Page 147 of Those Who Are Bound

A scoff. “We’ll see. Later, Ellie.”

“Goodbye, Becks.” They hung up. She let out a sigh of relief. She’d made it through the call without raising his suspicions or accidentally mentioning the canoe trip. Becks was definitely not on board with this, but he hadn’t had the heart attack she’d expected. So, all in all, that was a positive.

As the dish cooled, her gaze went back to the window and the increasing darkness.

Jonah had texted that he was on his way. She tried not to count the minutes in her head between the text and when he should have arrived. Since Sunday, when he’d sent her away after church, she hadn’t seen him.

She missed him. It was hypocritical of her. When she’d cuthimoff, it had been okay and justified. When he went silent, she drove herself nuts with self-doubt,even knowingthat this was a doomed relationship. It was Lucy’s random remark of how busy Jonah was, getting everything sorted out for the trip, that had made her relax.

He did text her. Morning greetings and bedtime affirmations.

They made her feel better—if not selfish—for thinking she should be his priority. After all, she was the only one who knew the sands were slipping through the hourglass.

The sound of the motorcycle supercharged everything in her. Excitement, anticipation, all the sensations that reinforced that this man had a powerful hold over her. The rumbling of hismotorcyclenearly brought her to her knees. For the next couple of days, she was going to enjoy the hell out of him. She was looking forward to sex in the woods with Jonah. She had a sneaking suspicion that his wild side would be truly unleashed, and she was dying to experience it.

She moved to the end of the counter and leaned back, posing, waiting for him. Her heart was banging away; the pulse between her legs matched the throbbing intensity. Lord, what was taking him so long to park?

And then he was on the stairs, pounding up them—racing—as though he had been anticipating this moment as much as she; longing for it as intensely. The screen door ripped open and he was there, gorgeous, with black hair tousled from the helmet, leather jacket open, jeans and black boots. He dropped a canvas bag by the door.

His expression was comical as he raked his gaze over her: conflicted, confused lust. Like he really liked what he was looking at, but he wasn’t sure if it made him a pervert.

“The cartoon kills it, right?” she asked, the humor in her voice.

Jonah remained by the door, head tilted. “The cartoon almost kills it.”

Elliott laughed. “Only almost?” She was wearing another of his university T-shirts, a cartoon caricature of the mascot on the front. The hemline danced across her upper thighs, teasing a peek of where his attention finally settled. Her elbows were braced on the counter behind her; if she slid them back just an inch, she was certain he wouldn’t eat his dinner.

The lasagna, anyway.

“Only almost. But ducky won’t stand a chance as soon as I get my hands on you.”

It was summer and all, but lawd, the thermometer almost exploded. So she moved her elbows off the counter, and his attention snapped up to hers. “Hi, Jonah.”

He smiled, coming forward, heat and intention mirrored there. Removing his jacket, he responded thickly, “Hi, Elliott.”

Dodging him, she went around the bar. “Are you hungry?”

Following, tossing the jacket on the upper bar, he crowded behind her at the counter. His hands were on her hips, drawing her derriere snugly against his crotch. “Starving.” He ran his nose along her neck,causing her to shiver in delight, before he placed a kiss beneath her jawline. “The food smells good, too.”

“Lasagna,” she fairly panted, wriggling back against him, encouraging. “Do you like lasagna?”

“I don’t think there’s a man alive who doesn’t like lasagna,” he assured her, nipping at her earlobe. He shifted her forward, pressing her against the counter.

Desperately fighting for levity, bracing her hands in front of her, she responded, “I’ve heard that somewhere before.” She gasped when one hand slid from her waist to stroke her ass, then ventured farther south between her legs.“You haven’t eaten.”

“Mm.”

She watched him open a drawer with his other hand, withdrawing a tablespoon. In the meantime, he reached his destination between her legs. She breathed out his name as his fingers teased with intention. Her legs shook; her body heated instantly. Her cheeks flushed, and she knew his digits were being coated.

Spoon in hand, he tore the tinfoil off the casserole dish and carved out a helping. Not missing a beat—caress, rather.Shit.

Inanely, her brain mush as she rode his fingers, she pointed out, “I set the table.” The words came out disjointed.

He chuckled briefly. “Looks lovely.” Bringing the spoon of the steaming fare to his lips, he blew on it. Apparently satisfied that it was cool enough, he moved it to her mouth. “Open.”

Elliott was struggling to stay upright as his fingers thrust into her, using her slickness to tease her clit. If she hadn’t been supported by his body and the counter, she’d be on the floor. And he wanted her toeat? She shook her head as a tiny whimper escaped her.

The delightful torture stopped, which causedher to emit a desperate whine.

---