Chapter 24
Ivy
The Red Room Lounge isn’t the kind of place I’d usually frequent—at least, not on my own. The decor is tasteful, moody, the walls a deep, lush red. Low-slung leather couches are arranged in intimate seating groups. Votive candles flicker on glossy wood tables. For all the style, it’s clearly a meat market. Not in the lively college-age way of Palmers, but for serious businessmen on the prowl.
Eyes follow me as soon as I give the hostess my coat and walk in. I’m aware of every step I take, the way the black-and-white-striped A-line skirt I’m wearing slides over my bare legs. On an average-height girl, it would probably rest a few inches above the knee. On me, it’s midthigh, and I’m far too aware of my panty-less state.
The thought of flashing the bar with a flick of my skirt fills me with horror. It’s also oddly arousing. I feel naughty, sexy. A rarity for me—I usually either feel a bit like a giraffe or act like one of the guys.
If I wasn’t looking for Gray, I might have missed him at first glance. He’s standing at the bar, his back to me. I know it’s him because I know every line of his body, from the way he likes to plant his feet slightly apart, as if he’s waiting for his next play, and how he always sets his broad shoulders ruler-straight.
But he isn’t dressed like the Gray I know. He’s wearing dark dress slacks that cup his fine ass and a soft, gray knit sweater that hugs his muscled torso.
As if sensing my gaze, he turns. Holy hell. His hair is combed back from his brow, highlighting the strong bones of his face, making him appear older, sharper. But it’s how he looks at me that sears my skin and has my heart kicking against my ribs. He knows the effect he has on me. It’s there in his eyes and the way the corner of his luscious mouth slowly kicks up.
He’s smiled at me dozens of times, but never like this. It’s pure sex, no tenderness, no familiarity. I should be offended. I’m hot instead, slippery between my legs as I walk toward him.
That assessing stare travels over my body, and the tip of his tongue flicks out to swipe his lower lip.
“Hey,” he says when I stop at the bar. “I’ve never seen you around here before.”
He’s not even looking at my face but leers at my chest. My nipples stiffen, and he sucks in a sharp breath, a little grunt rumbling deep in his throat.
My lips part, but no words come out. He’s treating me like a stranger. Like he’s Gray but Not Gray. And I remember the text. Head for the bar. Hot blond dude will be there. Let him say hello first. Not “let me say hello,” but him.
Flutters fill my belly. I think about the sexual fantasy I told him that lazy morning in bed.
His eyes meet mine, and a look flickers there: Is this all right? Do you want to play?
It’s a struggle not to grin, not to fling myself on him and kiss the hell out of him. I lower my lids and turn my attention to the bartender instead, pretending that my insides aren’t a mass of nerves and anticipation.
“I’m waiting for my friends,” I tell Not Gray, which is how I choose to think of him now, my tone standoffish.
“Sure you are,” he murmurs.
Mellow music softly plays, highlighting the quiet between us. His tanned forearm rests against the bar. A thick steel sports watch is on his wrist. I’ve never seen it before. Or seen him drink Scotch. That strong arm lifts as he takes a drink. The peaty scent of whiskey fills the air between us.
I order a citrus martini and try to ignore Not Gray, because he’s doing his best to unnerve me, standing close enough that the light hairs on his sun-kissed forearm tickle my arm. Close enough that I feel his stare.
It’s strange, knowing that this is Gray eyeing me like I’m some cheap conquest. I should be appalled. But no one on earth turns me on the way he does. That he’s acting this out for me, has me growing wet and breathless already. And he hasn’t even touched me.
Vodka sloshes over the sides of my glass and slides cold over my fingers as I take a sip. I lick my wet lips, tasting the tart sweetness, and Gray grunts deep within his chest.
“I’d like to do that,” he says to me in a low voice.
My throat goes dry. I keep my gaze on the bar. “Do what?”
He’s closer, his shoulder pressing mine. “Lick those lips.”
