by Mariah Dietz
“He will,” Lincoln says.
Their honesty makes me feel like an interloper. Sarcasm and humor are still far more comfortable for me. Yes, over the past several months, I’ve begun to shy away from them more and more with the realization that what I thought was comfort was mostly a lie of ease, distance, and anonymity.
Raegan’s gaze cuts to me. “Hey, Rose.” She takes a few steps closer to me as Ian asks Lincoln where to put Paxton and Hoyt. “Thanks for helping them out.”
Her appreciation makes guilt seep into my thoughts. If I hadn’t waited so long to check on him or had reached out to Arlo with a simple text, this night wouldn’t be ending like this. “I’m sorry I didn’t do more.”
Raegan scoffs. “What? No. You definitely shouldn’t be apologizing.” She stands beside me as Ian, Lincoln, and Caleb make a quick plan carrying them into the house. “Wow, you…” She lifts her hand to her nose.
I chuckle. “Smell like beer?” I ask, my nose scrunched as I nod. “Yeah, not exactly my first choice of perfumes, either.”
“Fun party?”
“No,” I say, laughing for what feels like the first time in days. “This was not from fun. This was Paxton’s date or hookup or whatever she was.”
“No!” Raegan says, splaying a hand across her face. “Oh, Rose. I’m so sorry. Let me grab you a clean shirt so you can change.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’m heading home after this.”
She nods in response and then moves her attention to where the three guys are carrying Paxton into the house. “I can’t believe he did this.”
“Hoyt mentioned he broke up with Candace.”
Raegan releases a long breath. “I hope it’s permanent. She’s so toxic.”
The guys return a few minutes later without Pax, and as Ian takes the stairs, his eyes find mine, and he smiles.
Raegan bumps her arm against mine. “What was that?”
“What?”
“Oh, don’t play coy with me. I’ve seen that look. I know that smile.”
My cheeks protest as my smile returns.
Raegan grins as she wraps her arm around my shoulder. “I am so on board with this. I used to think he was kind of a jerk, but then I got to know him, and he’s seriously one of the best people, and you already know I’m a huge fan of yours.” She squeezes me. “And if you guys are keeping it quiet to enjoy the honeymoon phase, I won’t tell a soul.”
My breaths feel less steady, realizing how many I’ll be disappointing and potentially hurting if things don’t turn out how they’re all hoping.
Hoyt starts singing again, pulling my attention away from the conversation. He’s walking toward the house with the guys at his sides.
“Less singing, more walking,” Lincoln says.
Raegan laughs, watching as they awkwardly get him moving forward. We’re silent for a few minutes, watching them get Hoyt inside.
“You and Lincoln make it look so easy,” I admit.
Raegan turns her attention to me. “I had a crush on him for years,” she admits. “Years.” She shakes her head, her attention shifting to the porch where Lincoln, Ian, and Caleb appear, laughing at something. “No. Loving someone is hard. No one tells you that, but it is. It takes a lot of work and patience and time. It forces you to be vulnerable and weak and to be stronger than you believe you are.
“But it’s like anything you want to succeed at, you have to work hard at it. It’s also terrifying because you realize your heart is outside of your body, in someone else’s hands.” Her lips curve with a gentle smile. “But it’s worth it. It’s worth the time and effort and fear. It’s worth everything.” She turns to me, eyes bright as she bumps her arm against mine. “Plus, they train for stamina. Enjoy the honeymoon phase.”
Sex has never made me feel shy, but the thought of Ian and me sleeping together has me feeling more nervous than I’ve felt—maybe ever.
The guys step down from the porch, and I’m struggling to recall Ian’s words. Seven days. Does that mean we’re not sleeping together until those seven days are up?
Lincoln places his hands on Raegan’s waist and pulls her back against his front. “Thanks, Rose. We owe you.”
I shake my head. “It was nothing.”
“Let’s hope not,” Lincoln says. “You guys have a good night.”
Raegan smiles at me. “See you guys.”
Caleb waves, and this moment ends too soon, my uncertainty far too high and my nerves still strung too tight.
