I twisted my neck to look at him. “That’s okay.”
He nodded and stepped closer.
Here we go.
I closed my eyes, waiting for him to pounce on me, to strip me out of this dress, and tear through the piece of flesh I was so desperate to be rid of. That’s how these things went, didn’t they? With Jack, I’d come over, and we’d get down to business within minutes. Instead, I felt Jamie brush past me.
“Come on. I’ll show you some of the things I’ve been doing in my free time.”
Confused, I followed him into the kitchen. My eyes widened when I saw what was on the marble island.
“I thought we’d make sushi,” Jamie said, spreading his arms above the plates of fish, vegetables, rice, seaweed, and about a dozen other ingredients. “I didn’t know if you ate raw fish, so I have a bunch of other things we can use.”
I gaped at him. “Um. Okay.”
His excitement wavered at my reaction. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought it might be fun to try it.”
“No, no,” I rushed to reassure him as my brain caught up with the situation. “It does sound fun. I didn’t expect it, that’s all. You caught me by surprise.” Then after a moment, I added, “You tend to do that.”
His lips twitched. “Is that a good thing?”
“It’s not a bad thing,” I told him with a smile.
We got to work.
“You have to flatten the rice a bit with the spoon,” Jamie said, stepping closer to show me how to do it. My gaze caught on how his forearm flexed as he pressed down the utensil. Thick veins ran over his hand, all the way up to his elbow where they curved out of my view. I wanted to trace them with my fingers.
“Do you see what I mean?” he asked, handing the spoon back to me.
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “I think I got it. Where did you learn all this?”
He moved back to his spot beside me. “YouTube, mostly. There’s a spot a few blocks away, and I go there for lunch sometimes to watch the chef do his thing from the bar and pick up some new techniques.”
I looked over at his finished salmon roll while I tried to make my own behave. “You must be a great visual learner because that looks pretty legit.”
“I guess.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “It just takes some practice. Do you like to cook?”
“Not really. Zoey meal preps, so I pitch in on the groceries, and she makes enough for me, too. Sometimes I help her with the easier dishes. It’s been a busy few weeks, so I haven’t had time for much other than takeout.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asked, glancing over at me. “A lot of school work?”
“Yes. And I’ve also started volunteering.”
“That’s great. Where?”
“Um…” Suddenly, I felt awkward. My decision to volunteer at the clinic had largely been inspired by the conversation we had at the beach. I shot him a look out of the corner of my eye. “It’s one of the methadone clinics downtown.”
He stopped folding his second roll halfway through. “Really?”
“Yeah. I wanted to learn more about it and see how I can help out.”
When he didn’t say anything right away, I turned to look at him. He was studying me, his eyes clear and thoughtful. “That’s wonderful, Ivy. How’s it going so far?”
“It can be tough,” I admitted as I went back to trying to get my seaweed to stick together. “People from all walks of life come to the clinic. Their stories are so different, but also similar in many ways. There’s a lot of pain, a lot of trauma, and a lot of failure by the system.”
Jamie hummed in agreement. “Doesn’t it make you want to change things?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It does.” In truth, I’d felt more energized in my school work than ever since I’d started volunteering. There was a purpose to it now.
Jamie sliced his roll and placed eight perfect pieces on a flat wooden tray. He swiped his forehead with the back of his hand and looked at the mess in front of me. I had a roll, but it was bursting at the seams. The seaweed had begun to tear.
The bastard laughed. “Do you want some help?”
I sighed and stepped aside. “This is harder than it looks.”
“Let’s see.” He took out a piece of cucumber and wrangled my roll easily with his long, elegant fingers. My thoughts immediately went to how those fingers had felt inside of me.
“Here,” he said, “Try to cut it now.”
I came closer, my arm brushing against his. “It’ll come apart from the pressure.”
“It won’t. The knife is extremely sharp. It’ll slice right through it.” He handed me the blade and turned his body toward me. “We can do it together, if you’d like.”
“Okay.”
