by RC Boldt
He shifts, moving forward, and I don’t miss his slight wince. “You’re beautiful, Ivy,” he repeats. His eyes have taken on a fierce intensity. “Not because you’re bare.”
My heart begins to race, and I’m torn between frantic anxiety and the desire to hear his words. “Then why?”
He tips his head to the side, but his eyes never travel down my bare body. They remain locked with my own eyes.
“Because you’re strong-willed. You’re ambitious. Smart as hell. Funny. Kind…” He trails off, and I wait with bated breath for him to finish. What I don’t expect is for him to surprise me even more. “You have a good heart, Ivy Hayes,” he whispers. “You just don’t want to believe it.”
I don’t realize I’m shaking my head until the sensation of my hair moving over my skin alerts me to this fact. “No, I don’t.”
He nods slowly. “You do. Because you came here to help me.” His fingers encircle my wrist to gently pull me to stand between his legs. “You came here because you care.” He places the pad of his index finger at the base of my throat and slowly trails it down, drawing to a stop at the center of my chest. I swear, my heart beats even faster beneath his finger. Like it recognizes the man who’s left it—left me—so unsettled.
“I won’t hurt you.” He declares this with a soft urgency. “I won’t ever hurt you.”
I reach down, cradling his face in my hands, and take his mouth, partially to shut him up. Even more, I need him—I need his lips on mine. My body takes control, attempting to show him without words exactly what I feel, what I need.
Our kiss is devouring, passionate, wet, and I’m insatiable for his taste. When he tears his lips from mine, I can’t restrain my sound of protest. He shifts to lie back on the couch and directs me to climb over him.
“Come here and let me taste you.”
Almost robotically, I follow his directions and let him guide me to straddle his body, holding my pussy directly over his mouth.
His hot breath washes over my most intimate parts when he murmurs my name. “Ivy.” The way he utters it like a caress is the most beautiful sound I’ve heard.
One strong hand clenches my hip, guiding me as I lower myself to his mouth, to his lips, and the instant I feel his touch, I let out a sharp hiss.
He doesn’t waste any time. His tongue darts between my folds, delving inside me, and I arch, gripping the leather couch. My eyes fall closed at the decadent touch, and I’m unable to resist the slight rocking of my hips as he tastes me intimately. When he reaches for my clit and begins to rub, placing the perfect amount of pressure on it, there’s no resisting my body’s urges. My free hand moves to my left breast, and I toy with my nipple. The vibration of his groan fluttering against my skin tells me he’s watching, and it encourages me. The words spill from my lips before I realize it.
“Becket,” I pant as my hips shift, and I begin riding his tongue. “Feel how wet you make me.” His answering groan vibrates through me, and I tweak my hardened nipple, wishing his mouth was on it. “I want to ride your cock. Want to take you deep.”
He takes my clit between his thumb and forefinger and gives it a little tug, and the nerve endings go wild. Then he shifts, reaching from behind to insert two fingers inside me while his lips latch over my clit. He creates a suction while darting his tongue against the nerve endings, and it sends me plummeting over the edge.
“Becket!” I cry out. My muscles go rigid before tremors overtake my body, and I ride out my orgasm, shamelessly thrusting myself over his fingers and mouth.
Once my trembling subsides, he guides my body down to lie on his, my head on his chest. He runs a gentle hand over my back in soothing motions as I come down from my high.
“Holy shit,” I whisper more to myself than to him. “What the hell was that?” I’ve never experienced anything quite like that before. If this is what it’s like partaking in oral sex with Becket, God only knows what it’ll be like when we finally get to the real deal.
We lie on his couch, my naked body flush against his shorts-clad one, while he continues to soothe me with his caresses. He disarms me to such an extent that the strong pull of sleep begins to drag me under, and Becket mumbles something beneath his breath.
I can’t be entirely certain what he said, but it sounded something like, “That was love, Ivy.”
23
Becket
SEPTEMBER
TWO WEEKS LATER
I feel like you’re trying to debilitate me with your sexual teasing.
Ivy’s text comes just as our plane has landed and begins taxiing at the Dallas-Fort Worth airport. A smile breaks free, and I type back a response.
Me: Nice use of the Word of the Day. And don’t deny it. You like my teasing.
Ivy: Have you landed safely?
Me: Just now. Dax has been snoring in my damn ear the entire time.
Ivy: Poor baby.
Me: You can call me later, and your sweet voice can erase that memory.
Ivy: Is someone trying to get me to talk dirty tonight?
Me: Maybe. ;)
“You know you only get that shit-eating grin when you’re talking to your woman.”
At Dax’s remark, I jerk my head around. He wiggles his eyebrows at me and leans over, attempting to see my exchange with Ivy.
When I tuck my phone close to my chest, he leans back in his seat with a huff. “Help a lonely brother out.”
“Get your own woman.” When his mouth parts, I interrupt, holding up a finger. “A good, long-term woman.”
“Pfft. Those are hard to come by.”
“Don’t I know it.”
The ding sounds throughout the plane, signaling we can take off our seat belts.
