by Mariah Dietz
“You can’t come. Not yet,” he says, then licks me again.
A frustrated groan climbs my throat. Desire is making my skin burn and my body ache. I cup my breast, rolling my nipple like he had this morning. Ian growls a low and throaty sound and then licks me again and again and again. I’m uncertain if this is a punishment or a reward as I try to take deep breaths to stop myself from coming. I gently pinch my nipples, imagining it’s his teeth, and Ian slides a finger into me. I buck my hips, feeling the sweet relief his finger offers that ache inside of me. I moan and pinch myself harder, and Ian adds a second finger.
“That feels so good,” I tell him as his tongue continues to tease my clit. “I’m going to come.”
He stops licking me, but his fingers increase in speed and pressure, curling until they hit just the right spot before relaxing them.
I groan in protest, and he does it again.
“I need to come,” I whimper, shifting my hips when his fingers relax inside me again.
“You’re going to come. More than once.” His voice is husky, matching the desire reflected in his stare.
“Ian,” His name starts as a warning and turns into a moan as he slips his fingers inside once again, this time withdrawing them at the same slow pace and then pressing them inside again with a luxuriously slow pace that allows me to memorize his touch. My thighs begin to tremble, that ache combining with pleasure creating the most inexplicable and confounding feeling that is so delicious and almost painful.
“Why did we wait so fucking long?” he asks.
I moan and reach for my other breast, tracing over my sensitive nipples with my fingers.
“That’s right,” he says. “I want you to touch yourself whenever you think of me.” He licks my clit again with one fast pass, and then he withdraws his fingers, leaving me desperate and aching in a way that makes my entire core and stomach clench. He releases his jeans and pulls his pants and underwear to the ground before reaching for my nightstand and withdrawing a condom. He rips it open and slips it over his length, then leads me to the side of my bed. “Get on your knees,” he says.
I don’t question him. I’m too drunk with desire to consider that he’s going to be staring at my butt. His fingers massage one globe of my backside, and then his hand trails higher, reaching my breast where he pinches my overly sensitive bud, sending pleasure coursing through me as my hips buck. Then I feel him at my entrance. I look over my shoulder, wanting to see his face and watch as his lips form a perfect circle when he presses his tip inside me. He’s huge, almost uncomfortable, and then he slides in a little farther, and pleasure runs through me as he starts to move. His hips rock against mine, our skin slapping, and our breaths chasing each other. It feels so good— too fucking good. Ian changes the speed, his thrusts becoming harder, driving into me fully until that ache builds back up and my breaths become pants and then whimpers. I am on the cusp of ecstasy when he reaches his hand around and rubs his middle finger over my clit, and I yell out my orgasm. His teeth sink into the flesh of my shoulder, and then he jerks, finding his own release. I fall to the mattress, every muscle in my body weak and sated.
Still inside of me, Ian leans over and presses his forehead pressed to my spine.
After watching his game and the hours of hits and running, I have no idea how he managed to give me the best orgasm of my life, but Raegan’s words about endurance dance across my thoughts before Ian’s lips trailing along my spine bring me back to the present. He slowly pulls out of me and straightens, brushing his hands across my bare skin.
“I’ll be right back.” He disappears into my bathroom. I’m so damn comfortable I don’t want to move, but I’m sprawled across the middle of the bed, so I lift the blankets and crawl between the sheets.
Ian returns, encircling my waist with his arms. He hauls my back to his front, and his skin feels warm like the sun, making me sigh with contentment. “I might need a raincheck,” I tell him. “I don’t think I can have another orgasm again tonight. You wore me out.”
I feel his smile tickle my shoulder. “I’ll give you a couple of hours to recover.” I fall asleep to him tracing patterns over my skin.
I wake up and stretch. Ian woke me up a few hours after our first round by drawing lazy circles between my legs. He succeeded in pulling two more orgasms out of me, one with his mouth and the second with his fingers, before he fucked me sideways and found his own climax. This morning I’m sore in the best way possible, but my happy vibes take a nosedive as I realize the other side of the bed has gotten cold. I look toward the bathroom, but the light is off.
I move and smell him against my skin when I notice my phone has a text from him.
Ian: Sorry to leave, but I need to deal with something.
Confusion sits heavy on my clouded thoughts where bliss is trying to celebrate having four orgasms in a twenty-four-hour period.
Where did he go?
Why did he leave?
Could “something” be any more elusive?
I roll out of bed, the cold of the morning burning my skin. I ignore the bite and head into the bathroom, where I turn the water to hot and wait until steam appears before getting under the spray.
Did he freak out?
Am I overthinking this?
I tip my head back and let the water cascade over my hair realizing with full clarity that being a girlfriend is going to be so much harder than I expected because it relies so heavily on trust—something I’ve never been great at dispersing.