Ian makes plans to meet Lincoln tomorrow, and then he’s walking toward me. I trace over his gray sweatpants and red Brighton tee, before looking at his face. He’s smiling at me, all confidence and strength. He stops, leaving a foot of space between us. “Your house or mine?”
For sex?
For conversation?
What happens in these situations?
What’s normal?
My head is spinning as I gently shake my head.
“Your place is closer,” he says.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
His smile turns salacious, his eyes bright. “I’ve got an entire list of ideas,” he says, his hand going to his groin, where he readjusts himself. “And I can promise you that we need to be behind closed doors to make it through the list.”
18
Rose
I drive to my apartment with Ian following in his truck. My heart is pounding so loud and hard in my chest that it’s borderline painful. When Ian showed interest in me last year, it was more substantial than a glance at my chest or an innuendo. He had been patient and intentional about our conversations and interactions, making it clear from the start that he was only interested in a relationship—something that terrified me. It took losing him to realize that he was worth the risk, and now I feel equal parts elated and terrified.
I pull into my parking spot, wondering if Arlo and Olivia are still awake, and if so, what will they say? How will they react?
Ian parks beside me and gets out of his truck without delay. I reach for my door and open it before grabbing my purse that I’d shoved under my seat.
“You look nervous,” he says.
I laugh, but it sounds almost shaky. “I am,” I admit. Not only has it been several months since I’ve had sex, but every step I take closer to Ian is another rule that I’m choosing to break.
He grins. “Because of your rules or because of us?” He’s in my head. I can feel him there.
“Both,” I admit.
He reaches for me, slipping a lock of my hair behind my ear, he rests his palm against my cheek. “That fear, that means it’s real.” His multi-toned eyes hold my gaze. “You have a week to think about it, and if by next Friday you don’t think this is working, and I’m not what you’re thinking about before you go to sleep and when you wake up, we call it quits, no harm, no foul.”
“What happens after seven days if we decide to stay together?”
His thumb brushes the length of my face as he steps closer, his lips curling with a smile. “I already told you, you’re mine.”
My heart starts being a new rhythm, a rhythm that sounds like mine. Mine. Mine.
I tip my face up and lean into him, kissing Ian while my heart continues to drum the new beat.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
And with every beat, our kiss intensifies and deepens. We’re all hands and teeth and tongues, staking claims and promises, only breaking when someone starts talking too loudly, sounding intentional.
“We should go inside,” I say as I try to catch my breath.
Ian nods, his hand lacing around my waist, where he slips his fingers under my shirt. I unlock the door and find the apartment dark except for the soft glow of the nightlight beside the door.
“Olivia’s been sick,” I whisper.
Ian smiles. “I know.”
Arlo. The guys talk.
I try to breathe.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Ian closes and locks the door behind us, and then his hand returns to my side, a reassuring squeeze that has me moving toward my bedroom.
The light seems intrusive and invasive, making me squint. “Sorry,” I say, flipping it off and turning on the floor lamp in the corner. I kick off my shoes and scoot them under my desk as Ian looks around my room. His gaze passes over the wall of metallic flowers that took Olivia and me an entire weekend to measure and hang and then to the large Victorian-style bed I got this summer when I decided to redo my room.
His eyes return to mine. “I’m messy,” I admit, excusing the piles of sticky notes and dead batteries, an empty coffee cup sitting on my desk, and the overflowing hamper beside my closet.
Ian grins like I’m sharing something he already knows. Hell, I probably am.
“Can I ask you a question that I don’t mean to be inappropriate or rude? I just think we should all be able to talk openly about sex…” I swallow, feeling my palms itch and sweat.
Why am I so nervous?
I swallow again as Ian’s gaze meets mine. He nods.
“I’m really big on safe sex,” I tell him. “Like, really big on it. Like take a blood test and physical exam to make sure there’s nothing…” I wave my hands in circular motions. “Going on.” I swallow again.
Ian grins. “That’s a smart rule.”
I nod. “I think so.”
