Chapter 6
IVY
Tears pricked my eyes, and I dragged the back of my hand across my nose. I scolded myself and my phantom therapist. Of course, he was going back to England. I knew that. I knew the overwhelming sexual tension between the two of us could only have one result. Well, two, actually. I could’ve said goodnight at the curb and spent an evening with my purple pussy pleaser stashed in my nightstand. Or have one night of wild sex and relive it in my mind once in a while and re-write it in my books over and over.
He came back into the room, his hair damp and sluiced back from his face, the ends curling. He launched himself onto the bed next to me, making the mattress bounce. Then he lay on his back beside me, curling one arm behind his head, the fingers of his other hand idly toying with mine. “Believe it or not, it’s been a long time since I had sex, especially sex like that.”
“Like what? Mighty?”
I draped one leg over his, still needing to soak in his closeness.
“Yeah, like just feeling everything, every sense alive and present. Fully engaging. Haven’t had that in so long.”
“Me either...”
I turned my head and touched the tip of my tongue to his shoulder, which tasted salty and musky “...despite the long trail of condoms in my nightstand. I’m actually hoping they aren’t expired. It’s been that long.”
He threaded his fingers through mine and kissed the back of my hand. “I’m glad you did have them, else I would’ve packed off to the corner market and bought some, worrying all the way that you’d change your mind.”
“I think my mind was made up the minute you rescued me from Fabio.”
“I think I rescued Fabio from you, and you didn’t know who I was until I told you my name.”
“That’s right.”
“So, you wanted to ravage me before you knew I was Ian Pope?”
“That’s right.”
The glint in his eye at my answer made me feel a little sad for him. I traced the tattoo on his hipbone, a mermaid, tail up, her head dangerously close to the hair covering his pubic area. “So, you’ve ensured that you always have a mermaid going down on you.”
He snorted. “You have kind of a dirty mouth. I like that about you.”
“And I kind of like your mouth, too. It’s very versatile. Who knew you could do more than sing with that mouth.”
“You have no idea.”
He lifted his eyebrows up and down. “Do you want some water? I’ll get us some water.”
“Yes, please. I don’t trust the tap water, but we have some filtered water in a pitcher in the fridge, or I think there are a few bottles left.”
“I’ll get you a glass.”
Once again, he clambered from the bed, and I watched the muscles of his buttocks clench and release as he walked out of the room. Sexy.
I’d left my phone in my bag out there...and some gum on the wall. Otherwise, I’d text Chloe to let her know I had Ian Pope in my bed. I’d have to get some proof, or Chloe would never believe me. Ian didn’t seem to mind selfies. Maybe I’d do one with him in bed.
He strode back into the room, carrying a glass of water. “I already drank from this one, but I figured we’ve already shared so much, we could share a glass, too.”
“Great thinking.”
I tapped my head and took the glass from him.
He settled himself next to me again, and we shared sips of water from the glass. When I put it to the side, he draped his arm around me and pulled me close. Did he have the same feeling as I did? I felt a need to touch him, to keep connected to him. Probably because he was leaving. I dropped my head onto his shoulder.
He asked, “Did you grow up here in Santa Monica?”
“In Hollywood. My parents had a small house in Hollywood—the flats, not the hills.”
“Was your father in the business?”
I gave a short, sharp laugh. “Yeah, my father was in the business alright, a lot of businesses, just not show business. My dad was kind of a scammer, a big gambler. In fact, you could say he was an addict—a gambling addict.”
Ian’s body stiffened beside me. He’d been stroking my collarbone with his thumb, which I’d been finding very erotic, but he suddenly stopped.
“That must’ve been hard to live with.”
Great. If that tidbit about Dad made him uncomfortable, I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him the rest.
“It was. He gambled away every cent my mother earned until she got sick of it all and left.” I sighed.
“Your mom raised you by herself?”
“Are you kidding?”
My hands curled into fists, bunching up the sheet. How the hell did we get onto this topic? “She’s the one who left. She abandoned us. I haven’t seen her since.”
“I’m sorry.”
He squeezed me and kissed the top of my head. “And then you lost your father. How did he...pass away?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek before answering. “Hit and run, right on Hollywood Boulevard.”
“God, I’m so sorry, Ivy. Do you know where your mum is? Did she ever reach out after your father died?”
“She probably doesn’t even know he’s dead, and I wouldn’t want to see her, anyway.”
I sniffed, and a tear rolled down my face. I hadn’t cried about Mom in years. To anyone.
