Unforgiven(31)

“No thanks,” he says as he opens the pink box of cupcakes. I walk over to the island and peek inside the box. Each of them is decorated differently.
“What kind are they?” I ask as my mouth starts watering. A second on the lips, forever on the hips, I hear that bitch at my work saying. “They look amazing, but I think I’m going to pass.”
“You can’t pass on dessert, Lindsay. It’s a rule.”
“A rule, is it?” I laugh.
Jonah snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me up against him. His arm tightens around me, steadying me against him. I inhale the expensive cologne that lightly floats from his skin. “Pick a cupcake,” he whispers into my ear. His warm breath causes me to shiver. His fingers lightly brush against the bare skin of my waistline where my shirt has snaked up.
“The pink one,” I stutter.
“Good choice. Strawberry. I love strawberries,” he says, pulling the pink cupcake from the box. He sets it on the island, moving me in front of him, pinning me between the kitchen island and himself. His hips press against me, holding me in place while his deft fingers move quickly to remove the wrapper from around the base of the cupcake. He tosses the wrapper back into the box.
“Turn around,” he whispers, and I do. He takes his index finger and scoops some of the fluffy pink buttercream frosting onto it, bringing it to my lips. My lips part and his eyes darken as he watches me take his finger into my mouth and lick the frosting from his finger. He removes his finger and scoops some more frosting, this time rubbing some on my bottom lip before sliding his finger back into my mouth.
“Taste good?”
“Mmm hmm,” I muster against his finger, sucking it clean.
“I think I need to try some,” he says, removing his finger from my mouth. His eyes are intense and focused on my lips. I can feel the sticky frosting he rubbed on my bottom lip and instinctively my tongue goes in search of it. “No. That’s mine,” he says just before his tongue finds my lip and lightly licks at the frosting he smeared on my lips moments ago. “I fucking love strawberries,” he says, pressing his lips against mine in a deep kiss.
There are no fireworks, no immediate impressions of love… but I like the feel of his lips on mine. I like being held in his strong arms. I like feeling wanted—and I need to be touched. His large hands hold my head firmly as his tongue explores my mouth. His lips are soft but greedy. He knows what he wants and he’s taking it.
“Jonah,” I breathe against his lips, a plea for him to stop… or maybe a plea for him to continue. I put my hands on his chest to put some distance between us and break our kiss. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands resting on the space between my shoulders and my neck, his thumbs rubbing against my jawline.
“Don’t fight this, Lindsay.”
My body is a traitor as my breaths come quick and shallow. My heart pounds frantically against my ribs as his dark eyes search mine for permission to continue. His grip on my neck tightens as my cell phone begins ringing in my purse.
“Leave it. Focus on this.” He presses his lips to mine again as my phone continues to ring. I can feel him reach behind me and search for the phone to silence it, all the while his lips continue their exploration. With a thump, I hear my phone land on the granite counter, no longer ringing.
“Kiss me,” I mutter against his lips, begging for more… and he does.




 
 
Another Monday, another assignment. My life is seemingly routine, aside from the fact that I’m falling apart on the inside. On the outside, it appears I’ve got this handled—cool and confident. The pills help me cope with the mental pain I carry around, and not eating or eating very little provides me something I can control. I’m losing weight and feel I look good—better. I’m proving to Amanda that I’ve got and will do what it takes to make it.
Mike lets out a little whistle as he watches the complete story we just finished editing. He loves to help me, and I’m so thankful for his guidance. He has an eye for storytelling and a knack for making the imperfect look perfect.
“Amazing, Linds—that’s how you tell a story.”
“Thank you for always helping me. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you,” I admit as we sit and play back the story one last time just to make sure it’s perfect before I submit it.
“You ready to anchor this weekend?”
“What?”
“Brian and Kim are on vacation this weekend. Did you forget it’s a holiday? It’s you and me at the anchor desk Saturday morning!”