Love You Better

by Brit Benson

  “You still gonna come over tomorrow night? We can watch one of those murder shows you like.”

  “I’ll be there,” I answer, and smile bigger.

  When we leave the storeroom and head back toward the main bar, Calvin Harris and Dua Lipa’s “One Kiss” is blasting from the speakers.

  I glance at him and he looks back, and we both break out in shy, knowing smiles.

  And I’m floating again.

  Good grief.

  13

  Saturday morning, I hit the campus gym hard. I have way too much fucking excitement and tension built up so heavily in my body that I might combust. My muscles are tight as a bow string, my brain working overtime.

  I know Ivy, and I know she’s probably already created at least two pros/cons lists and possibly a complicated flow chart or Venn diagram to try and analyze what’s happened between us over the last few days. It’s who she is. It’s how her brilliant mind works, and fuck, I find it so damn sexy, but I’m nervous as hell. I just have to hope that whatever she determines works in my favor. Because after that kiss...

  After that kiss, I’m sprung harder than ever for Ivy Rivenbark.

  I’ve replayed the entire scene nearly a hundred times since she left the bar last night. The way her blue eyes sparkled with desire, the way her tiny hands pressed into my chest, fisting my shirt when I kicked up the heat of our kiss. And those whimpers? Fuck. They’ve been on repeat inside my head. I jerked my dick last night to the memory of those whimpers, and once again this morning. I’ll probably have to do it at least twice more before she comes over tonight.

  If she comes over.

  Ivy’s not one to run from her problems. She studies them until she knows how to best them, and then she faces them head on. She’s fucking fierce and fearless.

  But her feelings?

  Yeah, she fucking avoids those until she’s ready to feel them. Anything that makes her feel vulnerable or confused, she boxes it up and ignores it until she feels prepared to deal with it. Anything that makes her feel too much, she packs away until she can face it with a steady, clear head. She’s been like that for as long as I’ve known her—the product of having to grow up too fast, the responsibility of a sibling to help raise and a house to help run. I admire the way Ivy handles things, but I’m fucking worried.

  I know she must be feeling overwhelmed.

  Hell, I’m feeling overwhelmed, and I’ve been in love with her for years. This is all brand-new and unfamiliar for her.

  I just hope it’s not too much that she decides to box us up and avoid it until she’s ready.

  I’ll wait. I said I would give her the space she needs, and I mean it. I’ll respect any decision she comes to. But damn it, I really, really want it to work out in my favor.

  My strength training day is supposed to be lower body and core, but I throw in some upper body when the rest isn’t succeeding in calming my nerves. I was hoping to talk to Jesse this morning, but he’s got a shift at the hospital and probably won’t be back until later tonight. So, it’s just me, the squat rack, and however many bicycle crunches I can do before my abs turn to jelly and leak out of my pores.

  After the gym, I hit the grocery store. If Ivy is coming over tonight, I’m going to be prepared. It’s my weekend to cook, so I’m going to make her favorite: chicken carbonara. I’m not so much trying to impress her as I am trying to make sure she’s comfortable. If she’s overwhelmed and confused by the new, uncharted territory we’ve found ourselves in, I’m going to do my best to make things seem...normal? Familiar? Fuck, I don’t know. I just don’t want to freak her out.

  “Hey, stranger,” Cassie calls from the end of the pasta aisle where I’m grabbing a box of pasta.

  “What’s up, Cassie?” I ask with an awkward smile. I’m not exactly sure what to expect from this conversation. While last night was not a date, I’m pretty sure Cassie had some hopes for how the evening would go, and I’m certain none of them included me disappearing for twenty minutes with Ivy and then leaving immediately after. I’ve never led Cassie on, but I understand first-hand the pains of unrequited affections. In short, they fucking suck.

  “Not much. Just doing the weekend grocery shopping.” She sidles up next to me with a smile and lifts her grocery basket. “You?”

  I give the pasta box a little shake. “Grabbing stuff for dinner tonight. I’m making chicken carbonara.”

  “Nice. Are you cooking for Ivy?”

