He considered, dimly, what it might look like, the two of them returning to the party, both rumpled and completely sexed out. Hickeys on Ivy’s delicate throat. And in the space of a panted breath, Cole realized he didn’t care. Everyone could find out, Curtis Prime included.
Her fingers splayed behind her on the emerald green felt. She was propping herself up, supporting her own weight, but Cole wanted her to rely only on him. To give him all her trust. He needed it.
“Trust me,” he growled at her, and she instantly hooked her arms around his neck, no questions asked. It was intuitive, the way she moved against him, how she parted her legs for him, her dress riding up her thighs. He helped it on its way up, caressing the silken panties that acted as a barrier between his fingers and her body.
Some other time, he’d undress her slowly. Unwrap her like a present. Revel in taking his time and revealing her, inch by inch. Right now, though, he simply unzipped his fly, hooked his fingers in the crotch of her underwear, and plunged in.
Ivy muffled her cry against his shoulder, and he cradled her to him for a brief moment, stilling his hips, waiting for her body to adjust. Fingers still tangled in her panties, he undulated them against her sensitive clit. She jerked, breathing hard, legs tightening around his waist. Cole took that as encouragement, maneuvering his length until just the tip was inside of her. She squirmed, but he only left her empty and waiting for a fraction of a breath before slamming home.
Because she did feel like home to him, he realized, kissing her, completely buried in her body. Nothing had ever felt as good as this did. He had the passing thought that nothing ever would.
His thrusts were brutal and desperate, and there wasn’t a lot he could do about that except to make sure Ivy felt as good as he did. He rubbed her in the way she liked it, with just the right amount of pressure, cupping her breast through the luxurious material of her dress, seeking out the hardening nipple there. She hadn’t been able to wear a bra with this dress, which was to his advantage. He eased out one of her milky white breasts and licked at it, teasing the nipple lightly with his teeth.
Ivy huffed out a tiny sigh, biting back, restraining herself. Cole regretted that a little—he wanted to hear her—but they didn’t need to draw attention to themselves.
He thrust in and out of her, leveraging against the billiard table, the pool balls rattling against one another in the rack with every movement. It had to be over soon—they couldn’t afford to disappear for too long. And yet Cole wished it would never be over. If he could somehow suspend this moment, perfectly pumping in and out of Ivy, he would. Even if it meant he never came. Because it was so good, Ivy hanging on to him, both of them struggling against the urge to groan, rocking against the table.
But then Ivy gave the tiniest, most perfect cry, her entire body shaking, and Cole was right there with her, crashing over the edge and down, spiraling. He had no idea if he’d made a sound, and there was no way to tell, closing his arms around Ivy, trying, somehow, to keep them both on the ground.
“God,” Ivy whispered, and Cole had to agree with her, had to agree with that turned out, quiet exclamation.
Cole kissed her shoulder, winded like he’d just completed a mission, wondering how she could steal so much breath from him. Hell, she didn’t need steal it. He’d give it to her of his own free will. All of it. As much as she wanted and more.
He wasn’t like this, sappy. Sentimental. His time in the Navy hadn’t allowed him to be. And he had very little experience with serious relationships—or relationships at all, for that matter. But something about all of this told him he should become very used to the idea of a relationship with Ivy. His feelings ran just too deep for something casual.
“Ivy.” He faltered on the second syllable of her name, covering it with a kiss as he helped her off the table. “I really like you.”
She looked up at him, adjusting her dress, the expression on her face soft. “I like you, too, Cole.”
“What would you say to making this thing official?”
Whatever she’d been expecting him to say, that clearly hadn’t been it. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes shining. Cole felt as vulnerable now as the day he’d waited for her response on him asking her to dinner, right after their electric sexting. She had the power to break him, if she chose to, in this moment.
She gave a gentle laugh, and Cole gradually realized she wasn’t laughing at him. She was just happy, those green eyes full of emotion.
“Are you asking me to go steady?” she asked, the light in her eyes dancing.
“I’m asking in whatever words you want me to.”
“Yes.”
She started to say something else, something he couldn’t quite make out, because there was a sound in the hallway. Somebody coming.
Cole took Ivy by the hand and they ran through another door, into another room, stifling wild, happy laughter.
Chapter 11
Ivy
Enough was enough. Ivy couldn’t stop thinking about Cole. She couldn’t get him out of her mind, looking forward to every text or call, every second she got to spend with him.
The chemistry between them hadn’t faded in the weeks since the ball. Nothing in this relationship—because that’s what it was now, an official relationship—had adhered to her expectations. He should’ve gotten tired of her by now. She should’ve driven him away because she was too busy with Whisper Line or studying for school or shadowing at the hospital. And yet here they were, together, obsessed with each other, having the best sex Ivy had ever enjoyed in her life.
But it went beyond that, she had to admit to herself. Their relationship was less about the sex—though that was still a very important part—and more about the instinctual connection they shared. Ivy simply felt a need to be around him, an urge she couldn’t explain. He made her feel good, he made her feel important and worthy, and no one had ever done that before.
