Chapter 14
Remy
Ican’t stop thinking about that kiss. It’s been hours, but I can still feel the cold bite of the snow on my face, the way Ivy’s mouth tasted like peppermint, and the way my lips moved to hers without a single thought. I kissed her like I had been starving for years. And maybe I have been.
If Junie hadn’t been there, I am not sure I would have stopped. In fact, when I kissed her, I completely forgot for a moment that my daughter was there. I felt like I couldn’t control it.
I scrub a hand over my face as I close Junie’s bedroom door, slightly ajar the way she likes it. She is out cold, curled up with her stuffed narwhal. The house is quiet except for the low hum of the furnace.
I am about to head for the kitchen when Ivy’s door creaks open. She steps out, barefoot, wearing one of my flannels over a tank top and pajama pants. Her hair is loose, a little messy, and for a second, I just stand there, staring like an idiot.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out rough. “You?”
She nods and moves toward the living room. “Couldn’t sleep.”
I follow her as if I don’t have a choice. We sit on the couch, a safe distance apart at first, but the space between us feels unbearable.
Then she looks at me like she is reading every thought in my head, and that is all it takes.
I lean in just as she leans into me, and I kiss her. It is nothing like earlier in the snow. This one is hotter, deeper, leaving no room for second-guessing. Her hands fist my shirt, and I pull her closer until she is in my lap.
When I finally break away, I’m breathing hard. “Wait.”
Her eyes are wide with surprise. “Wait?”
“We have to talk about this.” My voice is unsteady.
She nods, biting her lip, and that almost distracts me again. “Okay. Let’s talk faster.”
I lean back, laughing, scrubbing my hands over my face, trying to pull my thoughts together. “I have not been with anyone since Sloane. I thought I was fine with that, but then you kissed me—”
“You kissed me,” she interrupts, a smile tugging at her lips.
“Fine. I kissed you,” I admit. “And it was like something snapped inside me. I wanted you so badly I didn’t care that Junie was standing twenty feet away. I wanted to kiss you until you forgot your own name.”
She goes quiet, her chest rising and falling as she watches me.
“I don’t know what this is,” I say finally, my voice low. “But I know I don’t want it to stop. I’m lonely, Ivy. I’m tired of pretending everything is fine. And when you’re around, I feel like I can breathe again.”
Something softens in her expression. She shifts closer until I feel my dick painfully harden with her touching me.
“I’m scared,” she admits quietly. “Scared this will mess everything up. But I can’t stop thinking about that kiss, either.”
Relief rushes through me like a tide. I reach for her hand, holding it tight.
“Then maybe we stop pretending we don’t want this,” I say. “Call it what it is. We are both grown, consenting adults.”
The words taste wrong the second they are out.
I hear myself trying to make it sound casual and I hate it.
I do want her in my bed, but I also want her coffee mug on my counter and her laugh in my truck.
I want the small domestic things that live after the lights go out.
I want her in my sweatshirt in the morning. I want her key on my hook. I want her.
She watches me, guarded. I can see the line she needs to draw. If this door is the one she can open, I will take it, but I will not pretend it is only that.
“Whatever you want,” I say, voice low. I touch her jaw because I cannot not touch her. “Just know I am not going to treat you like you’re something casual. That’s not what this is.”
Her eyes flick, surprised and hungry. The air tilts. When I kiss her again, it is careful for one breath, and then it is not careful at all.
She bites her lip and grins at that, and that is all the permission I need before I kiss her again, slow and deep this time, tasting her like I have no reason to stop. Because maybe we both deserve this. We deserve to be happy.
Ivy’s mouth is soft and hot under mine, and suddenly I cannot get enough. My flannel slips off her shoulders as I pull her closer, and she doesn’t hesitate, like she has been waiting for this as long as I have.
The sound she makes when I grip her hips and drag her across my hard cock nearly undoes me.
“Remy,” she whispers against my mouth, and it is the sweetest, most dangerous sound in the world.
I kiss her harder. I taste her, breathe her in, let years of quiet want pour into every movement. Her hands slide up into my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan.
“Tell me to stop,” I challenge, even as my hands slip under the hem of her tank top, skimming her warm skin.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she says, breathless.