He wrapped his hand around mine. We were so close that I could smell that fresh-laundry scent on him again. My side molded against his chest, and his left palm landed on the small of my back, pressing gently, so gently, while his right hand guided the knife in my hand.
The blade cut through the roll without a hint of resistance. “Like butter,” I murmured, feeling like butter myself as my insides melted from the heat radiating off his skin.
Slice. Slice. Slice. Slice.
I placed the knife down, but he kept his hand on mine. Moving my gaze from the counter, I met his thoughtful gray eyes and watched as he drew his teeth over his lower lip. It glistened in the aftermath, and I wanted to kiss him. Badly.
He turned me until my front was pressed against his and dragged his right hand up my arm to cup the back of my neck. A shiver of anticipation ran all the way from my nape to my heels.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked in a hoarse voice, and I knew in that moment that despite being ten years older, something about this was making him just as nervous as it was making me.
“Yes,” I breathed, tilting my head back in invitation.
His lips were warm and soft and familiar in their eagerness. He was a skillful kisser. I could’ve acknowledged that even after that very first dressing-room kiss. For a long time, I’d been ashamed of the feelings that encounter had unearthed in me. The momentary pang of desire for a stranger that had accosted me without an invitation. Now, I felt that shame leave my body with every swipe of his hot tongue.
He pulled away and cupped my cheek, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb. I leaned into his touch, my chest rapidly rising and falling between us. He glanced down at the low V of my dress, lingered on the exposed skin for a moment, and let out a long breath.
We stood in the kitchen, the last of the day’s light still seeping in through the matte-glass panes of the arched windows. I studied his face, noting the tension in his jaw and the thin lines on his forehead. I thought he was going to kiss me again, but instead, he reluctantly stepped away.
“Want to make a few more and eat out in the backyard?”
Fifteen minutes later, we stepped out onto the grassy patio with full plates and cups of water in our hands. Some gardening had been done here as well. Long flower beds looked ready to sprout, and an ornate fountain stood in one of the corners, the sounds of the water filling the air around us.
Jamie placed his food on a small picnic table and grabbed a folded blanket from the bench beside it.
“It’s beautiful here,” I told him as he spread the blanket over the grass.
He looked back at me, smiling. “Let me turn on the lights.” The string lights that crossed above our heads flickered on and started emitting a warm orange glow.
“It’s kind of magical,” I said, turning in place to take everything in. “Did you do all of this yourself?”
He guided me to the blanket, and we sat down across from each other, his legs crossed, while I tucked mine under me. “Yeah. I spend a lot of time at home, so I wanted to make it comfortable. I’ve been doing a lot of gardening, too.”
The thought of Jamie digging at the flower beds with a tiny shovel was impossibly endearing, and I grinned at him. A flush crept up his cheeks, even as he tried to
laugh it off. “I went from one extreme to the other, didn’t I? Crazy front man of a heavy metal band to a lonely domestic weirdo.”
Something moved inside my chest at his words. “There’s nothing wrong with being weird or domestic,” I said. “And you have me here, so you’re not alone.”
His eyes held that elusive warmth again as he nodded. “You’re right. You’re here.”
The realization that this evening meant something to him hit me in that very moment like a hundred-pound sledgehammer. My hands grew clammy in my lap. This wasn’t some casual hookup for him. He didn’t just want to fuck me. This was a man who had gone through a lot, and he was letting me into his world despite having no reason to trust me. He liked me, and, yes, he wanted me, but he was looking for more.
If I were a better person, I would excuse myself and tell him this was a bad idea, but as I watched him pop a piece of sushi into his mouth, I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to leave. This unexpected date was the most fun I’d had with someone of the opposite sex since that goddamn tour. In fact, I wasn’t totally sure that I’d had fun on that tour. My feelings during those two weeks hadn’t been exactly joyful. They’d just been potent and pervasive and transcendent compared to anything I’d ever felt before then.
