Foreplay (The Ivy Chronicles #1)(39)

As much as the touch sent a jolt of sizzling awareness through me, a frisson of panic rose inside me, too. Moaning against his mouth, my fingers locked around his wrist and tugged.

He obeyed, slipping his hand out of my panties, and instantly I was overcome with a sense of calm. He meant what he’d said earlier. He wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want. This knowledge gave me a heightened sense of power. I could do anything. Kiss him. Touch him. Explore him as I wished with no fear that he would demand more from me than I wanted to give.

The last of my reservations melted away. I ran my hands through his hair. It was like silk against my palms. I felt the shape of his skull, the tender skin at the back of his neck. I deepened our kiss, pushed my lips harder against him, tasting him with my tongue. He groaned in approval, muttering, “I like your hands on me.”

And I liked feeling him, too, reveling in the freedom to do so, feeling all that sleek skin stretched over hard muscle and sinew. My palms skated over his broad shoulders, down the slope of his back and up again, loving the velvety texture of his short hair, the scrape of stubble on his face.

“Fuck, you’re sweet,” he ground down against my lips roughly, his jaw flexing beneath my fingers.

He slipped his hands under me, gripping my bottom and grinding himself into me. I felt his erection. His hardness, the arousing shape of him. Need clenched deep inside of me. He began a rocking motion and I ripped my lips free, gasping raggedly. His breath filled my ear, just as harsh as my own.

He removed a hand from behind me and placed it between us, rubbing between my legs. I cried out, lifting my hips up into the pressure of his deft strokes. He slid his fingers over the denim concealing me, increasing the pressure with each glide. The base of his palm bore down, pushing at some magical place. I started to tremble. Clutching his arms, I rocked my hips into him.

“Oh, God.” OhGodOhGodOhGod. I closed my eyes and bit my lip to stop myself from being too loud. He was making me come. Like this. So easily. With my jeans still on.

“Let go. It’s okay,” he rasped. “I want to hear you.”

I released my lip and let sound escape. I cried out sharply, arching under him, thrusting my hips up and out. I didn’t even sound like me. I was some creature ruled by desire and wild sensations. I closed my eyes to the unbearable ache building inside me. My internal litany burst from my lips. “OhGodOhGodOhGod!”

A low, rough chuckle left him, brushing my bare throat. His head dipped and his mouth closed over a nipple. Bright spots exploded behind my eyelids. I screamed, my nails digging into his shoulders. I shook in his arms, shudders rolling over me. I went limp, my body boneless.

He eased me back down and curled around me, spooning me with his larger body. His erection was still there, prodding my backside, reminding me that he hadn’t reached his own release.

As the delicious sensations faded from my body, awkwardness crept in. I held myself still for a moment, thinking, wondering what to say.

What did one say after her first orgasm? Can I have another, please? I turned my face into the bed, muffling the snort at my own joke.

He got up, and I held myself still on the bed, fiddling nervously with a lock of my hair, debating how I should handle this moment. There was a soft click and the room plunged into pulsing darkness. I heard a rustle and then felt a soft blanket drape over me. He returned, sliding under the blanket, his strong arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me into his chest. Moments passed as I waited for something else to happen. Is this the part where he tried to push me into having sex? His erection was still there, right behind me, distracting and exciting, building the clenching ache back to life between my legs. I squeezed my thighs, pressing them tightly together in an effort to assuage the almost painful throbbing there.

Nothing. Not a word. Not a move.

His erection became less insistent, and eventually his chest eased into a steady rhythm against my back. Unbelievable. He was actually asleep.

I held myself tense, a board in his arms. I doubted I would ever sleep.

That was my last thought before darkness rolled in.

I woke with my legs tangled with the longer, heavier legs of a man. A definite first.

My face burned, and various other parts of my body, as memories of the night before flooded me. I tensed instantly, all my senses alert, reaching out, listening, feeling for my surroundings. A light spattering of hair covered the masculine limbs, creating a delicious friction against my smooth legs. It was a wholly alien experience. I inhaled and caught the musky aroma of the cedar bed, and something else. Something already familiar. It was him. I knew his scent. The soap and musk and salt to his skin. I’d never known another person’s scent before. Well, save for Mom and Gram. Gram was a combination of laundry detergent and Bengay. Not an unpleasant odor. Mom was cigarette smoke and sour alcohol.

I turned my head on the pillow and peeked to my right. A murky blue suffused the room, seeping in through the blinds. I studied him in the pale wash of dawn. He slept with one arm flung above his head, the other tossed out carelessly at his side. At least he no longer hugged me like some kind of favorite pillow. I was free.

With his guard down he looked younger. My palm itched to touch his face, to feel the rasp of stubble against my palm. I had an unfettered view of the ink crawling along the side of his torso, moving over finely cut muscle and sinew, stopping only a couple of inches beneath his armpit. I peered at the words in the dim light. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I. Was that biblical? My brow creased, more confused than ever that those words somehow held special meaning for him. Enough that he would permanently etch them onto his skin. It revealed a new side to him, a softness, depths I never suspected existed.