“I had a physical when I got home from Italy, and they did a full blood workup. I’m clean.”
I nod again, knowing that not going and being tested and seeing his results is a breach of my rules, but I also know Ian, know that he’s one of the most trustworthy and respectable guys I know.
“I actually have the results in my doctor’s site,” he says, reaching for his phone.
“No, it’s okay, I…”
He spins his phone to show me the screen. “No. It’s a good rule. One you should always keep,” he says. “And one we should follow.”
I glance at his phone, feeling a sense of relief to leave this rule intact. “I have mine as well,” I tell him, reaching for my phone. “They’re from May, but I haven’t been with anyone since February.”
His gaze flashes to mine, bright and victorious and so damn cocky I wish I could take back my words. He takes a step closer to me, and I’m barely holding on to my sanity. He’s so close, and all I want him to do is touch me.
“Any other rules?”
I shake my head.
“In that case, I’ve got a few … guidelines.”
Surprise has me lifting my eyebrows. “Guidelines?”
Ian’s lips twitch with a smile. “One,” he says. “We see each other every day this week. Carve out time. Even if it’s only fifteen minutes.”
I nod. “I can handle that.”
He grins deliciously. “Two.” He places his hands on the opening of my jacket and slides the fabric down my arms. “When you start to feel overwhelmed, you have to talk to me.”
When I don’t respond, he quirks an eyebrow. “I usually talk to Olivia.”
He grins. “That’s okay, too.”
“I have an approved list of people I can talk to, now?”
The cocky grin appears. “She likes me.”
“She likes me more.”
He laughs, and the sound hits my ears and travels through my entire body like a bolt of lightning, making everything more aware and sensitive. This is the sound I was yearning to hear earlier. I wasn’t comparing them—my senses just realized I was with the wrong person.
“Any more guidelines?”
“Just one,” he says, setting my jacket on the back of my desk chair. “We’re exclusive.”
My stomach fills with butterflies that feel far too big for the space. I want to say something sappy about how I’ve been exclusively his for months now without any of the benefits, but I bite back the words and nod once.
“We can slow down. We don’t have to have sex tonight,” he says, as his blue eyes travel across my face and stop at the top of my stained shirt. Ever the gentleman.
I swallow thickly and take a step closer to him, so we’re toe to toe. “Have to is an obligation. I don’t feel any obligation. I feel like desire and want are definitely present. I might even say need has joined this party.”
A low rumble emanates from his throat, and he settles his hands on my waist, confident and strong with just enough pinch to reveal his own desperation. “I want you so bad.”
And then his lips are on mine, and it feels like I’m breathing in straight oxygen as he coaxes my mouth open with his tongue. Desire burns in my belly, and that throbbing between my legs returns as he moves his hand under my shirt. I’m trying to pay attention to the pressure of his fingers, the roughness of his calluses, and how delicious they feel against the ticklish skin on my ribs. I am completely rapt with how gently and yet powerfully he handles me, and I want to memorize this touch and save it forever. But his kiss grows wild and more fervent with a need that I feel through my entire body and far deeper.
I reach for the hem of his shirt and clumsily work on sliding it up. His teeth catch my bottom lip, and he pulls back just long enough to pull off his shirt and discard it on my floor, and then he’s kissing me again while the warmth of his skin drowns me in lust.
His kiss is fiercer, harder, and then he pulls back again, eyes dark, breaths heavy as he reaches for my ruined shirt. He pulls it clean off with one move, and then his eyes are studying my breasts, and all I want is to feel his lips on me there.
Ian places his hand over one breast and rubs the pad of his thumb over my nipple. I bite my bottom lips to keep from moaning because this simple touch is already pushing me toward the edge. He presses his lips to mine, running his thumb over my nipple, again and again, changing the speed and pressure, making the throbbing between my legs grow stronger. I trace over his chest, following the taut, warm lines of muscles. He groans beneath my touch, and I kiss him harder, wanting more. I bring my hands to my back and unclasp my bra, and Ian slides the straps down my shoulders and arms, his touch searing my flesh and sending chills up my spine. My bra falls soundlessly as my nipples graze his hot chest. He makes another soft humming sound as he covers my breasts with his hands, skimming his fingertips over my hardened nipples.
