Covetous (Surrender #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

My roommate is in orgasm heaven, and I couldn’t be happier for her. But her ecstatic moans and her partner’s grunts from the other side of my paper-thin bedroom wall make concentrating on my homework impossible. If I don’t finish my sociology paper tonight, I’m screwed, and not in a literal way like what’s happening to Esme next door.

Does she have to be so loud ? It’s bad enough that I know what her O voice sounds like. That’s not awkward or anything. But for my man to know it too? Come on, sis.

“Skylar, baby. You should take a break.” Ian reaches over to my side of the bed and tries to close my laptop, but I move it out of his reach to focus on the screen.

“You know I can’t. My paper is due in the morning.”

Like he’s done a million times before, he brushes my hair back from my shoulders, planting a kiss on the soft skin of my neck. “Yes you can. You know you want to.” His voice is thick with suggestion, and if he gets his way—and he usually does—I’ll be underneath him, naked and sweaty, for the second time tonight.

“ Want and should are two very different things.” Pecking his lips lightly, I then shift my attention back to the laptop screen in front of me. I say want, but there’s an emptiness gnawing at me. Even with his warm touch and his sweet talk, I’m not feeling it. And I hate that this is the case.

What’s wrong with me ? Shaking away unwanted thoughts, I try to focus on the task at hand—my paper.

I’m usually not a procrastinator; not when it comes to homework. School has always been my jam and a necessary distraction during certain times in my life. But lately, it’s been a struggle. I’m losing all motivation as I near the end of my undergraduate studies. Esme says I have a case of senioritis. She has it too, along with our other roommate, Olivia Emery, though I’m the only one who seems to be scrambling.

The three of us are counting down the weeks—three, to be exact—until we can celebrate graduating from Prairie View A&M University, one of the top historically black colleges in Texas. Summer will give me some reprieve before I begin working toward my master’s degree to become a substance abuse social worker.

“I need you, baby.” Ian wraps his arms around my waist and slips a hand under my shirt.

Leaning in, I peck him on the lips as his hand slides up my side to cup my breasts. After allowing him to explore for a moment, I gently push him away. I already know I’m going to give in. It’s what I should do. He probably wishes I were more sex-positive like Esme. It’s all she ever talks about to whomever will listen. “Just give me twenty minutes. Let me finish the section I’m on, and then I’m all yours.”

I’ll finish the rest after. Turning my attention back to my laptop, I resume typing furiously, the clicky sounds of the keyboard driving me to the finish line.

Next door, the rhythmic creaking of Esme’s mattress and the moans and groans between them grow louder. “Yes! Oh, fuck, Victor. Tear me apart.” Her muffled cries travel through the thin walls, sending a pang of annoyance and envy down my spine.

Seriously. Tear me apart? Who says that ? Just…why? Closing my eyes, I let out a deep sigh and smack my palm against my forehead.

Ian snorts derisively. “This is your fault.”

“How is this my fault?”

“You’re the mutual connection. Didn’t you introduce them?”

That would be a no.

When I was sixteen years old, my dad and I moved in with his parents, Grandma Cora and Grandpa George—Judge George Wyatt to everyone else—in Sugar Land, Texas. We had lost my mom to a drug overdose a year earlier, and they’d offered to help their only son get back on his feet after he’d mentally checked out. He’d blamed himself for not being able to save her like rehab had saved him.

I met Victor Prescott after transferring to a new high school. His sister, Isabella, became my first friend at Covington High. Despite her being a year younger than Victor and me, she’d advanced one grade level in elementary school, putting her into our junior-year class.

“Victor and Esme met at the gym. She asked me if I was cool if she went out with him, and I told her to go for it. So she did.”

Esme and Victor went to use the same workout machine at the same time. He’d agreed to let her go first, but only if he could see her again outside the gym. For probably the first time in his life, a woman had turned him down, telling him she wasn’t interested in him.

Four weeks later, she came home singing a different tune.

Here’s the thing about Esmeray Ryder. Since kindergarten, we’ve been besties. I’d give her my kidney if she needed one. So why wouldn’t I give her my blessing to get her freak on, even if it was with Victor? If anyone could handle him, Esme could. There hasn’t been a man yet who hasn’t fallen to their knees at her feet.

