Professor Feelgood (Page 71)
Taking my cues from his responses, I increase my speed and lean over to kiss his chest and neck. The noises he’s making rise in pitch, sounding more desperate every time I sink back down. Then he looks at me with a tight jaw and determined mouth, and even as I’m dragging him toward completion, he’s taking me with him. He touches me as I ride him, and when he picks up the pace, I can’t control my rhythm any more. Everything becomes uneven and out of control. We’re both clinging to each other, grasping and panting, coiling each other tighter. I close my eyes and stop breathing, trying to hold on as the pressure becomes too much. And as I press my chest to his, and he starts groaning my name, I grip the back of his neck while circling my hips in jagged, desperate arcs.
I don’t know if he comes first, or if I do. But after the shock waves fade, I collapse onto him and don’t move for a long time.
I hug him as we both pant our way back to reality, and after a while, he mutters, “Just so you know, as soon as I can feel my legs, we’re doing that again.”
I rub my cheek against his. “Yeah, we are.”
_______________
Discovering our insane sexual chemistry is both the best and worst thing Jake and I have ever done. All the tension we felt before we experienced each other’s bodies fades into obscurity beside the overwhelming need that devours us whenever we’re together. And our deepening feelings only feed the flame.
I’d often dreamed of what a soul mate connection would feel like, but never in my wildest dreams had I imagined the all-consuming passion it would unleash. And it seems Jake feels the same. Every now and then I wonder if he had even more potent chemistry with Ingrid, because I can’t imagine that any couple in the world is having better sex than we are. That’s why it’s so hard to control.
We start out each day vowing to work for the whole morning before rewarding ourselves, but we never last, and neither of us knows the definition of a quickie. Our lovemaking is always prolonged and multi-orgasmic, and we don’t care where we do it: Kitchen, bathroom, living room, in his bed, against the wall, bent over the couch. As long as he’s inside me, nothing else matters.
We’ve had to resort to spending days apart, just to get some work done. Today was not one of those days
“Ash? Hey.”
I wake with a start. I’m sprawled face down in the middle of Jake’s bed and look up blearily to find him sitting next to me, freshly showered and fully dressed.
I sit up and rub my face. “Hey. How long was I asleep?”
“A couple of hours. If I didn’t have to go to this blogger thing with Sid, I’d still be in there with you.” He puts a fresh cup of coffee next to me. “I’ve made it extra strong, so drink it, and then look over those edits I did yesterday. There’s something not right about them, and I need your incredible brain to tell me what I’m doing wrong.”
“Yeah. Okay.” I still feel dazed. I’ve never done a lot of drugs, but I can imagine that an orgasm hangover is much like coming down from a high. Everything hurts in the best way possible, and all I want to do is order takeout, snuggle with Jake, and binge-watch something on Netflix.
“Ash? You’re awake, right?”
“Totally.” I flop back and then arch as I yawn and stretch. Jake’s focus tries to roam everywhere at once.
“Dammit, woman.” He leans over and kisses my hip bone. “Turning me on before I have to get on the subway …” He kisses up the side of my ribcage. ”… could get me arrested.” He finishes by cupping my breast and planting a light kiss on my nipple. “Put that weaponized sexiness away. At least until I get home.”
He pulls the comforter up to hide my nakedness. And when he grazes his fingers over my cheek, I take his hand and kiss his palm as I work up the nerve to ask him something. There’s been a thought niggling at me for a while, and I’ve put off asking him, because I know I might not like the answer, but I can’t avoid it forever.
“Before you go, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
I look at his fingers to avoid his face.
“I know you said you’re over Ingrid, but … do you ever think of her when we’re together? Maybe wish she was here with you instead of me?”
Jake’s face falls. “Jesus, Ash … no.” He’s denying it, but I can tell he’s not telling me the whole truth.
“It’s okay,” I say, feeling stupid for asking when I knew it would make me feel like crap. “I get it. She’s your soul mate. You spent a year writing poetry about her. In a couple of months, you’ll be the published author of a book about her. I just know that when it comes out, the only thing people are going to want to hear about is that relationship, and … well, I’ll be standing in the background like some sort of consolation prize.”
He takes both of my hands in his. “Asha, you’re no one’s consolation prize. Ingrid is past history. You’re my future.”
I look at him. “But you don’t know for certain she’s over you. I can’t shake the fear that she’ll read this book and decide she wants you back. I mean, the way you write about her … the obvious passion in your words. How could any woman read that and not be moved?”
Jake looks down at our hands, his expression conflicted. His jaw is tensing like crazy, and he keeps looking like he’s about to say something but then stopping himself.
Finally, after a few hitching breaths, he looks at me and says, “I’ve been so wrapped up in this whole thing – the book, having you back in my life … I didn’t even think how the Ingrid thing would affect you. I’m such an asshole.”
I start to disagree, but he stops me. “Ash, this is on me. Not you. There are things I should have told you a long time ago, and because I didn’t …” He shakes his head like he’s angry at himself then looks me in the eyes. “I don’t have time to get into it now, but let’s talk tonight. Meet me at Dad’s place. Eight o’clock.”
I nod. “Okay, but why there?”
“Just meet me, okay?” He looks at the clock and swears under his breath. “I gotta go.” He takes my face in both hands and kisses me with so much tenderness, it takes my breath away. “See you tonight.”
He grabs his keys and wallet and heads toward the door. When he opens it, he turns back to me. “And for what it’s worth, my feelings about you are in a different universe to how I felt about Ingrid. There’s no comparison.”
He closes the door behind him, and I wait until his footfalls fade before padding over to the bathroom and turning on the shower. I know he was trying to reassure me, but that last statement could be taken either way.
Standing under the warm spray, I let my thoughts twist around themselves until they come up with the most pessimistic outcomes. I’m not usually a paranoid person, but when you love someone as much as I love Jake, a certain amount of suspicion comes with the territory. I’ve never really dealt with the jealousy I felt over Ingrid being so important to him, and those thoughts keep prodding at old bruises, making them ache.
After getting dressed, I throw myself into my work to keep my mind busy. I speed through Jake’s chapters, red-penning the areas he needs to rewrite or refine, and then I look over the final production schedule that Serena has sent through. All of the artwork for the book is now completed, and we only have a week to complete the final edits and formatting before it heads to the printers. If we’re going to have any chance of getting this thing done in time, Jake and I are going to have to spend most of our days apart.