26. Anna

CHAPTER 26

ANNA

F or the last three mornings, I've woken up in Joel's arms. He's so warm that we've had to push all the blankets off the bed. They're still heaped in a pile on the floor, but I don't care. A bit of mess won't hurt this apartment. Besides, we'd have been so hot if we'd kept them because our two bodies pressed together act like a boiler, keeping each other warm even in the dead of winter.

We're at the point now where we do actually sleep, if only in the sense that the sex lasts for a few hours and ends before dawn breaks. Joel is so good in bed. Like, exactly what a girl wants from a lover. He's attentive. He's gentle. He doesn't hesitate when I ask him to fuck me harder and stops the second I tell him to ease off.

I think I might be in love with him.

At least, my vagina is. And unfortunately, all the rest of me seems to agree.

Time to stop thinking horny thoughts. I'm sitting on my bed, trying to do what I'm loosely calling work. It's been a few days since I checked my emails or did anything productive at all, so I'm having a work morning. So far, that's involving staring at my laptop and scrolling through videos on my phone.

What my laptop is saying is too scary to look at anyway. It's using words like overdrawn and error and it's making me queasy. Fortunately, I'm not actively in any debt which I guess is good. Despite the whole losing-the-apartment thing, because it was all under Mariana's name, none of the tens of thousands of dollars of missed payments are my responsibility.

My personal banking is happy, at least.

My business banking is a disaster.

With no clients to test it and no Mariana to make any updates, the software is just sitting there eating up server space. Fortunately we don't pay a huge premium for the domain, but it's going to add up if I can't get this thing moving. And paying a new software developer is going to be a hit. I don't have a clue where I'd even start with any of it.

What a mess. I expected setbacks, but this…

All I can do is try again. I guess the place to start is with someone who knows software. I have a scattering of followers on my socials from my desperate attempts to network, so maybe that's a good way to dip my toes back in. I pull up my profile and start drafting an ad.

Looking for a new software developer! Due to recent changes in staff, I'm seeking an experienced developer to —

Wanted! Software developers! Are you a pro, or do you know any experienced developers? I'm on the hunt for the new head of development here —

Hiring: software developer. DM your CV or reach out to me for more information about the exciting new opportunity to become part of the staff and help behind the scenes to create the best —

Ugh. How to word this so it doesn't sound totally shit?

I'm about to start bashing my head on the wall in frustration when Joel knocks on my door, startling me.

"Knock, knock," he says as he comes in.

I barely look up "You know it's pointless to say that when you've A, already knocked, and B, just come right in anyway."

"Does it matter if I'm bringing presents?"

I turn to look at him properly. He's wearing an oversized T-shirt with the logo of a band that was popular way before he was born, and in his hand is a plate stacked with an assortment of cookies and cakes. This guy really knows how to snack, and though he claims to never workout, with the amount he eats and the way he looks, I can't believe it.

"I am trying to work, actually."

He sidles over to me and gives me his puppy dog eyes. Relenting, I pat the bed next to me. He sits, holding out his plate to me in offering. To make him feel better, I take a chocolate chip cookie.

"I know," he says, taking a cookie for himself. "I just thought you could do with a break. I could hear your groans of agony from the kitchen."

"I was not groaning ," I say. "I'm just… trying to figure some stuff out."

He sees right through my act and raises an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Anything I can help with?"

"No," I snap too fast. Joel grimaces a little and I reach out to take his hand in apology. They slot together and it feels like being anchored. It's the calmest I've felt all day. "Sorry. I just need to work this out alone."

He nods even though I don't think he understands. He doesn't know what it's like to feel like a charity case. I know that's not how Joel would think about it, but my pride won't let me give in. I'm doing this for myself. I don't need anyone else's help, even if a billionaire's funds would solve a lot of my problems right now.

"You're stressed," he says. It's not a question but I nod in agreement anyway. "You know what I always do when I'm stressed?"

"I can guess."

He sighs in dramatic, fake hurt. "I'm not suggesting we go crazy. I'm just saying you need to take your mind off it for a bit."

I laugh bitterly. "It's not that easy. I can't get it out of my head."

"You need a distraction, then!"