Playing the shy girl, I look the other way as if I’m shocked. It doesn’t deter him.
My skin shivers at the soft brush of his lips against the shell of my ear.
“When I’m done with your lips, I’ll lick the tips of those sweet little nipples perking up beneath your top. They’re begging for it, aren’t they, sweetness?” Warm breath gusts down my neck as he exhales. “To be licked and licked.”
Heat snakes down my body, clenches in my belly.
He keeps talking in that low, rumbly way. “I’ll get you nice and wet playing with those little buds. So fucking wet that when I finally lick your plump pussy, you’ll come on my tongue at the first taste.”
A strangled sound leaves me, and I have to lean against the bar, my knees have gone so weak. My heart pounds against my chest, so hard I wonder if he can see it.
The tips of his fingers take my elbow, a light but steady grip. “Come with me.”
I’m breathless, my voice faint. “No. I... My friends...”
“We won’t be long,” he says against my neck before taking a taste with a flick of his tongue. “Come on, sweetness. No one will know. It will be our little secret.”
Oh, God, I know it’s an act, but my body shakes with illicit lust. I can barely nod. But he sees it, makes a sound of satisfaction. Then I’m being led to the back of the club, the sound of my blood whooshing through my ears. No one stops him or even looks our way. Not even when he opens the door to a small supply room and closes us inside.
Not Gray leans against the door and simply watches me. Bathed in the light of one dingy bulb that hangs overhead, his big body seems larger, looming and taut with tension. It’s so strange seeing him this way, dressed like a stranger, acting like one, that it’s easy to slip into the role, lose myself to it.
“What do you want?” I ask him, plucking at the folds of my skirt as my heart races.
A small, calculating smile. “Oh, I think you know, sweetness.”
Sweetness. Gray never calls me that. Never uses that slightly smarmy tone. It only serves to make him more foreign, more dangerous.
It’s almost too easy, the way he backs me up, guiding me to a low counter that runs along one wall. His hands settle on my hips and he lifts me onto its cool surface. It brings us eye to eye. Grasping the edges of the counter, he crowds me, his gaze hot and roaming.
“There,” he murmurs. “That’s better.”
“I should get back to the bar.” A weak protest.
The backs of his fingers skim up my arm, raising goose bumps on my skin. “Nice top.”
Even though it’s thirty degrees out, I chose a black silk tank that hugs my waist but gathers loosely over my breasts. A tie around my neck holds the top secure. That I am braless is not lost on him. He stares at my stiff nipples as his fingers drift to the bow at the back of my neck and give it a little flick.
“Take it off.”
“Wh-what?”
“Let me see those sweet tits you’ve been teasing me with since you walked in the bar.”
“I—” My breath catches. “No. I’m not taking my clothes off for a stranger.”
“But you want to, don’t you? You want me to look at you.” He bends his head until his lips are at my ear. “You’re dying to expose yourself, to let me see those pretty pink nipples.”
My skin draws tight. I struggle not to sway into him.
He leans back, his attention on my top again. “Untie the bow.”
“Someone might come in.” Despite our play, my fear of getting caught is real, though not completely unwelcome.
“They won’t. I took care of it.”
I believe that. Gray would cover all the bases. In his own way, he’s as much of a planner as I am. But I can’t think of him as Gray now, not when he’s doing this for me.
His fingers are back, skimming over my inner arm, teasing the edges of my top. “Just a little peek.”
My breasts ache so badly—they’re hot, heavy, the silk covering them an irritant. With shaking hands, I reach up. The fabric tugs against my neck then comes free. It slithers over my skin like a caress.
He sucks in an audible breath as my breasts are exposed. I see myself through his eyes, sitting half-naked in this dim back room, my nipples puckered, my breasts quivering with each shallow breath I take. The vulnerability of it feels naughty, forbidden, and I nearly whimper.