She had to tell him before this went any further.
The question of what she did for money hadn’t come up. She figured he assumed it had something to do with medicine, and since she was at the hospital a lot, shadowing personnel in her free time, that probably satisfied that nugget of curiosity he might have had about her.
Ivy couldn’t live with that omission of truth, not if she really wanted to have something with Cole.
And with Cole, she was all in.
Her phone buzzed. A text message.
Ivy’s heart leapt to her throat. She’d told Whisper Line she wasn’t available tonight. If it was some guy wanting her to call him daddy, Ivy would…
It was Cole. “Are you sure you don’t need me to pick up anything?”
She breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like her request with Whisper Line had, for once, gone through.
“All you need to bring is yourself,” she typed out, sending it to him. He was so kind and thoughtful. That was the third time he’d asked her about bringing something for the homemade meal she was making tonight. He’d wanted to contribute in some way, but she’d told him it was her treat.
“Not even dessert?” he texted.
“Don’t you dare,” she wrote back. “I’ve already made something.”
“I’m on my way,” he replied. “If you think of anything you’ve forgotten, let me know and I’ll swing by a bodega or something. Whatever you need.”
“I just need you,” she sent, smiling fondly.
That’s what tonight was about. Ivy was planning on cooking a delicious dinner, sitting Cole down, and breaking it to him as gently as she could manage that he was dating a phone sex operator. Hopefully, her good cooking would help cushion that blow.
She hissed in dismay as she sprung toward the oven, whipping open the door and retrieving the pan inside it. Good cooking was only good if it wasn’t burned, and she’d almost managed to blacken her garlic-roasted Brussels sprouts. Ivy quickly flipped them into a serving bowl to get them away from the hot pan. She comforted herself with the idea that they
’d simply be crispier now.
Ivy had gone all out, preparing a three-course meal for the two of them. She and Cole had been going out to eat these past few weeks, but she’d decided to make a fancy one at home this time. She’d even sprung for a tablecloth to toss over her slightly battered kitchen table. A pair of candles completed the illusion that her apartment was capable of hosting a romantic dinner.
To start, she’d whipped up some bruschetta. The main course was steak with the crispy Brussels sprouts as a side. And dessert was a cherry cobbler recipe she’d begged off her mom. It always reminded her of being a child, of summers that tasted like cherries, and she was happy she could share it with Cole now.
Just like she was going to share her experience with Whisper Line.
Ivy had to fight down a rising tide of anxiety. In a few minutes, Cole would be here, and they would be discussing her line of work. What would he think about it? The best-case scenario was that he’d admire her. He might think it was hot. Maybe he’d even propose to fool around while she texted clients about it.
But the worst-case scenario, which Ivy had to mull over, was that he wouldn’t be able to accept it. That he would walk away from her and from the relationship they’d been working to build because he couldn’t deal with what she did for money. That he’d somehow find the number for her parents’ landline and regale them with stories about how she was affording medical school.
Though that last part was a bit of a stretch. She sincerely doubted Cole would go to such lengths, but that was what imagining worst-case scenarios was for. So she could prepare herself for absolutely everything to go to shit and then be pleasantly surprised when it didn’t.
Ivy was just removing the steaks from the heat, calculating their level of doneness, when the knock came on her door.
“Coming!” she called over her shoulder, making sure the oven was off. She lit the pair of candles on the table and wished she’d had enough time to run to the bathroom and check her reflection in the mirror. She was sure she’d smudged her makeup at some point hovering over the hot stove, poking her head into the steam billowing from the oven. She wouldn’t make Cole wait, though. Not for something as silly as raccoon eyes… God, she hoped it wasn’t raccoon eyes.
Ivy swiped her thumbs beneath her eyes before opening the door. His smile and his handsome face instantly banished all of her nerves. She grinned at Cole before noticing the shopping bag he had clutched in one hand.
“What did I tell you?” she demanded, giving him a mock scowl. “Nothing else is required from you except your presence.”
“I couldn’t come empty-handed,” he said, planting a big kiss on her frown. “I picked up a bottle of wine.”
“I have wine.”
“And now you have more.” He put the bottle he’d brought next to hers on the counter and paused. “I’ll be damned.”
“What’s wrong?”
He moved aside so she could see, pointing and laughing. “We got the same bottles of wine.”
Ivy liked wine, but she couldn’t call herself an expert. She knew reds went with steak, and that’s why she’d gotten this one—a blend of several different kinds of red grape. It had been modestly priced—not too expensive, and not cheap enough that she doubted its quality. And somehow, whether he’d put the same amount of thought into it as she had, Cole had selected the exact same wine.
“Great minds,” she mused.
“I also brought some flowers.” He produced the bouquet from the bag, and Ivy couldn’t help but beam. He didn’t follow directions very well, but he really did make her happy. It was a little ridiculous just how wide her smile was.
“I’ll get a vase,” she said. “They can be our centerpiece.”
“Has anyone ever tried to give you a bouquet of ivy before?” Cole asked.
“Never.” She filled the vase with water and arranged the stems inside it so the blossoms rested naturally. “Why, did you consider it?”
