Foreplay (The Ivy Chronicles #1)(47)

“Let’s talk about something else,” I suggested, wondering what it would take to get him to stop talking altogether and make the first move. Maybe I needed to make the first move. Assuming I could suck up the nerve to do that.

“Yeah.” He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Guess this conversation is a bit of a buzz kill.”

Right up there with butchered bunnies and starving children. “Yeah. I was thinking that.”

Smiling in an I-know-I’m-a-sex-god manner, he approached me with his loose, unhurried stride. Like some sort of jungle cat. Deceptively relaxed, when I knew he could spring into action at any moment.

Watching him, my cheeks warmed. I had felt those muscles, their flex and power against my hands. I had even seen him tear apart that guy outside the bathrooms at Mulvaney’s without breaking a sweat.

He stopped in front of me. My crossed feet jutted out between his legs. He took my hand, the slightly rough pads of his fingers curling into my palm.

“Tell me about the guy in the photo. That should put you in the right mood.”

I gulped. Was he kidding? I only needed to look at him to get in the right mood. The intimacy of his hand around mine was more than enough.

“Hunter? We’ve known each other forever.”

He scooted my legs apart and knelt between my thighs. His hands closed around my knees. I watched him, breathless. Shaking from the inside out. His grip seared me through the denim.

He arched an eyebrow. “I’m listening. His name is Hunter.”

I sipped air past my lips. “His sister, Lila, is my best friend.”

He continued. Watching me, his hands skimmed over the tops of my thighs and slipped beneath my sweatshirt to settle on the waistband of my jeans. “Go on.”

“They always made me feel like a part of their family. I think I spent more time at the Montgomery house than my own. They’re this really great family. Barbecues. Family trips to Disney, you know? That kind of thing.”

Those warm hands of his kept moving, inching up under my sweatshirt to graze over my belly. His thumb dipped to flick open the snap of my jeans. His attention trained there. I froze, swallowing down my words.

He glanced up at me. “Uh-huh. Keep talking.”

Sucking in a breath, I continued. “I’ve never even been to Disney World. They still go as a family. Like every year.” God. I was just babbling now. Was I actually talking about Disney World?

He lifted my sweatshirt, pulling it over my head in one swift move. It hit the floor.

I sat in my bra in front of him. I glanced down, verifying the color. White with a little yellow bow nestled between my breasts.

I shivered. Sure, I had been practically naked with him before, but this felt different. Maybe because we were here, in my room. Or maybe because I was just still so new at this. Still so in awe of him that I couldn’t stop myself from quaking like the big virgin that I was. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at me. Like I was the last female on earth.

“You were saying? Disney?”

“They go there together. The Montgomerys. They’re good people.” My voice didn’t even sound like mine. It was more like a strangled croak. “Hunter is a good person. He wants to be a doctor.”

He flattened his palm just below my bra, his fingers splaying wide, almost covering my stomach completely, fingertips brushing my ribs. “Sounds like a saint.” He cocked his head, assessing, staring at me, consuming me with his eyes.

All I could think was: I hope not. A saint would never look at me the way Reece was right now, and I wanted that. Needed that. His other hand slid around to palm my back. He traced my spine, caressing each and every bump of vertebrae. He made me feel feminine, small, and delicate. Like something to be worshipped.

Suddenly he shifted both hands to grip my torso. I was airborne for the barest moment as he launched me back on the bed. I landed on my back with a small yelp. Thank God he didn’t want me to keep talking about Hunter. I couldn’t speak coherently. Not anymore. Not even five minutes ago.

Rising, he unlaced my shoes and tugged them off. Each one hit the floor with a thud.

He eased down, coming over me, propping his elbows on either side of my head.

His face was so close. I felt his square jaw, reveling in the scratch and bristle. He held himself still and I let myself continue to explore his face, tracing the arch of his eyebrows, down over the bridge of his nose, the well-carved lips.

They moved against my fingers as he spoke. “As long as you look at him like that he’ll be yours.”

I pulled my hand back slightly. “How am I looking at you?”

He settled himself deeper between my thighs. One hand slipped between my back and the mattress. With one flick, he unhooked my bra and tugged it free. “Like you want to eat me.”

“Oh.”

His head lowered. I shuddered as he pressed one kiss to the tip of my breast. Ohhh. Then the next. I ran my fingers over his head. His mouth closed over my nipple, pulling me into the wet warmth of his mouth. I gasped and surged against him.

I clawed at his shirt, twisting the fabric, wanting to feel him, skin to my skin.

He sat up, reached behind him and pulled it over his head, and then came back down over me. This time we were chest to chest. His hardness to my softness. His mouth met mine hungrily. It wasn’t sweet or gentle or easy. He kissed me deep and hard. I kissed him back, running my tongue along his, licking at his teeth.