Page 41 of The Likelihood Of You

Our tongues tangled again, longer this time, enough for me to recognise that he was still slicked with the sweet residue of chocolate and cherries, which only made me want to devour him more. My hands were in his hair now, lightly tugging at the silky strands each time he dipped my head back and delved deeper. Both of his hands were splayed across my exposed thighs, squeezing them delicately as a pool of heat lathered between them.

It was a feeling so alien to me that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt it.

We were intertwined in ways I hadn't dreamed of. Not much, anyway. I certainly hadn't wondered about what his body would feel like as it nestled deeper between my thighs. With each swipe of his tongue against mine, his body leant into me, urging me to fall backwards and rest my back on the counter.

I wouldn't be surprised if that image was what I fell asleep to for the foreseeable.

But that pull was undeniable; it kept me upright and made my hands slip from his hair and tug on the fabric of his shirt. He must haveenjoyed how I was basically clawing at his back because the more I did, the harder he kissed me, and the further his hands wandered towards the tops of my thighs.

I wish we’d not been so thoughtful with the timers, and decided to ditch them like we did last night, because just as Jacobs’s hands were starting to slide up my thighs and sneak under the hem of my skirt, they sounded their alarm, popping our bubble and reminding us of reality.

We pulled away from each other slowly, our noses touching, and a shadow of reluctance hanging over us, like both of us were desperate to cling on to the remaining seconds we had to soak up the moment. As we did, our eyes found each other. God, I loved how he looked at me, like he was gazing upon one of the wonders of the world. Like I was special.

With a smirk invading his lips, he glided his hands off my thighs, agonisingly slow, before turning and striding towards the oven, leaving me forever frozen to the countertops of his Mom’s bakery.

I had no idea what I’d done right in my life to deserve the magical feelings that were exploring every nerve ending in my body, and I didn’t have the energy to question it. Because Jacob Emerson had just kissed me. Twice.

And looking at him now, pulling out our perfect trays of baked goods, with a heavy smile draped across his face, it was hard to convince myself not to go in for round three.

Chapter fifteen

Florence

I’d been back in my apartment-I looked down at the time on my phone-almost twelve minutes now, and I still hadn’t moved my back from the door. Instead I was staring into my living room so intensely that all the furniture and decor became colourful blurry blobs.

Part of me was waiting for the moment when I would jolt awake in my bed, releasing I’d overslept, and the whole thing was a questionable dream I’d had after reading romantic murder mysteries before bed again. Part of me was wondering whether I should have let him leave after he dropped me at my door, and instead invited him in for a coffee, like they do in the movies, where they spend the night doing everything but drinking coffee.

Part of me was hoping I’d move soon so my still-shaking legs could have a breather.

I finally peeled my back away from the door, dragged myself up my spiral stairs, switched on the fairy lights that made my bedroom glow,and flopped face-first on the bed. Eventually, after I realised staying in this position would likely kill me from the lack of fresh air, I got up, ridding myself of my outfit, which was soaked in Jacob’s scent, and went on the hunt for some cosy PJs.

I tried to busy my mind by debating between which shade of plaid pyjama bottoms I should wear and which strappy cami to pair them with, but after what happened-I looked over at my alarm clock-almost two hours ago, my mind was rightfully replaying those kisses. Like I was watching the kiss scene in the firstDefender’s of Timemovie, only this time, it wasn’t some silvery space babe he was kissing. It was me.

I could still feel his lip imprints on mine, the ghosts of his hands and the corners of my body they’d held so tightly, his fingers grazing every part of my skin they touched. I could feel it all—every movement. And my stomach dropped every time I recognised the feeling. It dropped another ten feet when I realised those feelings of dread, that hovered over me like a brooding storm cloud every time I was near him weren’t looming above me anymore.

Sure, New York meant I had my independence. It meant I wasn’t trapped in a situation I had no idea was a trap until the metal bars no longer looked like picket fences, and I could pick out the lies from the promises with no problem. I was on my own in a way I had never been before. I was truly free. And I found it strange how, even when Jacob was by my side, or leaning himself between my thighs, I’d never felt freer.

It was as if I was a whole new woman. A woman who was learning that it’s okay to rely on people for support, knew she should never be made to feel guilty for asking for help. One who knew that doingthings for herself sometimes meant doing the things she’d been too afraid to do. And that only empowered her.

Everything Jacob offered me these last two days was a stepping stone to releasing that.

Suddenly, I had so much energy, that squirmy kind where you want to kick your feet like a five-year-old and dance around like a lunatic to your favourite songs. Usually, when I felt like this, I’d call Sydney—but releasing that I couldn’t only sends my mood right back to zero. At least I’d have Nanna Dorothy to blab about all this to in the morning, but releasing that, other than Addy, I had no one else I’d rather scream at than Sydney, was enough to almost make those tears come back for a victory lap.

Instead, I decided on the green plaid bottoms and cream cami and threw them on quick enough that it distracted me.

Once I’d settled in bed and been careful not to crack the spine of the new book I’d started this morning, my phone began vibrating in the sheets, making me jump back into my pillow fortress. It was half nine at night now, which wasn’t my prime time for receiving calls, but nothing about it struck me as odd as I picked up my phone. Not until my eyes squinted at the black and white picture filling the screen, sending my heart right down to my toes, as I silently said every swear word I could think of to the universe.

My sister was calling me.

Why on earth was she calling me?

It took me a second to register what was happening. My hands felt as if a hive of bees had set up camp in my palms from how I gripped my phone, letting the vibrations buzz my hands to numbness. I sat therefrozen for the rest of the time she was calling, unable to process why she even was calling me.

A few seconds later, the call stopped flashing on my screen, leaving me in silence. Stunned. But before I could do anything, let alone breathe a sigh of relief that whatever that was, was over, she called again.

Twice in one night? Wow. That almost made up for the endless months of radio silence.

The second call didn’t ring as long as the last one, probably meaning she got the idea I didn’t want to talk to her. Or maybe she regained some common sense and realised how fucking uncalled it was for her to contact me out of the blue. I scooted under the covers and turned on my side, but before I could get comfy again, the text tone of my phone broke through the static silence of the apartment.

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