by Bishop, Ally
“What do you want, Ella? What can I do for you?”
I’ve never been talked to during sex. Certainly never asked questions. It’s always been fun and intense, but never like this. The idea of saying what I want intimidates me, so I keep my eyes closed, hoping he’ll take the hint. But he doesn’t.
“Ella, I’d love to know what you want. What you’d like me to do to you. I can wait, if you need time to decide.”
He removes his hands from me, and I want to moan in disappointment. When I don’t feel him for long moments, I’m forced to open my eyes. He’s got a small smile on his face, as though he knows I’m struggling with answering him.
Stroking the inside of my thigh, he lowers his gaze between my legs before looking back at me. “Is there something you’d like me to do?”
I groan and close my eyes. “Please.” I shove the word out between stiff lips.
His thumb inches up my leg. “Please what?”
I throw my arm over my eyes, too embarrassed to answer. Why can’t I say what I want? What is so awful about it? But as he teases my skin, never getting close enough to where I want him, I’m left with no choice.
“Your mouth,” I whisper.
“Mm-hmm.” I can feel his breath on my sensitive skin as his hands press my thighs wider. “What about it?”
He’s going to make me say it. Goddamn it. I wriggle my hips, fighting actually getting the words out. How is it I’m a writer, but I can’t use the very tool of my craft to get what I want? Achingly slow moments pass before I finally say it. “I want your mouth on me.” I say the words on a breath. Then add, “Please.”
“I can definitely do that.” And then his tongue finds my center, swirling over the tiny bud, and he has to hold my hips to keep me still. He laves the tender flesh, his fingers working inside of me, over and over again until I’m senseless with desire.
When I’m barely able to handle any more, he undresses and dons a condom, his powerful arms lifting me up so he can take my place. Then I sink down onto him, amazed again at his erection and how stretched I feel as he guides himself inside. I’m so aroused, his entry sends little tingles of orgasm through my body. He caresses my face as I shudder, unable to do anything but close my eyes and be in the moment.
“You are so incredibly beautiful, Ella,” he says as his mouth closes over mine, the intimacy of the moment stealing whatever breath I had left. He directs my hips, his fingers gripping. At first, I rock slowly, enjoying his expressions for a change as I focus on squeezing him with my muscles. Soon I have no control left, though, and I ride him hard, feeling his cock grow even more inside me as he nears his own climax. His hand slips between us, teasing my clit as he crests, and I join him as the light explodes over us.
We end up in my bed, if only because I don’t want Noah to find us if for some reason he comes home early. Ian runs a hand over my curves, his palm stopping to tease my nipple. The light touch vacillates between tickling and arousing, and I can’t hold back my smile.
“You are a joy to watch.” He’s propped on his side, looking down at me.
I open one eye. “Why’s that?”
“Everything you feel shows on your face.” He pinches my nipple, earning a yelp from me.
I glare at him. “That would make anyone jump.”
“Maybe. But you are especially expressive.”
With a groan, I cover my eyes with my arm. “Noah says I can’t hide anything.”
“He’s right.” He resumes his exploration of my skin, skimming his hand over my stomach, then down my thigh. “When you’re ticklish, you can’t help smiling.” He traces a light circle on the inside of my hip, making me shriek in laughter.
“Which anyone would do!” I squeal as he takes the same light touch against my side.
“True.” He presses me flat to the mattress again. “But when you like something, there’s a little smile that shows up, right at the corner of your mouth, just on the right side…” His fingers trail between my legs, teasing the outside of my lips. “There it is.”
I don’t even care because right at the moment, the nerves I thought were done for the night are sparking back to life.
“And when I do this,” he spreads his fingers, separating my folds, and bumps his thumb against my clit, “Ah, there’s the head tilt and that little sigh I find intriguing.”
“God,” I breathe as he does it again, slipping against me as my hips rock against his hand.