He takes a step closer to me, herding me backward until my mattress hits the back of my thighs. Without a word, his hands fall from my breasts, and he sets one arm behind my shoulders and the other behind my knees and scoops me up to lay me down on my ivory comforter. The fabric feels cold to my bare skin, causing a shiver to run through me. Ian stands over me, his eyes greedy as they rake across my body. I’ve never felt so beautiful. He places a knee on the bed and slowly lowers his mouth to my chest, gently blowing on the already peaked bud, and then places his mouth over me, licking and sucking and kissing me as his fingers torturously run over my other nipple. I moan unabashedly and bury my fingers into his hair, never wanting him to stop and also desperate to have him ease the ache between my legs. He licks a path to my other nipple, his fingers gliding over the breast his mouth had been on. My skin is wet, slick from his mouth, allowing his fingers to slide over my nipple with so much ease and pleasure it feels like I could come from this alone.
Ian moves his mouth, licking the underside of my breast and then the other one as he lazily drags his fingers over both nipples and takes the same slow pace with his tongue down my body, and my skin feels like it’s on fire. He reaches the top of my pants when he stops and slowly moves his hands along the same tortuous path, and releases the button on my jeans. He lowers the zipper, and my thoughts begin to race. Sex has always been methodical, planned, choreographed. Foreplay isn’t involved, requiring too much time and intimacy, and never has someone undressed me. Ian stands, sliding my jeans down my legs and discards them, leaving my fire-engine red thong in place. His eyes bore into mine, and the lust I see there nearly takes my breath away. And then there’s a question and dare in his
stare as he seeks my reaction. I have no doubt he’s seeing vulnerability, which is nearly as terrifying as feeling the emotion.
“Lose the pants, Forrest,” I command, desperate to see more of him.
Ian grins, tucking his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats. He lowers them slowly, revealing black boxer briefs that he looks so damn good in that he looks downright sinful.
I hook my fingers into my underwear and begin to lift my hips to tug them off, but Ian grabs my hands, stopping me in my tracks. “I plan to take my time and enjoy this,” he says.
Panic floods my stomach as the vulnerability I’d been feeling plants roots. My confidence with sex largely rests in the safety of my rules: get tested, no foreplay, one night. They’re simple, easy, clear, and this is everything but.
Ian plants his knee on the bed again, and I sit up, my discomfort crashing through my body like a tidal wave. “I…” His eyes focus on mine with a surprising amount of patience, considering what I’ve just interrupted. “I’m not a virgin.” Obviously. I trek on. “But, foreplay has been minimal and hands only.”
His eyes flash with something dark and warm and borderline possessive, and then he’s kissing me, flooding my body with passion and desire and banishing my concerns with each caress of his tongue and stroke of his fingers.
He leaves my lips and drops kisses to my ear, where his teeth graze my skin. “I’m going to make you come with my mouth,” he tells me.
Before I can catch my breath from our kiss, he puts his mouth on me through my underwear. It feels amazing. Better than I thought. Better than I expected. My entire body feels like it’s vibrating. My nails scratch along the bedspread as I tip my head back, feeling the heat of his breath and then his tongue. The pressure shoots through me, making me shiver and my toes curl. He blows against me, and then his tongue pushes harder, and I spread my legs, wanting more. He obliges, adding a finger that he runs along my seam. When he finally drags my thong down my legs, I can feel how absolutely soaked I am from his mouth and my desire.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps.
I want to kiss him. I want to return to feeling in control and knowing the score and go back to what sex has always been and not risk changing its definition But before I can reach for him, he kisses me between my legs, and without the thin layer of fabric, the sensation is euphoric. I gasp and then moan, clawing at the bedspread until it fists in my hands. Ian runs his tongue along my seam, opening me and licking me again and again, slow and then fast, hard, and then gentle. He touches me like he knows my body—understands every gasp and moan and shiver.