A noise of pure satisfaction leaves him. Not bothering to lift his gaze from my breasts, he reaches out, runs the tips of his fingers over my nipple. I’m so sensitized now the touch sends a bolt of pure, searing lust straight through me. I flinch, clench my teeth to keep still.
He hums, strokes me back and forth as if he owns me. “So pretty. You like that, sweetheart?”
Eyes closed, I bite my lower lip and nod.
I feel him move. The wet flat of his tongue drags over my nipple. My eyes fly open on a strangled cry.
He grins up at me, his mouth hovering at my breast. It isn’t his usual cheeky grin but something more wicked. “Mmm. Delicious.”
He takes a step closer, and I swallow convulsively. Gray’s voice lowers. “I wonder where else you taste good. You want to show me, sweets?”
I’m practically panting now. My hair swings as I give my head a hard shake. He leans in, trailing the blunt tip of his finger up the curve of my breast. I nearly yelp when he gives the stiff peak a quick, crude pinch.
His smile is pure male smugness. “Lift up your skirt and show me where you’re wet.”
God. My thighs shake. I want to resist him. I want to do exactly what he says. As if against my will, my hands lower to the hem of my skirt.
Up, up, up. Every inch that slides over my thighs pushes my agitation higher. I can’t take it. I gather up the skirt until it’s around my waist. Cool air caresses my wet skin.
The silence is deafening. There is only the roar of my blood beating and the quiver of my sex, now fully on display. He just stands there, his eyes narrow, his expression almost fierce. I don’t miss the way his broad chest moves with agitated breaths.
I expect him to touch me. He doesn’t. He stares, his gaze fixated on my sex. And it drives all my awareness to my exposed state, to the fact that the small bud of my clit is throbbing.
He licks his bottom lip as if he’s imagining my taste. When he speaks, it’s a raw demand. “Spread wider.”
I do, wide enough that I feel the strain in the tendons between my thighs.
Still he doesn’t touch me, which drives up my need. I want him to so badly now that I bite the inside of my lip, arch my back just a bit to entice him with my breasts.
That bastard simply gives me an evil look. “You’re dying for it, aren’t you?”
“No,” I whisper. A lie.
He knows it. The corner of his mouth curls as his hand drifts to his belt.
Short of breath and aching, I watch him slowly unfasten his belt, the metal buckle clinking in the silence. He doesn’t unzip immediately but runs the heel of his hand down the significant bulge of his erection.
I have to clench my fists so I don’t reach out and cup him.
The hiss of his zipper lowering buzzes in my ears. I only have eyes for his hand, reaching in to pull out that beautiful cock. Long, hard, thick, a bead of precome glistening on the wide head. I know how smooth his skin is. I know his taste. How well he’ll fill me.
“Do you want this?” he asks.
“I’m a good girl,” I whisper.
He wraps his fingers around his wide base, his eyes on me. “Let me put it in you. See how it feels.”
“I don’t know...” I trail off, biting my lip, pretending that I don’t want it.
He steps between my legs, and gives his cock a stroke as if he needs that small relief. The sight has my sex clenching. Licking his lower lip, he guides himself to my opening.
“Just the tip, sweets.” He nudges against me, slipping along my wetness, as I whimper. His voice goes dark. “Just for a second.”
That thick crown pushes inside. I’m so worked up with lust, I begin to moan and wiggle, ripples of heat running along my body.
He shudders, his cock sinking further, stretching me, invading as he groans out, “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna need more.”
Like that, I’m coming around his hard cock, even as he glides in, deeper, deeper, until fully seated. The orgasm quakes through me so hard and fast that I arch back, my inner walls squeezing him tight.
“Jesus,” he says, holding on to my neck. “Jesus.”
Somehow, I manage to lift my head, catch his eye. He’s no longer Not Gray, but my Gray, looking at me as if I’m beautiful, as if I’m his world. I don’t want to pretend anymore. Maybe he sees the knowledge in my eyes, because he gives me a look that’s part pain, part helpless want. Deep inside me, his cock pulses.