Before I could dash the tear away, Ian caught it on the tip of his finger. “My poor Tinkerbell.”
“It’s alright. I mean, it’s not alright, but it is what it is.”
I blew out a breath. “I really didn’t imagine this would be our post-coital discourse.”
“Post-coital discourse.”
He said the words as if trying them out in his mouth. “You have a way with words. That would be a great song title. Post-coital Discourse.”
He started singing in his smooth baritone. “I gave her post-coital discourse, but it couldn’t have gone worse. She didn’t like my sass and kicked me out on my ass.”
“That’s...not bad.”
I wriggled out from beneath his arm and swung my legs off the bed. “I’m going to brush my teeth. Do you want a toothbrush?”
“Is that an option?”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “I could really use a toothbrush.”
“My dentist always gives me extras. I’ll leave one on the sink for you.”
I sprang up from the bed and strolled to the bathroom, feeling his hot gaze following me. I closed the door behind me and faced the mirror.
Running my hands over my face and body, I said, “Same face, same body.”
After my day with Ian, I expected to see something different. I puckered my lips, which seemed plumper, and ran my fingers down my jaw, a little red with scruff rash from all the kissing we’d done. Things looked pretty much the same on the outside, but my insides had experienced a massive shift.
I got ready for bed and left a red toothbrush in its package on the sink. When I returned to the bedroom, Ian was sitting up, going through his phone, a slight downturn to his lips.
“Everything okay?”
I picked up the glass on the nightstand.
“All good. Do you have that toothbrush?”
he held up his phone. “And a charger?”
“Toothbrush is on the counter in the bathroom. I’ll get you a charger from the kitchen. Do you want any more water?”
“No, thanks.”
When he hopped off the bed, he grabbed me around the waist and kissed me before heading to the bathroom.
I scurried out of the bedroom, plucked the gum from the wall, put the glass in the sink, and yanked a charger from the outlet by the kitchen table. When Ian had been out here before getting the water, he’d placed my keys in the basket by the door and hung our shirts over the back of a chair along with my purse.
I tiptoed to my purse and retrieved my phone stuck in the side pocket. I scanned a few text messages—one from Chloe, asking about the bookfair, one from another author, asking the same, and one from Matt, which I deleted without reading.
When I got back to the bedroom, Ian was still in the bathroom with the water running. I slid between the rumpled sheets and plugged my phone into the charger I kept by the bed, leaving it on the edge of the nightstand.
Ian stepped out of the bathroom and flicked off the light. As he approached the bed, I dangled the charger in front of him. “There’s a USB port on the lamp you can use.”
“Thanks.”
He plugged in his phone and joined me under the covers. Wrapping his arms around me, he pressed his naked body against mine. “Mm, I was hoping you hadn’t put any nightclothes on.”
“Little late for modesty, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would.”
He covered a yawn. “It’s barely eleven o’clock, and I’m exhausted. You wore me out, Tink.”
“Ditto.”
I pretended a yawn of my own and rolled onto my side.
He cuddled up behind me, slinging a heavy arm over my hip, cupping my body with his. “This feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Uh huh.”
I twisted my head back and kissed his shoulder, burrowing against him. Too good to be true. Too good to last.
Several minutes later, Ian’s breathing deepened, and I closed my eyes and waited. I’d felt at a disadvantage all day, not knowing Ian’s recent history, especially as I’d practically vomited up my own. When his hold on me slackened, I peeked over my shoulder and lifted his arm from my body.
Scooting away from him, I grabbed my phone from the charger and ducked under the covers with it, using my body to shield the light from Ian, although he seemed completely out of it.
I Googled his name, and his handsome face popped up on my screen. He was more breathtaking in person. I scrolled past a partial discography, a few links to his social media, the requisite Wikipedia entry and then nearly dropped my phone at the first article headline: Drunk and Disorderly—Ian Pope Tossed Out of Miami Bar.
Typical popstar behavior, right? I rolled my shoulders, and Ian murmured in his sleep. My finger swiped up the screen.
Ian Pope’s Incoherent Red Carpet Rambling
Former Boy Bander Breaks Paparazzi’s Camera
Five2Go or One2Gone—Ian Pope’s Drunken Antics
Boy Bander Ian Pope Spotted at Ritzy Rehab in London
I put my fingers to my lips as Ian’s warm breath stirred the hair at the nape of my neck. Seemed like I’d just fallen hard for someone who had as many problems as I did. Maybe more.