A frown pulls at Ian’s brows. “Why would Esme need your permission?”

Even though that’s exactly how it went down, I shouldn’t have said that. Ian doesn’t need to know that. “Not my permission. More like…my input.”

“Input, huh?” Resting on his side, he props his head in his hand. The soft light from my laptop screen casts soft shadows across his face, revealing faint lines of concern etched into his features. “Were you and Victor close?”

My heart races as memories of Victor from high school flood my mind, causing a conflicting mix of emotions to swirl within me. “Not really.”

“He ever make a pass at you?”

His question catches me off guard, though it shouldn’t. Not with how possessive Ian is. “No. He only ever saw me as his little sister’s friend.”

Ian squints his brown eyes as he scrutinizes me, making me feel exposed. “Did you want him to make a pass at you?”

“Nope.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily, but there’s no use in dredging up the past. Why bother if it’s only going to make Ian unnecessarily jealous?

Esme’s cries of pleasure fill the air, surpassing the volume of her moans from before, and Victor’s groans follow as they take each other to orgasm heaven. Ian and I share a look before laughing.

“If you move in with me, you won’t have to listen to Esme and her latest fuck toy,” he says.

Victor’s reputation as a ladies’ man, both during our high school years and afterward, is well-known, but it doesn’t give Ian the license to devalue him into nothing more than a fuckboy. Yet defending Victor will only raise Ian’s suspicions—which are totally unwarranted.

“I don’t think it’s like that with them. I think it’s serious.” What started as casual sex between two single people who could have anyone they wanted turned into something more. Now they’re exclusively hooking up. That’s a relationship, right? And who am I to judge what they have? People evolve. Maybe Victor isn’t the playboy he used to be. And maybe Esme has finally discovered someone worth considering for a long-term commitment.

“It won’t last,” Ian dismisses, closing my laptop and shifting it onto the bedside table.

“Why do you think that?” It’s been months, and they’re still going strong.

He meets my gaze, his face a blend of playful disbelief and cynicism. “Because it’s Esme we’re talking about.”

My spine stiffens, and I feel my hackles rise. “Careful,” I warn. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”

A mischievous glint enters his eyes as a lazy grin stretches his full lips. “I thought I was your best friend.”

My anger dissipates into a smirk. “Eh.”

“That’s cold.” Ian laughs.

I shrug. “It’s a cold world out here.”

He nips at my thigh, making me giggle. “Esme’s cool, but if he doesn’t have enough money for her, she’ll drop his ass when she’s done with him.”

At his callous words, my laughter dries up. “She’s not a gold digger.”

“Oh yeah?” The absence of emotion in his tone is like a flat line. “Who is his family? I’ve never heard of any Prescotts.”

“Senator Quentin James is his stepdad.”

Ian blows out a breath. “ Shiiit. That family is as rich as the Bushes.”

“Something like that.” I hate that Ian thinks I’m proving his point—that Esme only dates guys with money or who come from money. Though that’s always been her goal.

“My mistake.” His mouth curves into a wide smirk, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m sure it’s serious. They’ll probably beat us to the altar.”

His thinly veiled sarcasm aimed at my best friend has me rolling my eyes. “Enough already.”

“Enough about them, and back to the subject of living together. When are we moving in together?” His words hang in the air between us, stirring up emotions I’m not quite ready to confront.

Ian’s been bringing up me moving in with him much more lately, and every time he mentions it, my stomach hurts. “I’m still not ready. Maybe in a year. But before we get married, for sure.”

“A year?” Rolling over, Ian lies flat on his back, directing his gaze toward the ceiling. “I’m a grown-ass man having sleepovers with his fiancée. I don’t mean to pressure you, but living here with your roommates can’t last forever.”

“I know that.” This is where our eleven-year age gap comes into play. Ian’s always making comments about my level of maturity compared to where he is as a thirty-three-year-old man. “With Liv leaving for grad school at USC in September, and with Esme planning on joining her in LA next summer, Ms. Sharon will probably sell the house. So our setup won’t last forever.” When Sharon Ryder’s job transferred her to Las Vegas, the three of us moved out of the dorms and into Esme’s childhood home. I’ve loved living here. I’m not ready to give that up just yet to play house with Ian.