Dax unlatches his seat belt. “Hold up. I thought you were wooing your woman with all your protein smoothies, granola wraps, and sweet potato pancakes?” He places the back of his hand to his forehead, Scarlett O’Hara style. “Pray tell, is there a problem in paradise?”
We exit our seats and file into the aisle behind our teammates. “Wiseass.”
“Just sayin’.” Dax hitches his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t think that’ll work the magic.”
We slowly edge toward the exit of the plane. “And what do you think will?”
“Find out what really gets her. What she doesn’t tell you about.” He shrugs. “Find out what her love language is.”
“Kendrick!” one of our linemen yells a few feet away. “You talking ’bout that love language shit again?”
Dax turns around. “I’m telling you, it worked for my parents.”
“My wife made me read that book,” Tucker Perry, our tight end, pipes up. He’s a rookie but a great kid. Married his college sweetheart before entering the draft. “It’s actually pretty enlightening.”
Collective guffaws sound from the others, and there’s good-natured ribbing, but Perry pays them no mind.
“You should read it, especially if you’ve got a good woman. A keeper.”
We file out of the plane, and Dax falls into step beside me. “See? Told you.” He flashes me a smug look. “You better get on Amazon and one-click that book.”
I stretch out on my hotel bed, grateful to have the space to myself while I listen to the line ring multiple times. I hate the surge of disappointment that engulfs me at the prospect of not talking to Ivy tonight.
Ever since she spent that night at my house, things have shifted between us. Part of me thinks she views me as a challenge now. The other wonders if she’s as intrigued as I am to see where this goes, if she feels that fierce connection between us.
“Hey, handsome.”
I can’t hold in the sigh of relief when she answers. Nor can I resist the smile that forms. “Hey, beautiful. I thought I was about to get your voicemail.” I pause. “Are you busy?”
“No, I just finished going over some details for work.”
“Ah, more people who need to get ditched.”
She lets out a little laugh. “So it se
ems.” There’s a hint of weariness in her voice.
“You okay? If you’re too tired, I can let you go.”
A soft sigh reaches my ears. “Today’s kind of an…odd day for me.” There’s a pause, and just when I think she’s not planning to say more, she adds, “Today—tonight—is the anniversary of when I became a ward of the state.” Her words are barely audible, and I strain to hear them.
I shift to lie on my side and study the screensaver on my laptop that sits beside me on the bed. It’s a photo I took of her still curled up beside me in bed one morning after she’d spent the night. She looked so peaceful, incredibly beautiful with her slightly mussed hair and face clean of all makeup.
I’ve been waiting for a breakthrough with Ivy, for her to let me in. To allow me more than a glimpse at what makes her tick.
Finally—finally—she’s giving me something.
“I’m sorry. I’m such a downer. I shouldn’t have—” she rushes on, misinterpreting my silence.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I offer quickly. “Because I’m a pretty good listener.” Please talk to me, Ivy, I plead silently.
“Honestly…” She hesitates. “I’d rather just listen to you tell me about your day.”
I pinch my eyes closed in disappointment. So damn close. “Well, get comfy because you’re in for a real treat.” I work hard to infuse enthusiasm into my voice.
It’s all worth it when I notice her mood has lightened.
“Oh, really?” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Do tell.”
“This morning, I woke up at the crack of dawn to the sound of my horrendously annoying alarm clock. And I was all sorts of pissed because it interrupted one of the most amazing dreams.”
“And what was this dream about? Winning the Super Bowl again?”
“Ah, good guess, but no.” I pause. “I dreamed I woke up with you beside me. You and I went for a run, and then you begged me to make you sweet potato pancakes for breakfast once we got back home.”
“Mmm, that sounds good to me. Aside from the running part.”
“Oh, there’s more, though. After we made our breakfast, I just couldn’t help myself.” I deepen my voice. “I set you on the island, spread your legs with my hands, and…”
“And?” Ivy’s voice is breathless.
“I told you to behave and stop distracting me. Then we ate our breakfast.”
“You’re awful.” Her husky laugh brings a smile to my face. She pauses briefly. “Thanks, Becket.” Her soft murmur possesses a more relaxed tone. “For helping me tonight.”
A glance at the time on the bedside alarm clock has me grimacing. “I need to get some rest. Tomorrow’s a busy day.”
“I’ll let you go.”
“Sleep tight. I’ll call you after the game.”
“Night, Becket.” She hesitates before finishing softly. “I can’t wait to see you when you get back.”
24
Ivy
OCTOBER
“I don’t…know about this idea,” I hedge, uneasy.
Becket’s dark eyes are pleading. “I swear, it’ll be fine. Blue and Knox are coming, too.” He tugs me closer. “If I promise to let you walk in with them and I’ll enter alone for pictures, will that sway you?”
I hesitate because, well, he’s trying. He really is, and I recognize this. But I also know how happy it would make him if I agreed to go as his official date to the Mayo Clinic’s fundraising gala. He mentioned how much the hospital did for his mother when she battled ovarian cancer, and I want to support him. I just…don’t want the attention that goes along with it.
Yet I find myself giving in. Something that seems to occur more and more. It’s a dangerous trend.
With a sigh, I lean my forehead against his shoulder. “I’ll go with you.” With another deep breath serving as fortification, I add, “As your date.”