"Joel," I say with a fond sigh. He comes from a simple world where problems can just be fixed and worries are just temporary. I wonder what he'd do if he was dumped somewhere random with a hundred dollars and no idea what to do. He'd probably just charm someone into helping him.

He puts his plate of snacks down on the floor. "Babe, listen. I know I don't know much, but I do know stress is bad for you. At least let me sit here and hang with you."

"Okay, fine. You can be like my service dog."

"Woof," he barks in the worst imitation of a dog I've ever heard. He's trying to make me laugh and it works. I lean over to kiss him, smiling into it.

For a while, we sit quietly as I draft and redraft my hiring post, Joel offering tiny suggestions here and there. Usually, I'd be annoyed with someone looking over my shoulder and chipping in uninvited, but Joel is resting his head against me and the things he's saying are actually useful. If he was doing it for every other word, I'd kick him out, but he's only doing it when I get stuck.

What have I been doing without him?

But it doesn't last because he gets bored. In the twenty or so minutes he's been sitting there, I've been almost productive, so I don't one hundred percent hate it when he shuffles about and turns his head to bury his face in the crook of my neck.

That, I can ignore. It's when he starts leaving kisses that I protest. "Joel, please. I'm busy."

"So am I," he mumbles, kissing me harder.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a second, stretching my neck out to give him more access. His lips are so soft, and he does that thing where he drags his teeth over my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind it. When he touches me, it's like nothing else in the world matters.

Which I guess is the point.

The laptop is still showing me that cursed blinking line of no inspiration, and Joel's hand has started snaking its way up my thigh, and I know I should do work but my arousal isn't easy to ignore when he's touching me and the idea of making out with him for the next hour or three sounds so much more fun than hunting for employees.

To hell with it all. It's not like I'm getting anywhere.

I slam the lid of my laptop shut and cast it away onto the floor. Joel smirks at me and I kiss it right off his smug face. I'm hungry for him. It doesn't seem to matter how much I've touched him this week, how many times we kiss, how many times our bodies meet. I need more.

Being in his arms is the only thing stopping the outside world from crumbling around me and leaving me a shattered husk of who I used to be. With Joel, I almost feel human.

And it's not like he minds kissing me either. My anxiety wants to flare up about it, but he's still here. He's still tender and caring. That has to count for something, right?

He's right, anyway, because the second our lips meet, all thoughts that aren't him fly far away from my brain.

I wrap my arms around him and drag him onto the bed. "Take off your pants," I demand.

"No," he says, and I'm about to protest when he flips to be on top of me and starts shimmying his way down my body, dragging my pants and underwear off in one move. As he settles between my legs, I drag my fingers through his hair, my fist tightening as his tongue does that absolutely magical thing that makes all the knots inside me untwist until I lose control.

When he finally kneels up, my legs are jelly and my hair must be a mess. "You're too good at that," I pant, breathless.

His lips shine with my wetness as he grins. "I've had a lot of practice."

"Wow, way to make me feel valued," I tease, reaching out for him because all I want to do is kiss him and kiss him.

He shuffles ungracefully up to meet my lips. "Hey, I'm only doing this with you now. You're very nearly the longest relationship I've ever had."

I raise an eyebrow. "Keep digging."

"It's all been a rehearsal until you."

I roll my eyes and flop onto my back. "Your pickup lines need more work."

"I think you'll find I've already picked you up."

He loops his arm over my waist, pushing my T-shirt up so he can kiss my belly. I giggle at the sensation. "Consider me caught," I say, another rush of arousal flowing between my legs.

"Good," he says, looking up at me. "Because I think I love you, Anna Romero."

My mouth drops open. I'm speechless. Did he just…?

He presses his lips into my skin again and whispers, "I really mean it. I love you."

I don't know how to reply to that except with the truth. "Me too," I say quietly, sitting up to pull him towards me. "I've never felt like this before."

"Me neither."

We sit staring at each other for a long moment, my heart still dizzy from orgasm. The more I look into his eyes, the more I feel myself falling.

And somehow, I don't feel afraid.

"Kiss me again," I murmur, and he obeys, pressing me back down into the bed.

By the time we're finally wrung out, evening is drawing in and all we can do is lie exhausted on the bed, giggling like teenagers over a confession that couldn't be more real.