if it’s a scrap, exposing my upper body to the cool night air. He leans back for a long moment, as if to admire my naked flesh and decide what he wants to do with it first. It’s such a simple move, and yet my breasts grow heavy and my nipples harden and blood rushes to my core.
“It was a big lot. And the rent isn’t too bad.”
His gaze flickers to mine. “I’m gonna be thirty-two in April, Calla. I don’t wanna rent anymore if I don’t have to. Let’s look for somethin’ to buy. Somethin’ that’s a hundred percent ours. A smaller house with more land. No Walmart in our backyard.” His hands splay across my back, pulling my body closer. He leans in to lick one peaked nipple before taking it into his mouth and sucking hard.
I revel in the conflicting feel of his bristly facial hair—it’ll be another month before I can call that a beard again—and his wet tongue, but my mind is spinning with thoughts. Jonah has mentioned buying instead of renting once before. My mother has been pushing hard for the latter. It’s far less permanent, she insisted. Less complicated to sort out should things not work between us. Easier for me to pick up and come home.
Like she did.
She insists she’s only doing her job as a mother, warning me of pitfalls before I tumble into them.
But I am not her, and Jonah is certainly nothing like my father. He wants to settle down and have kids, with me. There are no accidental pregnancies guiding our decisions.
That he’s so confident in us and our longevity gives me courage. “Okay. I can start looking at places for sale too—”
“Calla?” Jonah whispers against my skin, his hot breath sparking goose bumps. I love the sound of my name on his low, raspy voice.
“Yeah?”
He peers up at me, his gaze hooded in the low cast of lamplight. I remember the first time I saw those icy blue eyes—a gorgeous feature that he had kept hidden behind sunglasses and an acerbic personality. “We’ve got all the time in the world to talk about that. But, right now?” He grips my hips with his rough, strong hands and pulls my body flush against his pelvis. The rock-hard ridge of his erection is impossible to miss. “If I’m not inside you in the next three minutes, I’m gonna die.”
I giggle, even as my body flushes with heat. “And you call me dramatic.”
“I’m serious. I’ll die right here, in George’s cabin. The superstitious bastard’ll never step foot in here again.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” I say with mock seriousness, collecting his angular jaw between my palms. His face is impressively handsome, his features strong and masculine, and yet with those high cheekbones, pouty, full lips, and long lashes make him almost pretty.
Jonah’s grin flashes with wicked intent. “No. Not when they’ve been so generous, lending us this place.”
“Right. The least we can do is make sure he can come back.” With a playful smile, I grind my hips against him, earning a whispered curse. I lean in and grant him a soft, teasing kiss, the tip of my tongue tracing his bottom lip before sliding in to stroke his mouth.
Jonah’s fingers dig into my hips. “I wasn’t kidding about the three minutes.” I squeal as he shifts me off his lap and onto my back, sprawled on the futon. His hasty fingers hook around the elastic band of my leggings and panties and he tugs them down, his heated gaze rapt on every inch of me that he exposes in the process. In seconds, the last of my clothes has been stripped off me, socks and all.
I watch with greedy anticipation as he stands and shucks his clothes in record time. His body is perfect—powerful and well proportioned, his skin a golden olive, even in the dead of winter. I still haven’t decided what my favorite part of Jonah’s body is: his broad, cut shoulders, his columnar neck, the way his collarbones jut out around the pads of chest muscle, or the impressive cut of his pelvis, leading down to the part that’s thick and velvety-skinned, and currently rigid, waiting for attention.
He dives in to cover my slight body with his massive one, settling his weight between my thighs. “I’ve thought about this moment every minute of every day for the last month.” His fingers curl within mine as he stretches my arms above my head, pinning them to the mattress.
Our mouths find each other with hunger, our teeth clinking and nipping, our tongues stroking, our lips bruising as we taste and kiss with reckless abandon.
“It’s been three minutes,” I whisper, my inner muscles flexing with expectation. I rock my hips against him, seeking out his hard tip, lining it up with my body’s entrance, aching to feel him inside me again.