  I’m caught off guard by how casually she asks about Ivy, but what’s really confusing is the genuine smile she’s sporting. Something on my face must betray my skepticism because Cassie continues, “I had a great time meeting her last night. I like her a lot. I can see why you do, too.”

  “We’ve been friends forever.” I lift my shoulder and give her a hesitant smile, but Cassie laughs.

  “Right,” she says with a teasing eye roll. “Friends. Look, Kelley. I like you. I think you know that. But I don’t want things to be awkward. I thought at first that maybe if I got you out, I could show you how much fun we could have together.” She shrugs and twists her mouth up into an embarrassed grin. “But I know better now. I saw how you and Ivy are together. I get it.”

  I stare at her for a moment, replaying her words over in my head.

  “How we are together?” I question, and she widens her eyes and nods.

  “Yeah, together. What you feel? It’s not one-sided. I saw that last night. You two are hot for each other and I’m not risking third-degree burns by getting in the middle of it.”

  Cassie snickers at her own joke, and I blow out a relieved breath. I’m probably a coward for admitting it, but I was hoping to avoid any sort of conversation like this with Cassie. The fact that she’s the one that initiated it and she’s being so cool about it all is a huge worry off my shoulders.

  “Thanks, Cassie.”

  “Anytime, friend.” Her smile is genuine and she adds, “see you Monday,” before walking off to finish her shopping.

  I make quick work at the store, filling my basket and checking out in record time. I’m so jittery the whole time I’m making dinner, checking the stove clock and my phone every few minutes, that I almost burn the fucking fettuccini.

  Says a lot about the kind of mess I am, fucking almost burning pasta noodles.

  When my front door finally opens a few hours later, I can’t help the immediate relief. My muscles sag with it. I’d been restless and anxious all day, with each minute closer to 6 p.m. increasing the tension in my body.

  I honestly wasn’t sure if she’d show tonight.

  “Hi,” she says brightly and waves as she kicks her shoes off at the door, and of course, she looks beautiful. She must have stopped off at her house and changed out of her internship clothes, because she’s wearing a pair of grey leggings and a BU hoodie. The sweatshirt is not one of mine this time and I stifle the niggling disappointment. “It smells amazing in here, Kell. Is that chicken carbonara?”

  “It definitely is.” My chest swells with pride and I eat up her praise, and for once, I don’t feel the need to check myself. Is it pathetic? Am I a fucking idiot? After last night, I’m pretty sure the answer to both is no.

  I pour her a glass of wine as she sits at the breakfast bar. I keep my eyes on her, trying to covertly assess what’s going on in her head. For all intents and purposes, she’s acting...well, surprisingly normal. I’m not sure if I should be worried. I wouldn’t put it past Ivy to ignore everything that happened last night until she could process it.

  “How were internship hours?”

  “Busy. We’ve got this estate case that is pretty challenging, but I’m learning a lot. Plus, I love your mom and Amelia, so it’s great.”

  Ivy takes a sip of her wine and watches me as I plate up the food. It seems as though she’s in full-on denial mode. I want to give her the space and time she needs, but I also don’t know how well I can mask my feelings. At some point tonight, I’m going to have to bite the damn bullet and have th
e “so, like, um, where do we stand?” talk.

  Fuck.

  After dinner, we settle onto the couch for a movie, but I haven’t been able to pay attention to anything happening on the screen. Some light and fluffy romcom about friends who hook up and then act like they didn’t.

  The fucking irony is not lost on me.

  At first, I thought Ivy was just going to pretend like everything between us is just as it’s always been. I mean, even the way we’re sitting on the couch, with her legs pulled to her chest and her body curled into my side, is normal. All friendly comfort and zero sexual tension—from her, anyway. But as soon as the actors on screen kissed, her body language shifted. The changes were subtle, but I am always so fucking tuned into her that I swear I could even sense when she blinked if I tried. Her muscles tightened, her spine straightened, and her breathing grew shallow.

  Now, instead of watching the movie, I’ve been watching her watch the movie.

