Chapter 5
IVY
Ian captured my hand again as we walked back to my car in the lot. “Sorry about that back there. It must be overwhelming for you.”
“What about you? I’ve experienced it with you a few times already, and I’m not even the target. Can’t you politely decline?”
“I suppose I could, but then you have people attacking you online for being stand-offish.”
He shrugged. “You get used to it.”
“I know...the pact.”
I muttered, “sea lion,”
as I aimed my key fob at my car and pressed it, my car answering with a beep. When we got into the vehicle, I drank some water left over in the bottle in my cup holder and fished around in my purse. “Do you want some gum?”
Not that I was thinking about kissing him again or anything.
He held out his hand. “Thanks.”
I dropped a piece in his hand and started the car. “I don’t even know where you’re staying, but I can drive you there.”
“I’m at the Beverly Hills Hotel.”
“Of course you are.”
I wheeled out of my parking space. “No freeway to get there from here, so it’s going to be a stop and go drive down Santa Monica Boulevard.”
“You’re not going to drive me all the way to the hotel and then back to your place.”
“I’m not?”
My pulse ticked up a few notches. What did he have in mind?
“Just drive home, and I’ll get a ride from there.”
“Okay.”
I’d aimed for a bright tone to cover my disappointment and ended up sounding like a deranged Mary Poppins. I clicked through the source button on the steering wheel to get to the music on my phone and turned it up to cover the awkwardness.
Disgraced Phil Spector’s wall of sound filled the car, and I sang along with Ronnie as I buzzed down the window. The fog’s density diminished the farther I drove away from the coast.
After a few more choruses of oh, oh, oh, oh, I noticed Ian’s silence beside me. I jerked my head to the side and stopped singing.
Holding up his hands, he said, “Don’t stop. I was enjoying the concert. You’re a good singer.”
“Ha! Don’t be patronizing. I’m karaoke-level decent.”
I turned my attention back to the road when the light turned green. “Do you like Ronnie Spector and The Ronettes?”
“I like this song—and I like the way you sing it.”
He scratched his chin. “Do you prefer older music?”
“I suppose I do, but I like all music.”
I tucked my hair, which had become wild in the damp ocean air, behind my ear. “I like your music.”
“Oh-ho, now who’s being patronizing?”
He rubbed his arms as if suddenly chilled.
I turned down Ronnie and bit my bottom lip. “I’m being honest. Why wouldn’t I be? I like your voice—it’s strong and versatile, warm and rich.”
“Thank you.”
He turned his head to stare out the window.
He must hear it all the time. I’d heard it from his fans tonight—the gushing, the compliments, the love. And again, the oddity of his life struck me anew. Was it worse to be lonely by yourself or lonely among a group of people who professed to adore you only to turn on you the minute you slipped?
Lonely? I gave myself a mental slap. Why the hell would Ian Pope be lonely? Just because he’d found himself with nothing to do on a Saturday night in LA didn’t mean he was lonely. He’d probably been partying all week and decided to tone it down on his last few days. And it couldn’t get more toned down than spending his evening on a Ferris wheel, eating fish from a paper plate.
So, I’d drive him to my place, and he’d go back to his world. He could pat himself on the back for being nice to the quirky little romance writer. I’d have an adventure to talk about at parties and at the next meeting of my writers’ group.
My fingers strayed to my lips, the imprint of his kiss still vibrant. But I’d always have that kiss on the Ferris wheel.
All too soon, I turned onto my street and rolled to the curb in front of my building. “Should I let you off here, and you can call a car? It shouldn’t be long. There are a lot of cars prowling this area on Saturday night.”
He snapped his fingers. “I left my books in your book bag.”
“I can run and get them for you while you’re getting a ride.”
I threw my car in Park and reached for the ignition.
Ian put his tattooed hand on mine. “I’d rather come in, if that’s alright?”
“Sure, yes, of course, absolutely.”
I put the car in gear and squealed away from the curb before I could string together another series of assents. I pulled into my parking spot, and we exited, walking through the courtyard shared by the four units in the complex.
Classical music floated from Gregory and Stan’s place. The scent of jasmine from my own patio permeated the air, and a light breeze stirred the dead blossoms of the bougainvillea scattered on the ground. I moved forward as if in a dream, Ian following so closely behind me, I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.
With my heart pounding, I attacked the deadbolt with my key, and my key chain dropped to the ground. Ian crouched down and swept it up.
“I’ll do it.”
I stepped to the side to make room for him, and his arm brushed mine as he fitted the key into the lock and turned it with a click. He shoved the key into the door handle and turned it, shoving it open, at the same time.
