Chapter 17 #3
Ian released a long breath that made me think of painful confessions and unspoken regrets. “I’m not . . . him either, the man you just watched on the screen. None of that is real. If that’s what you were hoping for.”
With my thumb across his lips, I stopped whatever else was about to come out of his mouth. “You think that’s who I want? A character from a story that has your face? You think I can’t separate the two?”
Ian finally opened his eyes. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”
I leaned back as far as I could so I could focus on him.
I really wanted to drive this point home.
“I’ve never been terribly fanciful. I don’t let my imagination run away from me.
You never have to worry about me confusing you with the roles you play.
I’m not expecting the tycoon’s dirty talk in the bedchamber or Inferno Man’s superhero suit on my bedroom floor.
I can separate who you are from what you do.
You were right, from the beginning. You’re more than an actor.
Dorian Masters is great, but I want Ian Wells. ”
He searched my face for a long moment before the hint of a smile emerged, one lonely dimple showing itself. I pressed my lips to where the other one should be.
Shifting slightly, I urged Ian to set me down. Then I twined our fingers together and led him toward my bedroom.
The room was dark, but it didn’t matter. We didn’t need much light to remove each other’s clothes.
Ian’s touch remained gentle and reverent as he laid me out and learned the lean curves of my body, first with his hands and then his tongue.
When he settled himself between my spread thighs, his wide, muscular shoulders stretching me wide, I couldn’t hide how much I wanted him there.
My impatience was written in each ragged breath, in every arch of my back.
But Ian was unfazed. He drew out my pleasure, teased and tortured as he nipped at the flesh of my inner thigh before using the tip of his tongue to trace every peak and valley of my pussy.
When he finally managed a long, slow lick from my entrance to my clit, I groaned so loud I should have been embarrassed.
But there wasn’t time for that, because he did it all over again. Ian built me up slowly with teeth and tongue before pushing one thick finger inside me at an agonizingly slow pace. My muscles squeezed, eager for the invasion as Ian focused the rest of his attention on sucking my straining clit.
I came on a rush, clinging to his head and gasping for air.
The next thing I knew, Ian was hovering above me, pressing kisses to my breasts, the column of my throat, and finally my mouth. I moaned, tasting myself on his tongue, pleasure once again ramping up, knowing I was ready for more. Desperate for what came next.
I shifted beneath him, rolling to grab a condom from the bedside table. He made no complaint as I fumbled a little, rolling it down his length with fingers long out of practice.
Ian pushed inside me slowly, taking his time. But I could hear his deliberate breaths, feel the strain in his taut muscles as he drew out the moment. All that patience made me want to be a little naughty, so I squeezed my inner muscles around those hard inches.
The way he jolted and muttered, “Fuck,” had me grinning wickedly. That all went away as he rolled his hips, seating himself fully and grinding down on my sensitive clit.
I cursed and wrapped my legs around his hips, bringing him closer, deeper.
Any plans I had for seduction or delayed gratification went out the window after that. We were reduced to urgency and need. Grasping hands, desperate lips, and the absolute knowledge that Ian would do whatever it took to get me there.
“I love the sounds you make,” he whispered before dragging his teeth down my throat, eliciting another broken moan from my mouth.
When he rose to his knees and stretched my feet toward his shoulders, I gripped the comforter in tight fists. He pressed a tender kiss to each of my ankles, sending a shiver through my sweat-slick body.
“Have I mentioned how obsessed I am with these legs?” he asked.
“You might have,” I managed.
I was rewarded with another sweet kiss, this one on my calf.
Then Ian leaned forward, bending me in half as he started to move.
I arched, desperate to create space as his length filled me over and over again with every thrust. I could feel him everywhere, his comforting weight and his heat, the thick slide of him hitting something deep within.
When a firm touch landed on my clit, I was done for.
The pressure of Ian’s circling thumb sent me spiraling over the edge and into orgasm.
Heat and sensation spread throughout my body, more than the simple release of tension I was used to.
This was intimacy, and it wasn’t the act that I’d missed but the knowledge that performing it with the right person could make all the difference.
Distantly, I was aware of Ian’s thrusts slowing and deepening and finally going still as he found his release, too.
After a brief detangling of limbs and Ian disposing of the condom, I was wrapped up in two very strong arms as a muscular thigh found its way between mine. Ian’s naked body was pressed so thoroughly to me that there wasn’t any room for awkwardness.
I could feel his heart beating, and we were quiet long enough that I could tell when it finally slowed and settled.
“I know you didn’t invite me—”
“Stay,” I said without actively deciding to. But it was true. I wanted Ian here, in my home.
I thought about what it might be like to share a bed with him.
He would undoubtedly be a cuddler and would probably steal the covers, too.
I wondered if he snored or if he was restless in his sleep.
My rusty imagination considered us waking up together.
Having coffee before going on our run. Doing normal things that people did every day.
Sharing a life.
Making that choice.
His nose nuzzled my cheek. “I want to stay, but I should get back in case Georgie needs me.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I understand.”
“You could come with me. And stay the night.”
He said it with so much blatant hope that it killed me to deny him. “I don’t want to confuse George. If he found me there.”
“Are you kidding? He’d be thrilled, and I’d be the hero who invited his favorite person over for breakfast.”
I smiled, ducking my head into his chest to press a kiss there. “I think I should stay here tonight. But . . .” I hesitated as my heart took off at a sudden gallop. “Next time.”
The fingers that had been lazily stroking my shoulder paused. “Next time?”
Cupping his strong jaw, I let my lips linger on his for one breath—then another—before I said very definitively, “Next time.”