  With every touch and kiss and romantic encounter on screen, Ivy’s reactions grow more obvious, to the point where I know she’s uncomfortable. Her back is rigid against my side, her hands are fisted together in her lap, and she’s spent more time holding her breath than she has actually breathing. I can’t see her eyes, but I am willing to bet she’s been squeezing them shut. She’s probably freaking the fuck out right now, cursing herself for clicking the top suggested movie without reading the description or watching the trailer first. She’s definitely regretting our kiss, and this movie is making it impossible for her to ignore it.

  Fuck, I feel like such an asshole.

  I should have just said something right away so we could have avoided this tension.

  I shouldn’t have asked her to come over tonight.

  I should have said, “It’s okay, Ivy. Nothing has to change. I’m still your bestie for the restie. Just friendship bracelets and Candy Land forever,” or whatever the fuck she needed to hear from me so that she wouldn’t be feeling whatever terrible things she’s feeling right now.

  Will it break my fucking heart? Yes.

  But it hurts just as bad seeing her in pain, and I’d rather us not both be miserable.

  When the scene on the TV quickly turns sexual, Ivy begins to practically vibrate with discomfort, and I can’t take it anymore. I have to fix this.

  Moving my arm from where it’s resting on the couch back behind her, I gently place my hand on her shoulder. I’m about ask her if she’s alright, if there is anything I can do, if she’d like to go home, when she turns her eyes to mine, and I’m struck dumb.

  I was wrong.

  Ivy isn’t distressed because of fear or nerves. She isn’t freaking out and regretting everything.

  No.

  Her cheeks are a rosy red, and the blue of her irises have been all but swallowed up by the black of her pupils.

  She’s not apprehensive. She’s turned the fuck on.

  I know she can see the shock and awe on my face when our gazes lock, and when she draws her plush bottom lip between her teeth, I have to hold back a groan. I know exactly how good those lips feel. I’m never going to forget it.

  Ivy unclasps her hands from her lap, places one on my thigh, and slides the other up my chest without breaking eye contact.

  “Kiss me?” she asks, her voice demanding yet unsure. I respond by crashing my lips down onto hers.

  This kiss is different from the one last night in the storage room. Last night’s kiss was sweet, tentative. This one is carnal, fueled by raw need and years of repressed desire.

  I move one hand to the back of her neck and grip her waist with the other. When she opens her mouth and bites my lower lip, my body shudders and I pull her in closer. My dick is throbbing in my sweats and all we’re doing is kissing. I open my mouth wider and caress her tongue with mine, and when she moans, my grip on my control slips.

  Grabbing her thigh, without breaking our kiss, I drag Ivy’s leg over mine until she’s straddling my lap, the contact with my already hard dick making me release a deep groan. Ivy tugs on my hair and grinds her hips over me, moaning and nipping at my lips as she creates the delicious friction and, fuck, does she feel amazing. I run my hands up her thighs and back to her shoulders, caressing and grabbing and committing to memory every soft, perfect part of her body that I can reach. I slide one hand under her shirt and palm her breast through her bra, rubbing my thumb lightly over her peaked nipple and she arches into me.

  My hands aren’t big enough or fast enough. I want to touch every part of her all at once. She feels so fucking good.

  Our tongues glide and tangle, the kiss growing more heated and frenzied with every grind of her perfect body over my dick. I continue teasing her nipple with one hand and grip her ass with the other, pressing her body into mine. I meet each glide of her hips with a hard thrust from mine, and I swear if we move any faster, the friction from her leggings on my joggers will ignite flames. I can feel the heat from her pussy through our clothes. It’s making me crazy.

  I want to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. Ivy and I are dry humping on my living room couch like a damn pair of horny teenagers, and I fucking love it.

  Ivy moans into my mouth and it takes all of my control not to flip her onto her back and fuck her senseless. The visual in my head makes my dick painfully hard, and I pinch her nipple, causing her to moan louder. I know if I slide my hand between us and palm her pussy that I’ll feel her arousal through her thin leggings, and suddenly that’s all I want.

  “Are you wet, Ivy?” I rasp into her mouth. I move my lips to her ear and nip, whispering, “If I put my fingers on that pretty pussy, will I find it dripping for me?”

  Ivy gasps, no doubt shocked by my filthy words, and I pull back to watch her face.

  “Surprised?” I smirk.

