Page 66 of His Sound
“What, like, now?” I joke.
She just gives me a look.
“Yeah, like I’m just going to head off across the city at two in the morning and show up at his door.”
Another look.
“Justine, you’re not serious about this, are you?”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know why you even came back here with me in the first place. After that little display at the concert, I was prepared to take your keys from you and find my own way. You’re passing up the dicking of the century for hot chocolate. Oh, excuse me,”—she points at the canister—“gourmethot chocolate. Never mind. I guess you made the wise choice. Let’s just sit here sipping our gourmet drinks, talking about all the wild sex youdidn’thave tonight.”
“Jesus, Justine.” I shut the stove off and pour the milk into the mugs. “You really think I should go over there?”
“Yes, Molly. In the name of every Sherbrooke Station fan ever, I think you should drink this gourmet hot chocolate and then get your fine ass out the door to go bang JP Bouchard-Guindon.”
* * *
I feellike I’m being pimped out. Justine ordered me an Uber and practically pushed me into the street after we finished our hot chocolate. I ride in the backseat and watch the blocks of Montreal walk-ups fly by, the occasional wayward pedestrian making their way up the street as we head towards Griffintown.
It’s only once I’m standing at the locked door to JP’s building that I realize I probably should have texted first. I don’t even know if he’s awake. I dial his number and hold the phone up to my ear.
“Molly?” he answers, his accent lingering on the second syllable of my name.
“Are you awake?” I ask, stupidly.
He chuckles. “I did not answer the phone in my sleep. Yes, I’m awake. Are you okay?”
“I am.” I take a deep breath. “I’m outside your apartment right now.”
The line cuts off. Seconds later, I hear his footsteps thundering down the stairs. When the door swings open, he’s standing there with his chest bare, dark ink crawling up his arms, hair hanging loose to brush his shoulders.
Neither of us speaks.
We’re two magnets right now, inching closer and closer together until the pull between us gets so strong we’re flung towards one another.
His mouth is hot and greedy against mine as he kisses me like he wants to swallow me whole. Somehow, we’re inside the stairwell, the handrail digging into my lower back while I grab onto his biceps, his shoulders, his neck—anything that will keep me standing.
There’s no saving me after that. I’m gone. I’m lost to his body and to the feeling of his hands on me. There is no Molly Myers right now. There is only breath and blood and bones andwanting. The wanting is the only thing that gives me the power to push him off me and lead the way upstairs. It’s almost painful, the ache that seeps into every muscle as I listen to his footfalls behind mine. I feel oddly threatened and thrilled with him stalking behind me like this, his shadow looming next to mine on the wall.
I only stop walking when I’m in front of his unit’s door. I feel him halt just behind me. His panting is even louder than mine as he reaches past me to twist the doorknob.
His hand clamps down on my waist. He whirls me around, and our mouths find one another again. I bury my hands in his hair and tug, hard. He groans against my parted lips. When he grabs my hips and lifts me upwards, I take the hint and twine my arms and legs around him. He marches us through the doorway and into his room, tossing me onto the bed just like he did the first time I came here.
Only this time, I won’t tell him to wait. This time, I know I’m ready.
I kick my boots off and shrug myself out of my coat. JP tosses it off the bed with something close to a snarl.
“The rest of it,” he orders. “Take it all off. Everything, Molly. Now.”
His hands are already on his belt where he’s standing over me.
I feel it too: the strained, almost panic-ridden edge in his voice. What we’re about to do feels imperative, necessary, incontrovertible—we need to do this, and we need to do itnow.
I scramble out of my clothing as he tugs his jeans and boxers off. He takes just one moment to stare at me stretched out naked in front of him, one brief second to raise his eyes from me to the ceiling like he’s saying a prayer, and then all of me is touching all of him.
Almost all of him.
“JP, please,” I moan, as he kisses his way down my neck. “I need you. I need you now.”