The door swung wide with a creak, and I hesitated before stepping into the entryway, as if crossing this threshold would alter my life forever. Ian followed me and closed the door behind us. Habit had me reaching back and turning the deadbolt.
Ian dropped the keys on the floor and placed his hands on my shoulders with a caressing touch. He walked me backward and pressed me against the wall, his mouth hungrily seeking mine.
I tasted the spearmint of his gum, but he must’ve swallowed it or spit it out. I plucked mine out of my mouth quickly and stuck it to the wall behind me. Reaching up, I burrowed my fingers into his thick, wavy hair, stiff with the spray of salt water, and guided his head down to mine. I stood on my tiptoes, and our lips met with a sizzle. The heat snaked through me, and I sagged against him.
He curled one arm around my waist, the fingers of his other hand lightly stroking my neck as he invaded my mouth with his tongue, seeking that connection we’d felt on the Ferris wheel.
I pressed my body against his, craving his touch, his closeness. He broke off our kiss, and his lips roamed my face, pressing against my forehead, my temple, my cheeks, my chin. When he returned to my mouth, I sucked his bottom lip between my teeth.
We’d sort of rolled down the wall, closer to the door to the back rooms. I hooked both arms around his neck and hopped up to wrap my legs around his waist—the signature short girl move. He smoothed his hands along my bare thighs and tucked them beneath my ass to hoist me higher, burying his face in my neck.
Somehow, we still had our clothes on. I wriggled out of his grasp and slid down his body. Feet firmly on the ground, sort of, I peeled off my shirt and dropped it to the floor. I craved the feel of his skin against mine and grabbed a handful of his T-shirt and yanked it up. He raised his arms, and I pulled it over his head.
His bare, chiseled chest looked like a Michelangelo sculpture, and I ran my hands over his smooth skin, tracing along his muscles. He gasped as the flat of my hand reached the waistband of his jeans. With my fingertips, I traced the tail-end of a green tattoo that snaked across his hip bone.
Taking his hand, I tugged him down the hallway to my bedroom. As he stepped inside my room, he glanced at my bed, perfectly made with its floral comforter. He cleared his throat. “Are you sure?”
“No, I just dragged you in here to show you my old CD collection.”
I walked to the bed and scooped up the skirt I’d worn and discarded today and threw it in the corner. Then I turned around and undid the clasp of my bra, letting it slide from my shoulders onto the floor.
In two strides, he was standing toe-to-toe with me at the side of the bed. He cupped my boobs, running his thumbs across my aching nipples and breathed out, “Beautiful.”
He pulled me into his arms and when our skin met, I felt a flash of desire that ignited all my senses. He skimmed his knuckle down my spine and slid his hand into my shorts, caressing my bottom.
I rocked my hips forward just in case he had any more doubts about what I wanted—and I wanted him with every cell in my body.
Taking the hint, Ian unbuttoned my shorts. I didn’t even have to worry if I’d worn a good pair of panties because he pulled off everything in one flourish. My shorts pooled at my feet, and I kicked them out of the way.
I moved forward to press my body against his, but he held me off and took a step back. Placing his hands on my waist, he raked my naked body with a glittering gaze from his half-closed eyes.
His unabashed scrutiny made me feel like a virgin on my wedding night, and I crossed one leg over the other.
His hands traced over the outline of my body as if committing it to memory. Then he spoke, his voice rough with passion. “You look like that little fairy...Tinkerbell.”
Cranking my head over my shoulder to look behind me, I asked, “Is it the gossamer wings?”
He ran one finger from my throat to my pussy. “Not just the wings, it’s your tiny waist paired with your bangin’ curves.”
The anxiety I’d experienced the past few years, which had caused me to drop the ten pounds I’d gained in college, had a silver lining, after all. I reached out and hooked my fingers in the waistband of his jeans, more to steady myself than to make a move. “Kind of pervy of you to be having impure thoughts about an animated fairy.”
He laughed, his eyes crinkling, and instead of breaking the moment, the pure joy of it only enhanced my desire. I fumbled with the button on his fly and then peeled back his jeans. The bulge in his black briefs gave me pause, but only for a second.
Like he did with mine, I yanked down his jeans and underwear at the same time. I smoothed my hand over his hard cock, and he made a sound deep in his throat. I ran my fingernails lightly across his tight flesh from the base to the tip, spreading his pre-cum around his head with my thumb.
Through clenched teeth, he said, “You’re going to have to stop that if you want this to last more than a minute.”
I batted my eyelashes. “A popstar stud like you? I thought you guys could go all night.”
He grabbed my face with his hands and kissed me hard on the mouth, his cock prodding me in the belly. He lowered me to the bed, and I fell back on it. My knees bounced with impatience while he kicked off his jeans and shoes. Then he parted my legs.