That’s all I need.
I shift, laying her back against the couch cushions and bracing my weight on one arm so I don’t crush her. She looks up at me, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, and I swear I have never seen anything more beautiful.
I kiss down her throat, slow at first, then faster when she arches against me. Her fingers grip my shoulders, pulling me closer until there is no space left between us.
“Ivy,” I rasp against her skin. “You don’t know how badly I want you.”
She smiles, wicked and soft all at once. “Then show me.”
Her words light me on fire. My hand slides down her side and over the curve of her hip, gripping her thigh to pull her against me. She gasps and moans when she feels my fingers find her center, sounds that nearly ruin me.
I force myself to slow down, even though my body is practically begging her to want me, too. “If we do this, it changes everything.”
Her hands frame my face, pulling me down so our foreheads touch. “Good,” she whispers in a challenge. “Let it change everything.”
I lose control then, and I kiss her like I’m starving, like I’ve been waiting years to taste her, because I have. Every kiss is deeper, hungrier. Her tank top ends up somewhere on the floor, my T-shirt follows, and the heat between us is undeniable.
When her nails drag down my back, I nearly lose it.
“Ivy.” My voice is rough, shaking. “We should go to my room before I completely fuck you every which way on this couch.”
She nods, eyes dark with want. “Then take me there.”
I scoop her up and carry her down the hall, her legs wrapped around my waist, her mouth on my neck. The whole way, I am half praying Junie stays asleep and half thanking God for giving me this woman.
When I lay her on my bed, she looks at me in a way no one has ever looked at me before, making me feel something no one has ever made me feel.
Wanted.
I strip the rest of her clothes and then mine. The way she’s looking at me right now is something I’ll never forget.
Her hair spills over my pillow like a halo, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from kissing. I have imagined this a hundred times, but nothing could have prepared me for the real thing.
I kiss her, slowly at first, because I want to remember this moment. Her hands slide into my hair and hold me there, kissing me back like she wants me just as much.
I trail my mouth down her jaw and throat, tasting the soft salt of her skin and breathing her in.
She smells like soap and something warm and sweet that is only her.
I cannot stop touching her, the curve of her hip, the hollow at her waist, the smooth line of her thigh.
She is soft everywhere and perfect, and I take my time, learning every inch.
I gently pinch, sucking and licking her nipples.
Her hands trail from my back to my chest, almost as if she is memorizing every inch of me as I am with her.
My hands rise, slow, and she draws a breath that shakes a little.
I cup her gently, thumbs skimming the warm swell, a light tease that has her arching into my palms. Heat runs through me.
I lower my head and let my mouth follow, lingering at the edge where her heartbeat flutters under my lips, tasting the heat there while my hands coax another soft sound from her.
She answers me without hesitation, guiding me closer, greedy for more in a way that makes my control slip.
She is not passive for a second. Her hands claim me, bold and sure, sliding over my hips and lower, then up my back in a slow path that pulls a rough sound from my chest. Fingertips first, mapping muscle, then the light scrape of nails that turns the air bright and dark at once.
I savor the way she reaches and takes, how we meet in the middle with nothing left to hold back.
When I slip two fingers into her, she gasps and her hands bite into my shoulders.
She does not pull away. She rises to meet me, eyes fluttering, breath catching on a sound that goes straight through my chest. The way she opens for me, the way she trusts me to learn her rhythm and keep her there, steadies me and undoes me at the same time.
She is heat and velvet under my hand, pulse quick against my fingertips, and every soft plea she gives me makes my control slip another inch.
I match her, slow at first, then deeper in the way she asks without words, and the look on her face makes me feel like I am holding something precious and burning and absolutely mine to take care of.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” I whisper, because I have to say it. She is watching me with those wide, dark eyes, and she deserves to know exactly what she is doing to me.
I take my time, stroking her until she’s pulsing under me, her breathing ragged. I want her to feel good. I want to be the one who makes her fall apart. When she finally cries out, trembling, pride and hunger crashes through me at once.
“That’s it,” I murmur against her throat, holding her through it. “Good girl.”
She pulls me down for a kiss, wild and desperate now. Her hands skim my chest and back like she is mapping me, memorizing me, and I swear I almost lose it right there.