Page 24 of Depraved
His mouth quirks up. “Pathetic.”
“I know. I just … Goddess … I was so scared, Jonah.” I throw aside any pride and rush towards him, moving to the side of the bed and grabbing his hand before he can try to pull away.
All I can do is stare at him for a few moments, letting his scent and gaze wash over me. There’s something so cleansing and pure about his presence; it feels almost like a spring rain melting away a crust of dirt-stained snow on the side of a road.
Seeing him awake softens my hard edges.
I’ve always made fun of sappy movies, those lines the women say that makes them seem desperate. But I don’t think I ever understood them before. Now, I do.
“I can’t lose you.” I gently use my free hand to straighten out his fingers instead of letting them intertwine with mine. Then I lift his hand and bend my head to kiss the tip of each one, each connection of my lips sending a spark through my center, reminding me how precious he is. How precious this connection is. His mechanic’s hands have gotten smoother from days lying in bed. I don’t think I’ve ever felt his skin this soft.
“Hey, um some soup might be good,” he says when I kiss the last one.
Shit. He doesn’t feel it too? This humming connection? Dammit.
I drop his hand onto my lap and when I loosen my grip, he pulls away. The awkwardness is back. I’m not sure if it’s because of my kisses or my confession, though I suspect those are only symptoms, and the cause of this uneasiness between us has to do with something else.
He obviously wants to avoid talking to me by sending me off on an errand. On the other hand, he’s asking for something I can give. Something basic and simple that I probably should have just brought him before I came in here. I try to suppress my disappointment and give him a smile as I stand up. “Absolutely. Soup. I can do that.”
My new goal in life is to figure out what he wants and give it to him. I decide that this very second. I’ll erase awkwardness with devotion. That can work, right? Even my wolf snorts in disbelief at that line of thought.
But I don’t have any better solutions right now.
“I’ll tell Matthew.” I turn and take a step towards the door. I’m pretty sure Jonah wants to get rid of me. But what if he falls back asleep? What if this is the only chance I get to talk to him before Black hauls me off to some backwoods territory?
I have to address the elephant in the room, and I have to do it now.
Instead of leaving, I turn further, and stride across the room to the intercom near the bathroom door. I buzz down to the kitchen and relay my mate’s order.
“Does he want a little steak with that?” Matthew asks. “I have a New York strip.”
“Yes absolutely. Yes,” Jonah replies eagerly before I can even turn and ask him. My finger isn’t even off the buzzer.
“Yes to the steak,” I say.
“Ask if he has any ham,” Jonah calls out.
“Got any ham?”
“Or lamb. Lamb sounds good,” Jonah adds.
Matthew hears it all through the speaker. His droll reply makes me laugh. “I’ll bring up a tray full of anything that once had eyes.”
“Great. Awesome. In that case, forget the soup.” Jonah states.
“Be right up,” Matthew confirms.
I shake my head in amusement, my nerves fading a bit at that silly little exchange. I leave the buzzer and head back over to the bed. This time, I try not to crowd Jonah too much since he essentially just sent me away. I carefully sit at the foot of the embroidered emerald comforter, leaning my back against one of the canopy poles. “It sounds like Matthew’s going to bring a whole farmyard up for you.”
“I could probably eat it. I’m starving.”
I lean my head against the pole and look at him for a second, just admiring the strong angle of his jaw. The curve of the biceps he works so hard to build up at the gym. The lips I know better than anyone else’s. A fond smile curls my mouth.
But his fingers play with the sheets and his gaze darts towards the door, not maintaining eye contact. It makes me sad and drives me insane simultaneously. I have to know.
“Jonah, what’s wrong?” I ask, the question erupting from me. I cringe, but I can’t stand it any longer. The need to fix things between us is a physical urge, just as strong as the urge to eat or run. “What did I do? Was it the freak out that day?”
“Hmm?” His confused expression tells me he’s not following.
