Chapter 17 #2
“Belittle yourself,” she replied. “Pretend you’re not one hundred percent devoted to your craft and all the work you’ve done to accomplish your goals.”
My insides squirmed uncomfortably. “I guess . . . I guess it fits the expectation better. The brand. Gotta give the people what they want, right?”
“You don’t need to minimize yourself, Ian.
Not for me. There was never a time when I thought you were untalented.
But after getting to know you and hearing you talk about your job, I have a better understanding of the work you put in, the dedication, the long hours, the sacrifices.
You want to make it sound like you just stand in the right spot and recite a few lines, but I know better.
You don’t need to pretend to be a fool or play dumb. ”
The whole time she spoke, she moved closer. My heart rate increased with every step.
The tips of our sock-covered feet touched by the time she looked at me earnestly and said, “What I want from you doesn’t involve you being clueless about anything, and I sure as hell don’t want you faking it for my benefit.”
I searched her face, looking for meaning, for confirmation, for a sign that Joan wanted me the way I wanted her.
“Is that so?” I asked.
She lifted a hand and placed it against my stomach, just above the waistband of my jeans. Her touch was warm through the fabric as her fingers climbed upward, over my abs to rest on my chest.
“That’s right,” she finally answered.
I felt myself smile, something small and hopeful, unwilling to commit to a full-blown grin just in case I was reading her signals wrong. “I don’t want you to fake anything either,” I confessed.
Joan’s hand snaked around the back of my neck, drawing me down to her.
When we were close enough to breathe the same air, I watched her pretty blue eyes crinkle in amusement. With a teasing challenge in her voice, she said, “Then I guess you’d better give it your best effort.”
I huffed a short laugh as her fingers sifted through the hair at my nape. Our mouths found one another, turning my amusement into something slower, quieter, and infinitely necessary, stealing my breath and narrowing my focus.
There was only Joan and this moment.
She relaxed against me, and I bent to scoop her up.
Her legs wrapped around my hips easily, and I could feel her everywhere. Her hands in my hair, her arms draped over my shoulders, the heat of her cradling the attraction I couldn’t begin to hide.
I squeezed, holding her tight. I wanted to swallow her whole.
Because whatever this was, it wasn’t reckless or hasty. There was nothing careless about the way I wanted her.
And like she’d demanded only moments ago . . . I was done pretending.
Joan
Ian’s forehead was pressed to mine, and we were still standing in my kitchen, locked together.
I knew he was strong. I had eyes, after all. The man had muscle groups on display that I’d only ever seen on professional athletes and Olympians. But the effortless way he held me made me very aware that he could stand here all day with my legs around his waist and his hands under my backside.
I used my teeth to tug on his lower lip, urging him into action. The move made him groan, and me smile. His big hands squeezed my ass as he finally moved, pressing my back against the nearest wall and kissing the hell out of me.
His tongue stroked inside my mouth, and I relished the urgency, the need, matching it with my own.
My nails scratched gently over his scalp before smoothing along the baby-fine hairs buzzed soft and short.
I loved this. I’d dreamed of touching him this way—wild and affectionate at the same time, running my fingers through his hair.
Throughout the movie, I’d wondered what it would be like to have Ian’s head in my lap while we watched.
Now, I couldn’t imagine not touching him like this.
He was warm and hard all over. His erection settled heavily against my center, and I fought the desire to hurry him along.
For a long time, I’d controlled my own pleasure.
Men hadn’t really been worth the effort, and dating had been a lesson in torture.
I’d been content with the vibrator in my bedside table.
An orgasm had seemed like an occasional necessity, used to release tension and achieved in the manner I did everything in my life—quickly and efficiently.
So, the instinct was there to rush things. To get down to business.
But so much of my life with Ian felt like a race against the clock. His time. His attention. His very presence here. I didn’t want to waste a single moment, but I didn’t want to cheat either one of us out of what might happen next.
One of Ian’s hands found its way beneath my sweater to my breast. He made a helpless noise when he realized I wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Is this okay?” he rasped brokenly against my lips.
“Yes,” I breathed, arching my back and pressing myself more fully into his hand.
