Jan. Week 3: Friday Evening--Leah accepts Jonathan's Advances...(Suspicion: -5)

He pressed her against the wall and kissed her, soft at first, then with building hunger as his hands found the edge of her towel. She let herself fall into it, into the simplicity of being wanted by someone who didn’t expect anything but her company and a beer on the back porch. She let him undo her, let her towel drop to the floor, and allowed herself to believe—for a few trembling seconds—that she could be clean again.

Jonathan pulled her toward the bed, trailing soft kisses down her neck and over her shoulders. She shivered, goosebumps prickling in the wake of his touch, every nerve ending lit up and clashing with the phantom memory of Howard’s hands from earlier. She tried to anchor herself in Jonathan’s warmth, in his scent, in the way he murmured “God, you’re beautiful” as if he’d never said it before.

He shed his clothes in a messy pile by the bed—shirt, jeans, boxers, all peeled off in a single, comic striptease that made Leah giggle despite herself. He lay back on the sheets, arms spread, cock already hard and waiting for her. It was so familiar, so safe, that it almost made her dizzy.

She crawled onto the bed beside him, pressing soft kisses to his stomach, his hips, working her way down until she hovered over his erection. She glanced up just long enough to see him watching her, eyes wide with that sweet, dumbfounded love that still made her chest ache.

She took him in her mouth, slow and deliberate, tracing her tongue along the sensitive underside, letting him fill her throat in a way that was practiced and intimate and utterly unlike what she’d done for Howard that afternoon….or so she was telling herself. She wanted to erase the memory of the Mr. Howard’s insistence; she wanted to reclaim this act, make it hers, make it theirs.

Jonathan groaned, hands knotting in her hair, hips twitching with the rhythm of her bobbing head. She let herself get lost in it, in the warm salt of his skin, in the little noises he made when she grazed him with her teeth or took him just a little deeper. She pulled away only long enough to catch her breath, then dove back down with renewed determination, eager to make him forget the world outside their bedroom.

She swirled her tongue around the tip, sucked him in slow pulses, and reveled in the way his breathing hitched and stuttered beneath her. She wanted to be good for him—better than good, she wanted to be perfect, wanted to prove to herself that she could still be the Leah he loved, the Leah who didn’t think about anyone else’s cock but his.

“Fuck, Leah, you’re gonna make me—” he gasped, but she only hollowed her cheeks and doubled down, determined to finish what she started. He came with a hoarse shout and she swallowed his tepid load easily.