January Weekend 1: Leah and Jonathan have sex on the couch (Suspicion: -10 Luck: -20)

Leah arched an eyebrow at Jonathan’s innuendo, a playful smirk threatening the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, you think you’re clever, don’t you?” she teased, dropping her voice to a sultry purr. He responded by arching forward, capturing her lips in a hungry, eager kiss. Their laughter melted into heat. She let herself tumble into his arms, the comfort of his familiar touch and the lapping waves of their shared chemistry dissolving the last traces of her workweek stress.

Jonathan’s skill with his fingers rivaled his programming prowess, and he wasted no time putting both to good use. In seconds, he had Leah pressed against the cushions, kissing along her jawline and unbuttoning the top of her blouse. She giggled, letting her nails trace the scruff along his jaw.

“You’re so impatient,” she mock-scolded.

“You love it,” he fired back, and the way her pulse lept betrayed just how right he was.

They undressed each other in a hurried, giggly fumble, scattering clothes behind them like breadcrumbs to the weekend’s main event. Jonathan’s hands found her hips, cupping her curves with a reverence that always stirred something deep and needy inside her. She curled her leg around his waist, pulling him closer, and let their bodies tangle together on the living room couch. The taste of his lips, the familiar weight of his body, the soft, eager sounds she drew from him—it all felt so right, so good, so easy.

It wasn’t the slow-motion, movie-magic kind of sex, not tonight. They were both too wired, too hungry for each other. Instead, it was a heady, breathless collision of skin and lips and laughter, each movement deliberate but ****. Jonathan grinned down at her, the heat in his eyes softened by affection. Leah’s gasps and whispered encouragements spurred him on, both of them losing themselves in the moment, the outside world melting away.

Afterwards, they curled up together under a fuzzy throw blanket, Leah’s head tucked into the crook of Jonathan’s shoulder. He stroked her hair in slow, lazy circles and she sighed, content. “Well,” she murmured, “that was better than chocolate.” He kissed her forehead and replied, “You’re the best dessert I could ever ask for.” They lay like that for a long while, the glow of the TV painting shadows on their skin, both blissfully spent and more in love than ever (at least for the moment...)