“Hm, yes, that little sound I particularly like, too.” He eases his fingers in as though knowing my flesh is a bit tender from earlier, and I can’t help but follow his gentle rhythm.
I reach for him, pulling him down so I can lose myself in his mouth.
“I want you.” I say the words quietly, between kisses, and he immediately stills.
“Are you sure? You seemed a little sensitive.”
“I don’t care. I need to feel you.” Barely audible, I can see the effect my words have on him as he pauses, meeting my gaze with an expression I don’t understand.
“I don’t have another condom—”
“Second drawer of the nightstand to your right.” While I may not have much of a sex life, I do try to be prepared.
He grins, then vaults off the bed to dig one out. His cock, hard and thick, makes me even hungrier for him, and when he settles beside me again, I crawl on top of him, wasting no time. But he’s right, I am really sensitive, and I lower myself with exquisite slowness.
“I don’t know if I can move,” I say with a bit of wonder. I literally feel like I’ve been speared in two, but in every good way, and I may burst from the feeling of it if I shift an inch.
“Then don’t. I like looking at you on my cock, Ella. You feel hot and tight inside, so all I need to do is…” He uses a finger to torture a nipple, no doubt enjoying the way my head drops back. Every touch seems to quadruple in intensity, and by the time he’s finished with my breasts, I can’t help tilting my hips, glorying in the discomfort and pleasure tangled together.
I drop my hands on either side of his head, holding myself over him. “Fuck me, Ian. Please.”
And he does. I find myself on my back, his strokes slow, but at my urging, harder, until my cries are hoarse and my orgasm mind-numbing, but still he continues, driving me higher and higher until the world becomes a bright, shining light, and I don’t know whether I’m whole or fractured apart.
CHAPTER 6
IT’S ELEMENTARY, MY DEAR NOAH
I don’t know the last time I slept so well. If I dreamed, I don’t remember it. I wake to an arm snaking around me, securing me against a warm body.
“Good morning.”
His velvet voice makes my toes curl. “Mm.” I relax against him, enjoying his warmth. His finger makes lazy circles around my nipple, and I turn my head as he leans down to kiss me.
“Can I talk you into some morning sex?”
I chuckle softly. “Depends on how much talking you do.”
He takes the hint.
Afterwards, we’re spooned together in my bed, enjoying the silence. His fingers interlock with mine, and he’s anchored me against him. What is this crazy emotional elation and hormonal overload that I’m experiencing? I know it’s not love—it’s way too soon for that. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
“As much as I want to stay here with you, I regretfully have a client appointment in a few hours. And I need to run home and change.” He drops a kiss on my shoulder, holding me tightly before shifting to get up.
I’m mildly alarmed that my brother might see him when he heads downstairs, but it’s barely eight in the morning. There’s no way Noah will stir before noon. At the door, Ian kisses me, slow and soft, and I melt yet again.
“You are turning into a habit, Ms. Storm,” Ian whispers against my mouth. “A very lovely habit.”
I laugh when he releases me, then pull him back into me, exploring his mouth with my own. “Hm. Well, there are worse habits I suppose.”
&n
bsp; After he leaves, I manage a shower, and my stomach flutters every time I think about Ian’s smile and the feel of his skin. Holy shit. What is happening to me?
“You are entirely too sunshine-y happy this morning. Who pooped rainbows in your coffee?” Noah grumbles as I hand him a mug.
I can’t suppress a grin at his comment—it’s something our mother used to say. “Nothing. I’m just feeling productive today. I finished all of our receivables this morning and scheduled two more meet-and-greets. You, my darling brother, are Mr. Lazy Bones.”
He frowns into his coffee. “It was a crazy night.”
I stare at him, daring him to meet my gaze. “Uh-huh. Why’s that?”
He doesn’t look up—it’s our usual game. I play mother, and he gets to imitate a dejected college kid. “I hung out with Mark and Jamie. Damn, they haven’t slowed down a bit. I swear, Jamie can drink any man under the table.”