I finish my shower and take my time blow drying my hair and picking out my clothes. Ian and I are supposed to be working on his article today. I had assumed he’d stay and that we’d wake up and try out a breakfast spot to call our own—a page out of Arlo and Olivia’s playbook.
I check my phone after I finish getting ready, but there’s nothing more from Ian.
Coffee.
Coffee helps me think.
I step out of my room and smell the rich aroma and hear the coffee percolating. Olivia is standing beside the coffeemaker, wearing an unreadable expression that switches to panic as soon as she sees me.
“What?” I ask.
“Is Ian here?” she whispers, her eyes on my opened door.
“No … why?”
She winces. “He was on the rumor site again this morning.”
“When will that site burn? I thought Cooper got a handle on it?”
“Only for a couple of days last week. They’ve posted for the past few days.”
I grumble. “Don’t tell me what it says. I feel like most of these are lies or tiny kernels of the truth that have been blown up.”
Olivia doesn’t move or object.
The coffee pot makes its final rumble and beeps to announce it’s ready.
Still, Olivia remains rooted in place.
I reach around her to grab three mugs. “Is it really bad?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe?”
I fill two of the cups and then put the pot back on the warmer so Arlo can pour his fresh when he wakes up. “What did it say?”
She flips on her phone and turns it to face me. It’s a picture of Ian with another guy, both of them wearing football pads with “Rumor has it that Paxton Lawson isn’t the only guy at Brighton who doesn’t know his limits. Ian Forrest is said to have killed his friend and teammate Dustin Templeton their sophomore year of high school.”
I look at Olivia. “I want to say this is absurd and ridiculous…” I look at my door. “But Ian was gone before I woke up this morning with a message saying he had to deal with something. Was this what he had to deal with?”
Olivia shakes her head. “I have no idea. I was going to wake up Arlo, but I wanted to talk with you first, but then I didn’t want to walk in on you guys if you were…” She rakes a hand through her hair. “I mean, if it were true, Anna would probably know, because of the campaign, but I feel terrible even considering asking behind his back.”
“What do I do?”
<
br /> She sucks in a breath and forces a tight-lipped smile. “You talk to him.”
“I mean, he didn’t, right? He couldn’t have. This is Ian. He’s the most level-headed guy I’ve ever known.”
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think so, but his family is like mega-rich, so maybe they were able to cover it up?”
A terrible concoction of emotions and thoughts begin to stir in my stomach: doubt, concern, sympathy, accusation, and a dozen more make my stomach feel sour. “So much for the honeymoon phase,” I say, taking another gulp of my coffee. I set it down, reach for my phone, and send a quick message to Ian, asking him when is a good time for him to meet for the article.
He replies instantly.
Ian: We can do it anytime. Why don’t you come by my place? We can take pictures here with my “hobby.”
Ian: Come on over when you’re ready. Park in the driveway, toward the back.
Olivia reads it over my shoulder. “Why did he put quotation marks around hobby? Are you his hobby? Is he planning to take nude photos of you?”
“I have no idea.” I shake my head.
“But it’s good that he responded right away. Right?” She looks at me. “Do you still have mace in your purse?” Her brow lowers. “No. What am I saying? This is Ian. Ian is a good guy.” She nods. “But, maybe I should go with you.”
I hug her. “It’s okay. Everything is okay. I just need to do the girlfriend thing and talk to him. I’ve read thirty-five romance novels in the past four months, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that half of the story climaxes were attributed to misconceptions and miscommunications. I’ve got this. We know this rumor site has been filled with lies, so I’m going in there with my journalist’s hat on and my mind clear.”
Olivia nods. “Just send me a couple of updates.”
“The site’s not accusing him of being a serial killer.”
“Will you just do what I ask?” She sounds flustered.
“So bossy. I’ll message you when I get there and then every fifteen minutes until I leave.”
“Don’t make it obvious.”
I grin. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Olivia rolls her eyes. “Go figure this out and then message me.”
I take another pull from my coffee before sliding on a pair of ballet flats at the door. I grab my book bag and camera and shove my keys into my pocket before heading out to my car.
My phone rings as I hit the parking lot. I had thought it might be Ian, but my realtor is a good second.
“Gabriel, tell me everything. What did they say?”
Gabriel laughs. “I love that you answer on the first ring.”
“Only for you, baby.”
He laughs again. “Can you teach my boyfriend how to talk dirty to me?”
“It’s a skill I was born with, that and my winning sense of humor.”
“Of course,” he says with a chuckle. “Well, I hate to tell you this news, but your offer wasn’t accepted. However, I have more places for us to look at, including one that is just a few blocks from downtown.”
I lean my head back, knowing he’s as adverse at selling as I am at sarcasm. “How many is a few?”
“Six or eight?”
“Six or eight is a lot. Especially if it’s nearing the industrial areas. I want to be that place that women can go on their lunch break when they’re feeling run down and jump into a class or have a cup of kombucha and relax.”