His entire body tenses beneath me, and I rear back in alarm, only to find his lips stretching into the widest smile. It’s a better one than any of those ads or commercials he’s in because this one is because of me.
God, maybe Darcy was on to something. Maybe Becket does have some crazy voodoo spell on me.
He frames my face with his hands and presses a perfunctory kiss to my lips, then backs away. Appearing jittery, he drags his hands over his hair and smiles down at me. “I’m not gonna pretend I’m not excited as hell about this.”
His smile’s infectious, and I can’t help but return it with a little laugh. “I wouldn’t get too excited. I mean”—I wave a hand, indicating my simple, businesslike attire—“I’m not exactly up to standards here.”
“I might be able to help with that.” His expression turns almost bashful. “If you’d be okay with it.”
“And by help, you mean…?”
“I could have people here to help you with hair and makeup.” He holds up an index finger, his features sober. “But the dress? Leave that to me. I promise, I won’t let you down there. Blue can vouch for me.”
Blue. God. Why does that little nickname he has for her get my hackles up? The woman’s married and has a baby on the way.
Still. There’s something about the way his tone softens when he says her name. A gentleness in his voice.
I avert my eyes, nodding with a soft, “Okay.” Attempting to calm my racing heart at the prospect of throwing more caution to the wind, I busy myself by studying the framed photos hanging on his living room wall. Which also serves the purpose of putting some distance between Becket and me.
“She’s my best friend.”
My head whips around, and I find him watching me. His thick, muscled forearms rest on the large counter of the kitchen island as he occasionally sips his shake. Those dark, mocha-brown eyes watch me with a fierce intensity.
I simply nod, a bit nervous beneath the weight of his appraisal, and turn my attention back to the photos. “How did you guys meet?”
He laughs, and I turn and discover him shaking his head as he swirls the contents of his shake, a tender smile toying at his lips. “We met in a bar.”
My face drops. I do not have any desire to hear about this. Bile rises in my throat as I anticipate him describing the typical story about how they hooked up only to realize they were better off friends.
I hold up a hand to stop him, but he simply eyes me oddly and continues with his story, ignoring my gesture.
“I discovered her sitting at the bar with red-rimmed eyes, wearing her wedding dress.” He shakes his head, his eyes taking on a faraway look as he appears to get lost in memories. “I’d just had a rough go of things, and there she was, a runaway bride. Neither of us could’ve predicted how strong our friendship would be, but we got each other through rough times.”
He pushes off the kitchen island and heads my way, sidling up beside me to focus on the assortment of photos adorning the wall. He points to one at the top. “See that? That was the first photo we ever took together. That’s the night we met.”
I peer closer and realize I’d overlooked the details of what she’d been wearing since it appears to have been a selfie of the two of them, taken by Becket. She is, in fact, wearing her wedding dress, and there’s a streak of her hair dyed blue.
“We got through a lot of shit together.” He releases a long exhale, and his tone is gentle, affectionate. “I was dealing with my mom’s passing and a relationship going down the tubes. Blue was dealing with being cut off by nearly all of her family and friends and a heartbreak to rival all heartbreaks.” Becket rests his sober gaze on me, warmth in it. “Friends like her don’t come around every day.” He turns his attention back to the photo. “Friends like that, they become family.”
“I get it.” And I do. Because Darcy and I will never be blood-related sisters, but the bond we formed years ago surpasses everything else. “Like Darcy and me,” I whisper aloud, without realizing it. At his curious expression, I continue. “We met during our freshman year when we were placed with the same foster family.”
“And you’ve stayed together ever since.”
I nod, without looking his way. “She was the first person who understood me. Who didn’t try to change me.” I force a smile and turn to him, eager to change the subject.
“So tell me more about this gala.”
ONE WEEK LATER
“This was a mistake.”
“It was not a mistake,” Darcy scoffs. “You look freaking gorgeous.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” The makeup artist, Pennie, pauses and backs away to briefly admire her work before returning to her task of making me presentable.
“By the way”—my sister cranes her neck, taking in the large spare bedroom I’ve come to think of as mine—“this house is amazing.”
“He helped design it.” Pennie carefully lines my lips. “Assisted the builders a bit, from what I’ve heard.” She pauses, and her eyes meet mine. “He’s a good guy.”
He’s a good guy. That appears to be the common consensus from most everyone. Even those who aren’t Jags fans. Becket Jones is well-loved by the city of Jacksonville but also appreciated by the fans for what he does to give back.
“All right, I think we’re done.” Pennie backs away after spritzing my face to set the makeup. I don’t think I’ve ever worn so much makeup in my life, and I’m a little nervous about the final product.
“Here you go. What do you think?” She thrusts a mirror in front of me, and the instant I’m faced with my reflection, I’m rendered speechless.
“Told ya you looked gorgeous,” Darcy says with a knowing look.
It’s not so much how I look—I can admit I look and feel pretty—as much as how startling it is to see myself like this. Because right now, it’s undeniable. I look so much like her.
And I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it.
Shaking it off, I flash a grateful smile at Pennie. “Thank you for this.”