“Mm. Always could. Tell me you didn’t try to keep up with her.” I love my brother, but his drinking and bad boy behavior do wear thin after a while.
“God no. I’m smarter than that. But she’s…something. And I definitely had too much. I vaguely remember going home with someone—a brunette, I think. Phenomenal ass, I’m pretty sure. But then I woke up here, so I’m not sure how all of that happened.”
“Noah—”
He holds up a hand. “I don’t need the lecture. I’ll be more careful the next time.”
If there is one person who fires me up within seconds, it’s Noah. “Don’t you dare act impatient with me. Did you use protection last night? Do you know where you were?” I could wring his neck, I’m so mad. “This is dangerous.”
“I know,” he answers softly, his voice rasping with exhaustion. “It was stupid, Ella. I’m not arguing.”
“Then what are you doing? Why does there even need to be a next time? Why can’t you just have some fun with people without getting so drunk you can’t remember your own name?”
And as Noah always does, he makes me feel horrible for yelling at him. “I know, Ells. Believe me. I know I shouldn’t have done it. I won’t do it again.”
“And I’ve heard that somewhere before. Oh, right, the last time you did this. What is wrong with you? We have everything we’ve ever said we wanted: a good business, financial stability, and lives we get to determine. Why are you trying to screw it up?”
He doesn’t say anything. After a few beats, he shuffles out of the room. I hear the creaking of his desk chair as he sits. I want to follow him and lay into him more, but I root myself to the spot. My cheeks are flaming, my heart pounding, and my rage, which is usually pretty wrapped, could boil over at any moment.
I barely catch his next words, might have missed them if I’d made a noise. “We have what you wanted, Ella.”
I’m pretty sure the echo of my grinding teeth can be heard in the grave silence that follows. Between deep breaths, I remind myself that he’s my brother and I love him. Mostly so I don’t round the corner and throttle him. After biting my lip so hard I can taste blood, I take a few steps to the edge of the kitchen. He’s curled over, his elbows balanced on his knees, his mug held between pale, long fingers.
“That’s not fair, Noah. We both wanted this. We sat down, we drew out a business plan, we made decisions and investments based on our shared goals. I didn’t imagine all of that.” I keep my voice low, controlled.
He draws in a ragged breath before exhaling. “I know. And I know you stayed in the city for me.” He finally looks up, meets my eyes. “We both made choices to make each other happy, because no one else ever did that for us since Mom and Dad.” He looks down at his hand, the silver band on his middle finger our father’s wedding ring, just as I wear our mother’s. “I wanted to take theater, Ella, in college. That’s what I wanted to major in. But a business degree was more stable. So that’s what I did. You wanted to write, and you are a magnificent writer. So this business…it made sense, too. And it let me act, which I thought would be enough.” His eyes shine like mirrors, and I swear, I can see my heart breaking in them. “But it’s not what I wanted. Not really. And it’s my fault for agreeing to this. But I can’t help wanting more. You ask me why I go out all the time? Why I get so shit-faced, I can’t remember what happened? Because I live in a city of actors and artists, of people going after their dreams, and I sit behind a desk most days and put together numbers, and organize schedules, and bullshit with vendors to get the best prices.”
The lump in my throat forbids any response from me, but I can’t look away from him. To his credit, he flinches a bit, as though doing so since I can’t. “I’m not ungrateful. I appreciate everything we have. I wouldn’t change what we’ve done. But there’s still a kid inside me that wants nothing more than to be on stage. And right now, even though I know it’s unfair to you and what we’ve agreed to, I want nothing more than to quit and go after my dream. But I can’t do that—I won’t do that. And none of this is your fault. I’m not blaming you.”
I swallow hard, tears burning my eyes. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? Why didn’t you—” I break off, emotion choking my words.