Jamie paused mid-chew and raised a brow at me, probably wondering why I hadn’t started to eat. I snapped out of my trance and picked up the chopsticks, but to my horror, my hands shook.
“Are you all right?” Jamie asked, concern laced through his voice.
I put the chopsticks down and reached for my glass of water instead. “Great.”
When I forced myself to look at him, he was frowning. “Ivy, I’m not expecting anything, in case that’s what you’re worried about. If you’ve changed your mind about me, I understand. I half expected you to run out of here by now.” He looked off to the side. “I’m not exactly a great catch at the moment, and I know our history is more than a little mes—”
I didn’t know if it was the guilt I felt or the fact that I was so fucking attracted to him, but I shoved the plates aside and climbed into his lap. He stopped talking mid-word, his mouth slightly parted as he gazed at me.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” I said. “But you seem intent on doing so. Why are you talking yourself down?”
He exhaled a long breath and moved his hands to rest on my thighs. “I haven’t been with anyone since rehab. A kind of self-imposed punishment, I suppose. For a long time, I didn’t feel like I had anything to offer to another person, and I didn’t want to risk hurting anyone else. Then you came along. I know I should’ve pushed you away last night, but I couldn’t. I can’t. So a part of me is still hoping you’ll change your mind.”
My heart hurt for him. However harsh I’d been with Jamie paled in comparison to how harsh he’d been with himself, and I wasn’t having it. Maybe he wanted more than a hookup, and maybe I didn’t, but I knew I wanted to show him that he didn’t need to punish himself anymore. “And the other part of you? What does it want?” I asked.
Tightening his grip on my legs, he glanced down my dress. “To tear this pretty dress off and make you tonight’s main course.”
I clutched his shoulders, savoring the hard edge of his voice. “You’re in luck.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because dinner is served.”
His eyes flashed with hunger, and then my back was against the grass, and he was spread above me, his wide, strong body hiding the stars and the sky from my sight. His lips met mine and moved with confident force. The soft, controlled Jamie was gone, and in his place was a man made savage with desire.
He pulled away, putting space between our chests so that he could unbutton the dozen or so buttons that ran down my front. His fingers kept working while he lifted his eyes to mine, and the primal need I saw in them made me gasp. I wanted him to look at me like that when he buried himself in me. I didn’t want him to be careful, or God forbid, change his mind about doing this. For once in my life, I wanted to desire and to be desired, and to bring that desire to an explosive fruition without any fear or doubt or restraint.
Swearing at the remaining buttons, he tugged the dress open, ripping the fabric. I didn’t care, didn’t give him a chance to apologize, although at this point, I think we were both way past apologies.
He hooked his fingers around the straps of the dress and my bra and pushed them down to my arms, leaving me exposed to the mild evening air. I loved the harsh breath he sucked in at the sight of my breasts. I loved the way he traced my nipples with both of his thumbs before tugging on them just enough for it to sting. I loved the sight of the massive bulge in his jeans, even as some part of me curled in fear of what it would feel like to have that pushed inside of me.
“What do you want?” he asked, his right hand cupping my breast while he dragged his left hand down my stomach to where the skirt of my dress hugged around my hips.
I swallowed. “I want you to take the lead.”
He nodded, leaning down and kissing me so thoroughly that for a while, I forgot all about the pain I was about to feel.
When he sat back up, his hands left me and moved to his belt. Watching him unbuckle himself and pull the leather out of the loops was surprisingly erotic. I traced those forearm veins and palmed his erection, squeezing it through the thick fabric of his jeans. Then he took charge again, gripping me by the wrists and pinning them above my head.
“Don’t tease me, Ivy,” he said gruffly into my ear. “You can’t touch me until I make you come.” He disappeared beneath my skirt, and I marveled at how damn delighted I was with him bossing me around.
He pressed his lips against my underwear, and I grabbed at the edges of my skirt, bunching it at my waist so that I could see his head between my legs. I moaned at the sight.