“I’ll be there every day, regardless of how far I have to travel. You know I’d follow you to the ends of this earth.” Gabriel and I met three years ago while taking the same Vinyasa yoga class, bonding over a shared love for green tea and Chris Hemsworth. He was the first person to sign up for my yoga classes when I completed the courses to become an instructor and has been helping me find a yoga studio to purchase and open as the first location of my future empire.
“And I love you for that, but I’m going to need more than one student to keep the lights on.”
“Rose, people love you. They’re drawn to you, babe. Between your tight ass and killer sass, they can’t get enough.”
“Can we just talk all day? I like when you tell me I’m pretty.”
He laughs. “I would, but for me to afford to be your only paying customer, I’ve got a job to do.”
I start my car. “You’re basically coming out and telling me you’re cheating on me.”
“Oh no, you’re always my numero uno. But I do have to show a house to someone, and they’re even tougher to please than you. Believe it or not, her number one demand is a window in the master closet.”
“Who wants a window in their closet?”
“That was my question,” Gabriel says.
“You better ask.”
“I don’t get paid to ask questions.”
“Free class if you find out. I want to know if she’s planning something dirty that I need to keep in mind for my future wish list.”
Gabriel releases another laugh. “Sold. I’ll talk to you later. Bye!”
My disappointment doesn’t have much time to grow wings because, without traffic, it only takes me ten minutes to reach Ian’s house. Last spring, he’d invited me over a few times to have dinner and hang out, but he’d been clear that he had no interest in having sex without dating—a respectable rule that would make any girl feel lucky and special, any girl but me at that time. Instead, it led to our messy web of a relationship where both of us wanted more, yet we had no idea how the other felt.
The circular driveway is three cars wide and doesn’t lead to the garage, which is likely in the back with a separate driveway entrance. I park at the back of the circle as he’d suggested, and before I’m out of my car, Ian’s rounding the house dressed in dark jeans and a black tee that says “Roma” across the front.
“You startled me,” I admit.
His grin is unapologetic. “Sorry, I thought about telling you to use the other driveway, but it still feels really hoity-toity to mention having a second driveway.” He tilts his head and kisses me swiftly. “Come on.”
“Are you trying to show me the second driveway?”
“Well, it would be awkward not to show it to you now, don’t you think?”
I grab my bags, which Ian takes before leading me across the property. “It better be made of brick or cobblestone. Something with some personality.”
He laughs, knowing I’m joking just as I know he is. This is one of the reasons that being around Ian is so addicting for me: he understands my humor, and dare I say, he even has the same brand of humor as me, so when we say something dry or strange, the other simply plays along.
“Thanks for meeting me here,” he says, causing my thoughts to stray back to last year and the excuses I’d used then to avoid coming.
“It was either here or you stripping at the library … which…” I take a moment to mull over the idea. “Probably would have worked in our favor. I bet we could have gained an audience. People might have even done a live feed!”
Ian shakes his head, his blue eyes barely managing to withhold his distaste for the picture I’ve painted. “You can make that offer to Luis when you interview him tomorrow.” We round the house and follow the driveway, then cut through the house and garage to the side yard, where a large swimming pool takes up much of the space—a fire pit, patio, and outdoor grilling area complete the area. The sight sparks a dozen what-ifs about last spring and what would have occurred if I had come. Would we have skinny-dipped in the pool? Would he have grilled something for us to eat? Would I have been able to leave with all the pieces of my heart intact?
But Ian doesn’t stop at the lounge chairs or the extended table. Instead, he follows the brick path that leads to a small white pool house.
“Did they kick you out?” I ask.
Another flash of a grin as he opens the door.
And without a second thought about boundaries and rules, I follow him inside.
22
Ian
Rose’s eyes don’t leave mine to explore the pool house. Whether she’s impressed or not with the space isn’t something she’ll openly state. I like this about her. Often, I feel like I’m trying to hide my family’s wealth so that I’m not pegged as some elitist asshole who is only at Brighton because his parents donated enough money to build the new science wing. Then, there are times when I’m surrounded by others with pockets that are deeper and have been lined for generations where all my fancy belongings still feel inadequate because they know I don’t have a single clue how to be a part of this club they’ve been lifelong members of.
With Rose, there’s no judgment. No allure about what I could buy her because that’s not the type of person she is—and likely because she could afford to buy it herself.
“I’m okay, thanks.”
I head to the fridge and pull out a sports drink. I’m drained on Sundays and always dehydrated. Plus, my hands are as restless as my mind, and I need something to hold onto. I open the bottle and take a swig before returning to where she’s standing, a faint smile curving her lips. A barrier rests between us, one that I built by leaving her this morning.
“I’m sorry about disappearing this morning,” I tell her, running a hand through my hair. My thoughts are on my conversation with Luis and how he can’t tell Alexis that he doesn’t like pistachios because he waited too long to tell her. Only my subject is much larger than pistachios.