“Ells, look at me.” He stands, but seems to question whether comforting me would be the right move. So he leans back against the desk instead. “You have been mom and dad to me since the day our parents died. You were there when our grandparents couldn’t be bothered to show up. Always. You were there.” His eyes are glassy too, and not just from the misery of his hangover. “I will never forget standing on stage my junior year, looking out in the audience, knowing that you were there, alone, just for me. No one else came. Just you.
“Do you really think I would walk away from something that could give you everything you’ve ever wanted? Elementary was a great idea, but it wasn’t mine. I know you think it was, because I mentioned it one time as a ‘hey, wouldn’t this be cool’ idea. But you’re the one who latched onto it and started making plans. This is what you love. And the adult in me doesn’t regret any of it. This has been amazing, and most days, I love what we do.”
The silence draws barriers between us, but I dare to cross them anyway. “But you still want to act. On the big stage. Not just living rooms.”
He sucks on his lower lip a moment. “Yeah, I do. And I know I’m good enough. Maybe not for Broadway or movies or anything. But I could do smaller stages, and I could definitely try for a traveling gig.” There’s a bit of dawn in his eyes, a glimmer in the shadows that lurk. Then it’s snuffed out. “But I won’t. Because we do this together. And Elementary’s growing like crazy.”
“And you hate it.”
“No, I don’t.” He digs his hands into his pockets, his dark hair falling over his face.
Normally, I’d tease him about needing a haircut, and it occurs to me that I’ve been more mom to him than sister and business partner. For better or worse, that was my role. And maybe…just maybe, I’ve played it for too long.
“I don’t hate what we do. I’m struggling because the dream I had as a child is dying. I’m committed to this, and now that it’s really taking off, the likelihood of me ever doing anything more with acting is waning. And in some ways, that’s fine. I think I’m good, but who knows? Maybe I’m crap.” He holds up a hand when I try to interject. “I know—I get told all the time that I’m amazing. I know. I already know what you’re going to say,” his gaze holds a spark of mirth, “’down the road, anything could happen.’ And you’re right. But the more successful Elementary gets, the more my dreams get crowded out. And I need to figure out a way to reframe my thinking perhaps, rather than avoid it by partying too hard.”
I’m not sure what to say. So I just nod my head and step away quietly, seeking the refuge of walls so I can release the emotion I don’t want him to see.
It’s an hour or more later when a knock vibrates my bedroom door.
“Since when do you knock?” I try for a playful tone, but fail. Not that it matters—Noah pushes the door open and slumps against
the jamb.
“You going to spend the day in here?”
I look away, back down at the gift I made for Noah for his senior year.
He joins me on the bed and peers over my shoulder. “What’s this?”
“The scrapbook I made for you during your senior year of high school.”
He bumps his head with mine, then drops his chin on my shoulder. “I never saw this.” He reaches for a page, turning to yet another layout of photos. He stars in every one, from the age of six months to eighteen.
“I didn’t give it to you. I chickened out and bought you that leather jacket you wanted instead.” I tap a photo with a fingernail. “This was when you were summer stock, that summer that Grandpap got the job at the paper mill and would truck you along with him. Do you remember that?”
He snorts. “Um, yeah. It was the first and only time I saw a girl naked until I turned sixteen.”
“What? How did that happen?”
He shakes his head, his whiskers tickling my neck. “About the way you’d expect between two twelve year olds. A game of truth or dare gone very wrong—well, wrong for one of us.”
“The secrets you’ve kept from me,” I say with mock indignity, but the truth behind the words sucks the humor out.
He slips his arms around me, and I turn, nestling my forehead against his neck so I can hear the strong, steady thrum of his heartbeat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t you give me that book?”
I jab him in the ribs with a finger, and he twitches. “You first.”
“Because as much as I’ve wanted to do other things, you know as well as I do, I don’t regulate myself very well. You’ve always saved me, Ells. And I think—beneath all the angst and ridiculousness that goes on in my head—I know that.”
“I don’t want you to be unhappy, Noah. Maybe we could find someone to replace you in the office? In a few months, we should be able to bring on someone part-time.”