  She slows her movements and bites her lip, giving me a small nod.

  “I’ve been repressing fantasies starring you for years, Ivy. Better get used to it, because I’m not planning to hold back.”

  Her eyes flash with heat. “Don’t hold back,” she whispers. “Please don’t.”

  Jesus Christ, this is literally all I’ve ever wanted.

  I take my hand off her breast where it’s been massaging and teasing her nipple, and she whimpers at the loss of contact.

  “Shhhh, baby.” I laugh lightly and kiss her lips. “I’m going to see if you want me as much as I want you.” Slowly, I skim my fingertips down her torso and her breathing grows ragged.

  “Look at me,” I command quietly, and trace my middle finger lightly around her belly button. I can feel the goose bumps rising on her skin, but she drops her head back and hums, keeping her eyes squeezed shut.

  “Ivy,” I growl, and grip her hips with both hands. I need her eyes on me. I need to see her seeing me the first time I worship her pussy. “Look. At. Me,” I say more firmly, and I dip my thumbs into the waistband of her leggings.

  Slowly, she raises her head, and those deep blue eyes connect with mine. Her face is flushed, her breath is coming out in pants, and she looks so fucking sexy that I have to grip her hips tighter to still her movements. I’m in the sweetest sensory overload, and any more stimulation, I’ll be blowing early in my joggers.

  “Keep your eyes on me,” I say, and move my left hand into the back of her leggings to squeeze her naked ass. She’s not wearing panties.

  Fuck me.

  “I want to see your face when I make you come for the first time. I’m going to make this pussy feel so good, baby.”

  Ivy’s eyes flare, and she gasps. She might be surprised by my dirty talk, but she loves it, and that turns me on so fucking hard.

  “You want that?” I ask, toying with her. I slide my right hand between us and graze over the apex of her thighs through her leggings. “Yeah, you do. You want me to make this pussy feel good.”

  “Yes.” Her voice is breathy and raw, and when my thumb glides over her clit, her eyes fall shut. I halt my movements and squeeze her ass hard.


  “No,” I say. “Eyes on me. Eyes stay on me.” She huffs back at me, but her eyes snap open and meet mine with a glare. I rub my thumb over her clit in response.

  “That’s right, Ivy. You want to feel good? You keep those gorgeous eyes on me. You close them, and I stop. Understood?”

  I rub her clit faster, and she moans and nods quickly, “Fine, okay. Yes. I understand.” Irritation and desire are warring in her brilliant blues, and I’m fascinated.

  “Good girl,” I say with a devious grin, and she rolls her eyes. She’s a panting, writhing, gorgeous mess grinding shamelessly on top of me, but she’s still got sass in spades. My control is an illusion—she’s given me the reins only temporarily—so I’m going to make it fucking count.

  I move my hand into the front of her leggings, finding a thatch of short hair, and I let out a deep guttural groan. God, could she be any sexier?

  Ivy smirks at my reaction.

  “Surprised?” she purrs, mocking my earlier words, so I give her hair a soft tug and she gasps.

  “This is so fucking hot. I can’t wait to see you naked and spread out for me.” I graze my fingers over her once more and then move to her clit. Ivy presses herself into my hand, and I laugh softly.

  “You’re so impatient,” I say with a smirk.

  “This is nothing,” she responds, her eyes narrowed in playful warning, so I give her what she wants. I slide my fingers down through her folds, groaning loudly when I find exactly what I was hoping for.

  “Fuuuck. You’re soaked for me.”

  I keep my gaze locked with hers as I glide my fingers through her arousal and drag them back up to her clit, rubbing firmly, and she rewards me with a moan.

  “Yes,” she murmurs on an exhale. The desire in her eyes, the heat from her pussy, and the scent of her arousal are a heady combination, and I can feel precum leaking from my dick.

  This. Her. Us. It’s my damn wet dream come to life. It’s everything.

  I take my cues from Ivy, watching her face as I get her off with my hand. Alternating firm presses and circles, fast and slow. I watch as her mouth gapes, and she struggles to keep her eyes open. The soft whimpers and gasps that she makes are my new favorite sounds, and I want her making those noises for me every single fucking day.