“You smell so fucking good,” he grunted, rubbing his nose, his entire face against me. He pushed the fabric aside and plunged his tongue through my folds. I yelped, not because I hadn’t experienced this before with Jack, but because I could tell Jamie meant it when he said he wanted me for dinner. He pulled my underwear off and ate me, sucked every part of me, lifting me up at one point and finding my ass and licking there as well. I was being consumed, every part of me savored, and as my orgasm crested, I managed to hold on to one thought.
I never want him to stop.
He didn’t stop for another five minutes, but then his face was above me again, and I must have looked at him reverently, because he grinned in this boyish, self-satisfied way. Then he leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Take my dick out of my pants.”
I groaned. I needed to hear him say that word again. The voice that tormented and seduced me was made to utter dirty things.
My fingers reached for the button of his jeans, and I struggled with it for a moment, but he waited for me patiently. I unzipped him. He lifted his hips, and I pushed the jeans and his boxer briefs down to his muscular thighs.
And there it was. Huge, hard, straight, and lined with angry-looking veins.
I gripped his cock, giving the silky flesh as few leisurely strokes. Jamie moaned, dropping his head back. I wanted to taste him, to feel him in my mouth, but I couldn’t reach him with the way he was straddling me. When I tried to adjust my position, he shook his head. “Keep stroking it with your hand.”
I stopped my movement. “Stroke what?”
His gaze narrowed even as the right corner of his lips ticked up. “My cock.”
The words travelled right down to my clit. As I kept going, his moans were throaty and perfect and set everything inside of me on fire.
Then his forehead scrunched up, and he pulled my hand away. Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he ripped it off in one swift move, leaving his glorious chest and abs and shoulders on display. I licked my lips, trying to catalogue everything I was seeing for later, because I knew I’d be revisiting this torso and the man attached to it in my imagination over and over again. He pressed down on me again, his weight deliciou
sly heavy, and straightened his legs to kick off his pants.
“I couldn’t sleep last night,” he said, moving one hand to my breast and using the other to pin my wrists above my head.
“Why not?” I asked.
“I kept thinking of what it would feel like to be inside of you. To feel your perfect little pussy pulse around my dick when you came. I wondered how you’d writhe and move beneath me. If you’d like it rough or if you’d want me to be gentle and slow. If you’d like it if I pulled out and came all over your beautiful tits. I knew I shouldn’t be thinking about it, but I couldn’t stop.”
I moaned and rolled my hips against him, wild with desire. His erection was pressed above my pubic bone, hot and ready. “Let’s find out. Let’s find out all those things.”
He kissed me again before reaching over for his discarded jeans and fishing out a condom from one of the pockets. I watched as he rolled it on, and that fear gripped me again. Oh God. Should I tell him? If I didn’t, and he found out in about fifteen seconds…
But then his clear gray eyes pierced through me, and the fear lifted. I looked at the moon shining above us and the lights, and then I looked back at him and smiled.
He smiled back—this unbelievably sexy curve to his lips—lowered himself onto his forearms, and pressed against my entrance with the tip of his cock.
I clamped my eyes shut on instinct, ready for the searing pain my friends had warned me about. “It’s like being torn in two,” Zoey had said. “Just breathe through it until the stinging stops,” Sophie had advised.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jamie said brokenly into my neck. “My fucking God.”
He pushed and pushed and then stopped. I was filled, stretched from the inside out, whole. But where was the pain?
My eyes snapped open. He pulled out and thrust back in, just once. I dug my nails into the flesh of his hand, the one that was still holding my wrists down, as my brain swiftly caught up to the fact that he was moving inside of me.
I squeezed my pelvic muscles and felt the length of him inside. He was definitely in.
This didn’t make any sense. I squeezed around him again, and this earned me a strangled groan. “Is everything okay?” he asked, probably noticing how my body had gone stiff. He raised himself on his elbows to search my face for a clue as to what the hell was going on.
Pretty Words: An Enemies To Lovers Rock Star Romance (River Valley Rebels) Page 23