Foreplay (The Ivy Chronicles #1)(48)

He bit my lip, tugging it between his teeth. I moaned, lifting up for him. He evaded me and I growled, chasing his mouth until he let me have it again with a satisfying collision of lips and tongue. My hands swept over his shoulders, gliding down his smooth back. The flesh rippled and undulated under my hands.

He pulled back and stared down at me, his blue eyes so deep and penetrating they glowed almost silver. His breath crashed on the air as his gaze roamed me.

“Reece,” I whispered and my voice sounded almost like a plea.

“I want to see you. All of you.”

“I—” My voice broke, unsure.

“You can trust me.”

I nodded, believing that. He wasn’t the problem. The issue was me. My fear.

He moved quickly, sliding down the length of me. His hands went to the waist of my jeans, fingers working expertly. The zipper sang briefly. He slid my jeans off with ease. He did it better than I could have. Like he stripped jeans off girls all the time.

“Now these are hot.”

I glanced down and winced at the white cotton panties with tiny yellow kittens on them. Not exactly sex goddess material.

A sound strangled in my throat, part laugh, part groan. “I really need to shop for some sexier lingerie.”

“Nuh-uh. These are hot. And I promise they make an impression.” He pressed a slow, savoring, open-mouthed kiss right above the edge of my panties, below my belly button. My nerves sparked and jumped like they were shot with electricity. His hand drifted lower, palming me between my legs, and I was panting now. Embarrassing little whimpers that I couldn’t stop.

“Pepper, let me touch you.” The rough catch in his voice was probably the sexiest thing I ever heard. He could have asked me anything right then—with that voice, with his hand between my legs—and I would have agreed.

I nodded, hair flying around me. His hand was inside my panties before I even blinked.

His fingers slicked through me, parting me. He made an almost animal growl as he eased a finger inside me.

I sat up, arching off the bed with a sharp cry. Shudders racked me. He pushed at that spot, the one he’d found before, with the base of his palm.

“So wet.” I barely heard his whisper as I held tightly onto his hard shoulders. He buried his mouth against the crook of my neck and pressed a kiss there as he pulled out and buried his finger back inside me again. Deeper. More intimate, stretching me. I cried out, clenching around him with muscles I never knew I possessed. My arms wrapped around his shoulders, clinging to him like a buoy at sea as ripples eddied over me.

We stayed like that for an endless moment. An immense lethargy stole over me. His hands slipped from my panties and he pulled me against his side, holding me. As sated as I felt, I was alert and awake, not yet willing to fall asleep.

I cuddled closer to him, glad for this moment where it was okay to touch him, to let him touch me. It wouldn’t be like this tomorrow. Maybe ever again.

I took the opportunity to ask what had been nagging at me ever since I learned he was running Mulvaney’s on his own. “Is it just you and Logan?”

Silence met my question and I darted a look up at his face. He stared down at me, considering me.

“Logan is still in high school, right?”

“Yeah. He’s a senior. He only picks up a shift here and there. He plays baseball. Hoping he can get a scholarship.”

So Logan must live out in the house near the Campbells’ place. With their parents. I pictured it. Some quaint old farmhouse like the Campbells owned. With a pond. And ducks. Maybe his mother wore an apron as she fed them leftover toast. An idyllic family scenario. I knew I was romanticizing his life. Okay, him. I just couldn’t stop myself. I always did that when I met people. Imagined their perfect lives. Normal lives.

“It’s just you living above the bar then?”

“Yeah.” His hands traced a delicious pattern on my arm.

“What about your parents? They don’t mind?”

“My mother passed away when I was eight.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I moistened my lips. “And your dad?”

“He’s in a wheelchair. Going on two years now.”

“God, I’m so sorry. That must be hard.” So that was why he was running the bar all on his own? His dad no longer could. I wanted to pry more information out of him, but he looked so hard all of a sudden. So unapproachable. Apparently I had touched on a subject he didn’t like talking about. I could understand that. I had my own ghosts that I kept firmly behind closed doors.

Still, I wanted to say something. Offer him some comfort. I sat up on an elbow to stare down at him, hugging the blanket to my chest as I smoothed a hand over his chest in a small circular motion.

“Don’t look at me like I’m something noble,” he said quietly, frowning, his blue eyes suddenly like frost. “I’m the one that put him there.”

This time I felt my mouth fall open. Heard my gasp. My hand froze on his chest.

“That’s right. Now you know what kind of guy I am. I work the bar because my old man can’t. Because it’s his legacy and it’s the least I can do for him after crippling him.” He made a sound in the back of his throat. Part growl, part snort of . . . something. Disgust maybe? With me or himself, I wasn’t sure.

I shook my head. “I—”