“I love you. You know that?” he says, his brown eyes searching mine.

I hesitate before replying, unsure if I truly do love him the way he needs, or if I’m just saying it because it’s expected of me. Lying down next to him, I move to share his pillow like we’ve done on so many nights. “I know you do.” Ian is like the perfect guy—my family certainly thinks so. But do I still love him? I think so. Or I want to, despite the nagging feelings of doubt and guilt churning in my head. “I love you too. You were my first.”

His lips curl upward into a warm, gentle smile, the corners of his mouth reaching up toward his dimples. “And I’ll be your only. No other man will ever know what it feels like to be inside you.”

My fingers trace the contour of his cheek with the softest touch, resting against his warm skin. “That’s right, baby.”

Everything’s fine. We’re fine.

Our attraction was instant the moment we walked past each other at Club Vivid last July. He bought me a drink, and then we danced all night, exchanging numbers before the evening ended. We had our first date three days later. And two weeks after that, he wanted us to be exclusive. I hesitated at first, considering how quickly everything was progressing. But he was persistent and eventually won me over.

The I love you s followed soon after. Then a month ago, Ian proposed in front of his entire family at his grandparents’ sixtieth-anniversary party. With tears in my eyes, mirroring his, I said yes.

Ian is all in, and so am I. I’ve never been someone’s everything before. It’s an unfamiliar experience for me to be someone’s sole focus. The lavish gifts, excessive compliments, public displays of affection, nonstop texts, and constant togetherness were all new to me in the beginning. Over time, I’ve grown accustomed to his way of showing love.

But whenever he’s angry with me, he withdraws from me as a form of punishment.

The headboard of Esme’s bed starts banging ceaselessly against the wall, dragging a huff from deep in my chest. “When are they going to be done?”

Ian’s fingers trace a path up my hipbone. “We should join them.”

I wrinkle my forehead in confusion. He can’t be serious. “Join them how?”

He rolls his eyes. “Not like that. You belong to me and only me. But why should they have all the fun? I told you. I need you.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, a hint of flirtatiousness in my tone as I twirl my luscious locks around my finger. Ian loves it when I get all pouty and play with my hair.

A low hum of appreciation escapes him. “My perfect, perfect girl.”

I climb on top of him, wearing a smile with my lip caught between my teeth. “I guess my paper can wait.” The feel of his muscles beneath my fingertips is exquisite as I brush them across his tawny-beige chest.

He takes my eyeglasses off, setting them next to his on the nightstand. “Now that I’ve had you, I can’t stop wanting it.”

My fingers weave their way through the tight curls of his mid-taper fade. I cherish the lush thickness of his hair and how crisp he keeps it lined. “Put your mouth on me, baby,” I whisper. Ian, eager as always, goes in for a kiss, but I retreat, shaking my head. Instead, I guide his hand to my mouth and suck two of his fingers, swirling my tongue around them to make them sloppy wet. He groans, his cock swelling and hardening beneath me.

“Down there,” I say, moving his wet fingers to my panties. What I would give to feel his mouth on me, sucking on my clit. He’s only gone down on me twice—the first time we had sex and the night after he proposed.

“Later. I promise. I need to be inside you first.” He takes hold of the bottom of my T-shirt, lifting it over my breasts.

Pushing aside my disappointment, I raise my shirt completely over my head.

“Tell me you’re mine,” Ian says, his voice low and his eyes full of vulnerability.

I’ll tell him what he wants to hear. What he needs to hear as my hips circle slowly, grinding against his dick. “I’m yours.”

His breaths come out in short pants with every roll of my pelvis. “Promise me you’ll never leave me. That it’ll be us forever.”

The back of my eyes sting with unshed tears as gratitude and what feels like love wash over me. I lean over him, putting his arms above his head and lacing my fingers through his. “Where would I go?” My voice breaks on the last word.