Was he going to fuck me like this on the edge of the bed? I liked a man who thought outside the...box. Instead, he dropped to his knees and put his head between my legs, his hair tickling my thighs. When his tongue met my flesh, I squirmed, and words flashed in my mind like a pink neon sign: I have Ian Pope’s head between my legs.
He breathed out, his warm breath heating me up even more. “You’re so fucking wet.”
I’d been wet since the minute he fed me those noodles. “Less talking, more...oh, that.”
He used his tongue, lips, and even his teeth to cause absolute mayhem in my mind and body—especially my body. If he’d been worried about lasting a minute, I didn’t even make it that long. My orgasm clawed through me like a living thing. My hips rose and fell with each spasm of pleasure, and Ian dug his fingers into my ass, riding it out with me, enhancing my high even more with his tongue.
When my ecstasy subsided to a mere tingling of my nerve endings and fluttering eyelashes, Ian laid a path of kisses along my inner thighs. I grabbed a fistful of his hair. “I want you inside me...now.”
His head popped up and he rested his scratchy chin on my belly. “Same—or rather I don’t want you inside me, but I sure as hell wanna be inside you.”
I scooted back on the bed, and he followed. He placed his hands on either side of me and teased me with his cock. I licked my lips. I might be wet everywhere else, but my mouth was dry with anticipation and longing.
He braced himself on one elbow and kissed me with his impossibly soft lips, his hand caressing my boob. “Mm, your tits are so soft.”
Had he even felt real ones before? He’d probably been with a lot of plastic fantastic women with perfect, if fake, tits and asses. He’d probably been with a lot of women, period.
Oh damn. Damn. Damn. I had to do the thing. I absolutely had to do the thing, especially with him.
“Um.”
I stretched my arm to the side, my fingers feeling for the handle of my nightstand drawer. Once located, I yanked open the drawer. Hopefully, he wouldn’t look over and see my purple vibrator, which had gotten a lot more use than the item I plucked up with my fingers. “Could you...?”
I held up the stack of condoms, and they unfolded, swinging in the air between us. Wow, it looked like a lot when they were unpacked like this—which could be a good thing. Yeah, I kept condoms next to my bed, but I hadn’t used that many.
“Absolutely. Of course.”
He took the string of foil packets from me, peeled one off and opened it with his teeth.
I raised my eyebrows. Should I...? He answered my silent question by unrolling the condom onto his dick and sweeping the rest of the packets off the bed.
I closed my eyes when he entered me, filling me up inch by delicious inch. When he stopped, I sucked in a breath.
“Open your eyes, Tinkerbell.”
I obeyed—of course, I did. I’d do just about anything for him at this point. When I peeled open my eyelids, I met his brown eyes, burning into me. Holding my gaze, he slid out and then plunged back inside me.
Curling my legs around his slim hips, I didn’t ever want to let him go. I kissed his neck and his jaw as I ran my nails up and down his back, his muscles hard and tense.
He whispered in my ear, “Baby, you feel so good. So good. I love fucking you.”
And then his words turned to gibberish while his pumping picked up in speed and intensity. When I shifted position, he rubbed against my clit, and all the unreleased tension in my body collected in that one, little hot spot. I clenched my muscles, clenched him inside me, until a warm rush that started at my toes flooded my body. I went limp beneath him, my legs falling to the sides, as my orgasm spiraled through me.
His body seemed to go still, and then he emitted a low moan from his throat as he came hard. When he finished thrusting into me, a shiver ran through his frame, and he lowered himself on top of me. He traced my throbbing lips with the tip of his finger and followed it with a kiss.
I rubbed circles on his back, damp with sweat and inhaled the scent of us together, sweet and spicy, our bodies mingling.
He braced his forehead against mine. “I have no words. That was mighty.”
“Mighty what?”
I pushed his hair back from his face. “Mighty is an adjective not a noun. It has to describe another word.”
“Bloody hell. Is this what it’s always going to be like with a writer?”
He shifted off my body. “I’ll just leave it at mighty, and I’ll be right back.”
He rolled off the bed and headed toward the bathroom connected to my room, presumably to dispose of the condom. At least he hadn’t balked at that.
I chewed on my bottom lip. His question had implied that there would be other occasions between us where I’d need to correct his grammar, instead of accepting that this was the very definition of a one-night stand. He was going back to England, an ocean away.
I’d never fallen for anyone this hard and fast, or ever, but my inner therapist told me that’s exactly why I’d fallen for Ian so hard and fast. The word transient in the dictionary had Ian Pope’s face all over it.
And that’s just the way I’d wanted it...until now.