“Maybe.” He grinned at her, loose and easy. “Florist talked me out of it. Said ivy was usually used to bolster a bouquet. Not as the centerpiece. I disagreed with him, but caved in to his expertise.”
“You’re so corny,” Ivy replied. It didn’t stop her from standing on the tips of her toes to kiss his mouth before setting the vase on the table. “There. Now we’re ready to eat.”
“It smells amazing in here.” He slipped his arms around her and pulled her back in close to his torso. He nibbled at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “Good enough to eat.”
“Cole, wait.” She had to laugh at his eagerness, even as she shuddered right down to her bones at the feeling of his lips on her sensitive skin. “You’re skipping several courses, here.”
“All delicious, I’m sure,” he said, still making a leisurely line of kisses down her neck. “But can you blame me for going for the thing I want the most first? I want to save all my appetite for you.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Nor could she ignore the way she’d been gripping his arms, hanging on for dear life, eager for that line of kisses to continue where it would. “Three courses,” she gasped out. He’d just kissed her breast clear through her shirt, massaging her. “Three courses will get cold if we don’t eat them now.”
“That’s what microwaves are for,” he told her, hands lingering over her belly and waist.
She reveled in the attention he lavished on her, leaning back against him, inhaling at the little thrills of pleasure that tingled up and down her spine. He always had this effect on her. It was overwhelming and wonderful in the same breath.
“If dinner tastes bad because of this…”
“Never.”
Cole tilted Ivy’s chin up and kissed her at an angle that had her lapping to compensate, and the discussion was over. Dinner would wait. Food was superfluous to the feast that was his mouth, his tongue partaking in hers.
Their clothes flew off of their own accord, making a pile on the floor. Like so many of their previous trysts, Cole simply made a beeline for the nearest available surface. A sense of self-preservation spared the table with its lit candles. But the bed was too far, especially with the couch right there.
Ivy tipped forward, grabbing the back of the couch with both hands as Cole tweaked her nipples, traversing the shaking muscles of her belly, grazing between her legs as his lips followed the path downward. She couldn’t count the number of times they’d had sex, or even recall every instance. But Ivy suspected that, more often than not, they got their pleasure in less traditional locations. On couches, floors, and billiard tables.
It didn’t matter. As long as she could have him, Ivy didn’t care where it was. He held her like he was afraid she might break, cocooned in his arms, as his head parted her lips and slipped in to her already wet entrance. It was always like that. Always waiting for him. She was always ready, from the moment their mouths met. Her pussy dripped in an instant, helpless response, knowing just what he was capable of.
Cole used a hand to guide himself fully in, and Ivy rested her head on the back of the couch, marveling at the utter fullness he gave her. It surprised her still, to this day, that her body could manage his considerable length. It took her apart and put her back together, and she reveled in it, delighted in just being along for the ride.
“You okay?” he breathed at her, and she nodded quickly, not trusting her voice as desire unspooled deep inside her.
Ivy stopped caring about anything except for his thrusts. How good it felt when he was completely sheathed, his legs flush against her thighs, fitting together perfectly. She suspected she could do this all day, forget about silly things like three-course meals and simply sustain herself off of the chords of pleasure Cole struck within her, the couch bouncing off of the wall with each thrust.
Chapter 12
Cole
Cole would never get enough of Ivy. Never understand why the taste of her mouth, the softness of her skin, were so addictive to him. He covered her body with his against the sofa, t
he frenzy of his hips making the furniture slam again and again into the wall.
Some slow, quiet part of his brain began to worry about damage and security deposits, and he made himself care enough to withdraw completely from her body, sit on the couch, and pull her into his lap, her legs spread against his waist. And then he resumed thrusting, changing the direction and angle of the thrust, the couch only banging a little bit, now.
“I’ll fix it,” he promised her. “Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” He didn’t know the first thing about drywall repair, but he could learn. It was an easy thing, easier than stopping the motion of his hips, his fingers gripping her waist. He couldn’t take his hands off her. All he had to do was lean forward a little and he could bury his face in her perfect breasts, bouncing around him.
She’d pitched a small protest about dinner getting cold, but he honestly couldn’t help himself. If they really were in the honeymoon phase of their relationship, just like Ivy had told Curtis Prime a few weeks ago at the military ball, Cole never wanted to leave it. The sex was hot and blistering. He needed it every single time he saw her, and according to the way Ivy mewled and rocked in his lap, so did she.
Dinner could wait. It was just food. This was so much more important.
Ivy looked down at him with half-lidded eyes, her hair in disarray, and he knew he could simply survive on that for as long as he had to.
That was how good she looked to him, riding him. He was thrusting upward, sure, and helping her to lift her hips, to impale herself and free herself on his cock time and time again, but she was the one really in control. The one setting the pace. Because once she found her rhythm, and once she let herself build up to it, it was her orgasm that would send him crashing and careening to completion. It never failed, and it had become something of a ritual. No matter how turned on Cole was, or how close he was to coming, he never orgasmed before Ivy did.
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