Something to Talk About(91)

Jo never made a move. She kissed Emma, so, so softly, but she never pushed for more. Emma was the first to open her mouth. Emma was the first to brush her fingers through Jo’s hair, to clutch at her hips and pull her closer. Jo always reciprocated, but she never made the first move.

“Is this okay?” They both asked it at the same time as Emma pulled away to nip at Jo’s jaw.

They froze in their synchronicity for a moment before dissolving into giggles. Jo was leaning into Emma, not quite in her lap but almost, and Emma buried her face in Jo’s neck and laughed.

“It’s okay with me,” Jo said, stroking her fingers through Emma’s hair.

Emma grabbed Jo by the waist and tugged her closer, so Jo was actually in her lap, straddling her. “Still okay?”

Jo smiled. “More than okay.”

They made out like teenagers. Emma didn’t move things along now that she had Jo in her lap, and Jo herself still seemed content with whatever Emma wanted. What Emma wanted was exactly what she had: Jo on top of her and kissing her and kissing her and kissing her. Emma’s hand barely slipped under Jo’s shirt, her fingers resting against the skin of Jo’s back.

It really did feel like learning to drive. Felt like something that, objectively, Emma knew people did—every day people did this. But her heart was in her throat anyway. She knew it was just kissing but it felt like everything.

“Actually,” Emma said, pulling back a little. “Can we—can we take a break?”

“Of course,” Jo said.

She pulled back farther, trying to climb out of Emma’s lap. Emma’s hands tightened on her hips.

“No, don’t go,” Emma said. “I just—the kissing is a lot. My heart is—fast.”

Jo’s concern melted into a bright smile.

“Good fast?”

Emma nodded. “Too-good fast.”

“You know, you are breathing kind of heavily,” Jo said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “You’re not going to have an asthma attack on me, are you?”

Emma poked Jo in the side. “Be nice to me.”

“Always,” Jo said immediately, and Emma couldn’t help but kiss her again. Jo laughed into her mouth. “I thought we were taking a break.”

“Break’s over,” Emma said.

She moved things along this time. She bunched the hem of Jo’s shirt in her fists before leaning back to check in. Jo nodded. Emma pulled the shirt over her head.

And now Jo was in her lap in jeans and a bra. A black lacy bra. Emma had to take another break, just for a moment. Jo used the time to take Emma’s shirt off her.

“You’re beautiful,” Jo said, and Emma kissed her.

There was so much skin to explore. Emma ran her hands up Jo’s bare back, and they both shivered. She held Jo’s waist, ghosted her hands over Jo’s chest until they were up on either side of Jo’s neck, holding gently. Jo scratched her fingers over Emma’s abdomen.

Emma moved her mouth to those collarbones she had blushed over when she arrived, kissed at first, then bit.

“Maybe we should move to the bedroom?” Jo’s voice was mostly breath.

“We’ll miss seeing the ball drop,” Emma said. She wasn’t doing a great job of putting thoughts together.

“I think we’ll live.”

Jo pulled Emma off the couch and tugged her down the hallway. Emma didn’t care about the ball dropping at all.

“Stay here,” Jo said at the door to her bedroom.

Outside the sky could have been falling—meteors or atomic bombs. The world could have been ending. Even then, Emma wouldn’t have taken her eyes off Jo, moving darkly through the room until clicking on a lamp by the side of the bed. It glowed, soft and warm, and Jo returned to Emma’s side. Her bedroom was a cocoon. Still and silent from the outside but the two of them within, growing and changing and—

Kissing. So much kissing. Like they were making up for lost time. Like the world really was ending, and if this was their last moment, they wanted to spend it as a tangle of skin and mouths and tenderness.

Jo, who had followed Emma’s lead thus far, walked backward to her own bed, pulling Emma along with her. She hopped up to sit on the edge of the mattress and wrapped her legs around Emma’s waist.

Emma bent to suck at the soft skin of Jo’s neck. She tried to keep her voice level.

“Please tell me I can take off your pants.”

“That’s the idea,” Jo murmured, sounding way more composed than Emma felt.

Emma’s hands practically tore at the button of Jo’s pants. The skinny jeans were tight enough that Jo’s underwear came off, too. Emma froze. Swallowed. Stared.

Jo smirked and reached behind herself to unclasp her bra.

Emma stared some more.

Jo wore dark sunglasses in public. She ducked her head away from the flashes of paparazzi cameras. In interviews, when asked about her successes, Jo always pivoted to discussing people who had helped her accomplish them.

Yet here she was in front of Emma, shoulders back and head high, preening. Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Jo so pleased to be the center of attention.

She deserved to be proud, though. All smooth skin and perfection. Those infernal collarbones. Emma was going to combust.

She stepped closer to the bed, but before she could get her hands on Jo, she was instead flat on her back, looking up at the ceiling. Jo pressed a knuckle against her through her jeans, and Emma’s hips came up off the bed.