Judging by his enthusiasm, I thought he’d be a little rough or demanding, but he paused, his hand hovering there. I waited, holding my breath, anticipating the moment when his palm might cup me or his fingers might pluck at my nipple.
But that didn’t happen.
Ian traced a line down the center of my chest, his fingers bumping along my sternum before his thumb swept low, brushing the underside of my breast, just barely grazing the sensitive skin there.
He used soft touches to map my contours and curves, all while I panted against his lips, painfully aware that I was the eager, impatient one in this scenario.
Finally—fucking finally—Ian’s hand closed over me, gently plumping and squeezing my small breast as he nuzzled against my neck, placing hot, wet kisses along my jaw.
The friction of his stubble was delicious torture. I knew my skin would wear the evidence of his attentions, and I wanted it—needed it.
My hips canted, eager for contact. Ian groaned softly, cursing into my collarbone as my center moved up and down the ridge of his substantial erection in little pulses. He felt good, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to getting the clothes off this man.
But Ian’s hands came to my hips, stilling me. He brought his forehead back to rest against mine as he worked to catch his breath.
“I thought we’d worked on your stamina,” I teased.
He huffed a laugh and smiled against my lips.
“I just . . .” he started. “I don’t want to rush it because then it’ll be over. And obviously I want there to be more of this—of you and me—but I never know with you, Joan. This could be the only chance I get, and I don’t want to mess it up. Or disappoint you. Or—”
“Hey,” I interrupted softly, cupping his cheeks and pressing a gentle kiss to his rambling mouth. “You’re not going to mess anything up. Whatever you’re worried about, you don’t need to be.”
But it was like he didn’t hear me.
After a deep breath, he admitted, “I know I’m going to make a fool of myself.
I’m going to be so fucking stupid over you.
And I can’t help it. Couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to.
I notice everything. The way you look. The way you smell like everything good and green in this world.
The way you stretch your hamstrings after a run.
Jesus, I can’t even watch. I get hard every single time. ”
His words continued in a whispered rush, honesty freed from its confinement as he unraveled me, bit by bit.
“The calm, competent way you drive a tractor or do anything on the farm, like you were born to work this land, like you rose up from these mountains, just as timeless and beautiful. Or the way you’re so stubborn and how much you care.
The way you’re patient with Candace and protective of your parents, and quietly mischievous with Brady.
How you give Georgie every bit of your attention and how you knew, right from the beginning, that was exactly what he needed.
I know you think I’m immature and not a serious person.
But all I really want—what I need, Joan—is to be someone worthy of you. ”
My heart stuttered, and emotion clogged my throat. I couldn’t speak, could hardly breathe in the face of his brutal, beautiful honesty.
There was a time when I would have been worried that Ian’s words were practiced lines, memorized and recited for their target audience. But that time had come and gone.
He’d been a constant in my life for months now. Truthfully, he was my closest friend. I knew him, knew his heart. And now, I felt the way it beat against my chest, wild and out of control. I could detect the nervous tremble in his hands at my waist, and the nearly desperate way he held me to him.
So while the speech might have been moving and heartfelt and full of the most wonderful things anyone had ever said about me, it wasn’t a performance. It was just Ian, being honest. Being forthright. Putting himself out there, being brave enough for both of us.
He was telling me what he wanted.
And what he wanted was me.
As strange and inexplicable as that might be.
I stroked a thumb over his cheekbone, marveling in his courage, his sweetness, his fruitless worry.
I couldn’t remember ever being this careful with someone. Honestly, I hadn’t known I had it in me. But in the face of Ian’s self-doubt, I knew I needed to step up and reward his honesty with some of my own.
“You are worthy, Ian. I know I’ve been hard on you and judgmental, too.
But that was before. Before I knew you. Before you were in my life every day, and in my thoughts the rest of the time.
I let all my assumptions get the best of me in the beginning.
I was wrong. I can admit that. And I’m sorry for it. ”
“You weren’t that wrong,” he argued, eyes still closed.
I smiled and ran my nose along the length of his, gratified by this closeness, relieved by it. “I really was.”