Foreplay (The Ivy Chronicles #1)(56)

He unzipped my jeans and dragged the zipper down, exposing the front of my panties. I surged when he pressed a kiss right there. The moist heat from his mouth seared me straight through the thin layer of cotton. His name slipped past my lips on a breath.

He came up then and kissed me hard, the only point of contact our mouths. Meshing lips, tongues, and teeth. He drove me wild. I kissed him back, matching him in heat and pressure. My arms strained, still pinned at my sides by his hands. I whimpered against his mouth and pushed at his palms, my fingers linked in a bloodless grip with his, desperate to be free so that I could touch him.

Then I felt it. The unmistakable hardness of him against the inside of my thigh, scalding through our clothing. I parted my thighs wider and squirmed closer, bringing him directly against me. I lifted my pelvis and thrust my hips, grinding into him.

His lips broke from mine in a hiss. “Shit. Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“Please . . . my hands . . . I want to touch you.”

His fingers laced tighter with mine, and I felt his strength as our palms pressed flush together. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”

His breathing was harsh, mingling with my own ragged breath. Every part of me throbbed, ached. “Please. You’ve touched me so much . . . let me touch you.”

He shook his head once, hard.

My voice cracked a little. “Why not?”

This close I could make out the dark ring of blue, almost black, around his irises. “Because you’re like candy in my mouth. I’m already too worked up for you.”

“But you said I can trust you.”

“You can.” His eyes cut into me, intense and stark—like he was willing for me to believe in him. “I would never hurt you.”

“Then let go of my hands.”

After a moment his grip on me loosened. I was free. I filled my hands with his chest, caressing the carved muscle, the ridiculously cut abs. His head dipped, fell into the crook of my neck as if he was gathering strength from some hidden reserve found only there.

My hands dipped farther south, hesitating only a moment at his jeans. My fingers slid inside the waistband. Before I lost my nerve, I unbuttoned him and dragged down the teeth of his zipper just like he had done to mine.

His head lifted and his eyes gleamed bright with warning. “Pepper . . .” His voice was strangled.

My gaze flicked to his and then back down, intent on my goal. “I never touched one before.”

I tugged open his jeans, pulling them down less than gracefully. It proved especially difficult with him on top of me.

“Fuck it.” He flipped off me onto his back. Lifting his hips, he yanked off his jeans himself. Then he was all mine.

Smiling, I leaned over him, my attention moving from his face to . . . south.

He filled out the front of his boxer briefs impressively. I rested my hand over him, feeling, measuring the outline.

He said my name again, part plea, part groan. I ignored him, curiosity, the rush of blood in my ears, overriding the sound.

I flexed my fingers and the bulge grew under my hand. It was emboldening. Before I could change my mind, I delved inside his briefs and wrapped my fingers around him. His head fell back on the bed. “Pepper.”

“It’s softer than I thought it would be.” I bit my lip, reveling in the length of him in my grip.

He laughed hoarsely. “Sweetheart, I’m hard as a rock.”

“I mean your skin.” It was like silk over steel. My hand moved awkwardly, fumbling for a moment before settling into even strokes.

His hand fell over mine, stalling me. “Pepper, you have to stop.”

I looked up at him. “Isn’t this part of my education?”

The tendons in his throat worked like he was battling for control. I guess it should have worried me, but I only felt empowered. Gratified. Not for a moment did I think he would lose control and cross the line. He had my trust.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

His grip eased off my hand. I was able to move again, glide my fingers over him.

“All right,” he agreed in a thick voice. “Then you should probably call it what it is.”

I glanced up at him quizzically.

“Say it. Dick. Cock,” he supplied. “Don’t be afraid of the word, Pepper.”

My hand stilled. My face burned. I shook my head. “I can’t say that.”

“But you can touch it? Say it. Cock.”

The word sat heavily on my tongue. My hand resumed its movements as I said it slowly, savoring the naughty word, feeling bold and wicked. “Cock.”

The blue of his eyes paled to a pewter. His chest rose and fell with a sharp breath. As if that word alone on my lips aroused him.

My gaze moved from him—his cock—to his face. I didn’t know what fascinated me more. The sight of my hand moving over him or his expression. His eyes were closed. He looked almost in pain.

“Pepper . . . Pepper, stop.” He tensed under me.

I ignored him, squeezing and moving my hand faster.

“God,” he gasped and shuddered, the muscles and sinews in his chest and stomach rippling as his body reached climax.

His breathing gradually evened. He flung an arm over his head. After several more breaths, he muttered, “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”