Ian rescued me from a world of loneliness and sadness that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay him for—but I’ll try. I’ll marry him and give him babies and all the love my damaged heart has in it.

Closing his eyes, Ian lets my words sink in. I graze my fingers down the tight muscles in his arms, kissing the sharp tip of his crooked nose until I reach his plush lips, where I take my time. As our tongues duel in a passionate kiss, I stretch my arm across the bed, wanting to retrieve a condom from my nightstand drawer.

I’m suddenly flipped over, face down on the mattress. “I’m going to fuck you so good,” Ian says, yanking my panties down my ass cheeks. Forcing my legs apart with his knee, he stretches his body over mine.

“Condom,” I remind him over my shoulder.

He stills, his heart beating erratically against my back. He doesn’t like that we still use protection, but it’s a nonnegotiable for me, even though I’m on birth control. Not until our wedding night will I give him that part of me with no barriers between us.

Sighing against me, Ian reaches for a condom from the nightstand, keeping me pinned underneath him. Relief trickles through me as he sheathes himself, but it’s short-lived when he forcefully enters me from behind seconds later. The initial burn makes me hiss in discomfort because I’m not wet enough. Not that he notices. And I don’t tell him as he fucks me hard and fast, his hand pressing the side of my face into the mattress, until he fills the condom with his load.

The heat radiating from Ian’s body lures me in, tempting me to stay wrapped up with him under the cozy covers. But my unfinished paper awaits. It takes a lot of willpower to extract myself from his limbs to reach for my phone on the nightstand, but I do so without waking him. The bright screen illuminates the dark room, displaying the time as one in the morning.

Groaning, I tear myself away from the bed and reach for the first item of clothing I can get my hands on—Ian’s shirt from the night before, still carrying the lingering scent of his cologne. After pulling it over my head, I shuffle over to my desk and flick on a small lamp. The soft glow barely illuminates the room but provides enough light for me to see.

It’s time to get to work, and at least the house is quiet, so there won’t be any distractions.

Three thousand words later, I drag myself back to bed and into Ian’s arms, staying there until he leaves for his shift at the hospital. After four years of undergrad, four years of medical school, and now being four and a half years into his medical residency, he’s on his way to becoming a cardiac surgeon like his father, Dr. Griffin Davenport.

Ian has his whole life figured out, with me by his side. And the sense of security and structure he gives is what I yearned for as a child but never received from my parents.

My alarm wakes me at 6:00 a.m., and I reach for my glasses from the nightstand, putting them on before silencing my phone. Soft sunlight slices through my blinds, dragging light beams across my bedroom. The heat’s already ramping up in Houston, and it’s only May. If this is any indication of what’s coming, we’re in for one hell of a scorching summer.

My first class starts in two hours. And there goes my senioritis kicking in again. I have absolutely no desire to sit in a lecture hall, surrounded by my professor’s monotonous drone as they explore the complex topic of the gender wage gap and its far-reaching consequences on economic inequality between men and women in the workforce. Very important topic, but I’d rather stay home and read smut on my e-reader, checking out from everything school-related.

Reluctantly, I climb out of bed and throw on my robe. The house is quiet as I pad barefoot down the hallway to the bathroom.

I wait for the shower to warm up, rummaging through my makeup bag for an eye shadow palette that brings out my sky-blue eyes—identical to my white father’s—and a tinted moisturizer that adds a glow to my golden skin tone, thanks to my black mama’s melanin.

Most of my post-shower routine involves blow-drying and flat-ironing my long waves into submission. I usually wear it away from my face, secured by a claw clip or up in a tight bun or ponytail. Today, I brush it back in a ponytail, the ends of my hair stopping at my mid-back.

I dress in khakis and a powder-blue cotton blouse, finishing the look with ballet flats and Grandma Cora’s pearl necklace. Esme likes to crack jokes at my style, but what she calls dull and uninspiring, I call simple and classic.

A rich aroma of coffee wafts up to me as I go downstairs. I’m not the only one awake as I thought. Esme doesn’t drink coffee, and Liv spent the night with her mom and dad. That leaves only one other person.

The one person I’d rather not be alone with.