I draw in a breath, touch his cheek. “Gray.”
That’s all he needs. With an impatient sound, he hauls me close, bringing us chest-to-chest, mouth-to-mouth. He kisses me, no longer detached but pure Gray, sweet and seductive and just a little dirty.
“Ivy. Honey.” He fucks like he’s savoring me, holding my upper body against his so that the only movement is his cock pushing in and out. A steady pounding, so good and raw that I shiver.
“More,” I whisper before finding his mouth again.
Without pause, he grabs my ass and backs us up until he’s leaning against the wall. My legs wrap around his waist, and he lifts me with ease, steadily works me up and down his swollen cock. I can only hold on, feel his muscles shift, and the stretch of him inside me.
“Ivy.” He kisses me quick, needy. “I’m close.”
He thrusts up, moving his hips in a little circle, the pressure hitting my swollen clit just right, and my sex clenches, pleasure licking up my thighs, over my skin.
I suck in a breath, my lips coasting over his. “Finish it.”
My ass hits the counter. I’m pinned, spread wide for him as he takes what he needs.
He’s beautiful to me like this, his brows drawn tight, his lips parted as if he can’t get enough air.
Our eyes meet, and I’m the one who can’t breathe. Everything seems to pause. There is only Gray, his gaze wide and clear, his cock lodged deep as though it’s found home.
My body tightens like a fist, my heart so tender it hurts. I feel him everywhere, draw in his scent and heat. But it’s that look, as though there will never, ever be anything more important to him than me, that does me in.
This time my orgasm is an almost painful roll of pleasure. Crushing my lips to his shoulder to keep quiet, I cling to him and let go. And he follows me, his mouth on my neck, his fingers digging into my thighs.
He comes with a quiet shudder that wracks his whole body. All the tension leaves him on a sigh.
We’re still for several breaths, then he pulls out and sets me on my feet before tucking himself back into his pants and doing them up. My skirt flutters down as I reach for him. I hold him close, stroke his hair, my face pressed into the warm hollow of his neck. He smells of sex and sweat and whiskey.
I can’t stop kissing his silky skin. “Thank you.”
Gray runs his hands down my back. “For what?”
“You gave me my fantasy.”
“Not a hardship, honey.” Slowly, he kisses his way up my neck, scattering fine shivers in his wake. “In fact, that now rates as one of my top fantasies too.”
I tilt my head to the side to give him better access. “You were good. Maybe you should consider acting.”
His laugh is a huff against my neck. “It wasn’t an act. I meant every word I said.”
I hadn’t meant a single one of my protests. But my body’s response had been real and so intense, I still feel pleasurable little aftershocks. I adore Gray for that, for making me feel safe to play. For wanting to do that with me in the first place.
“I haven’t forgotten about yours, you know,” I say against his temple.
Gray lifts his head. “My fantasy?” He looks blank, but he doesn’t fool me.
“I know what it is.”
“Oh, you do?” Gray smiles yet his tone holds a note of caution, as if he doesn’t want to believe me.
“Yeah, Cupcake, I do.” I kiss the tip of his nose. “You take care of everybody. But who takes care of you? That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be cared for.”
My palm smooths down his cheek, as he stares at me with wide eyes. “That’s my job now, Gray. I’m always going to be the one there for you.”
His throat works on a swallow, and when he speaks, his voice is husky. “How did you know?”
I rub my cheek against his, drawing in his familiar scent. “Because I know you.”
Gray is very still for a breath. Then he eases back. His hands settle on either side of my neck, his fingers so long they bracket my jaw. Gently, as though I’m suddenly breakable, he presses a kiss to my forehead, my cheeks, my closed eyes, the tip of my nose, and finally my lips.
“Every inch, Ivy,” he whispers against them.
I open my eyes and smile. My arms wind around his neck, holding him close. “You said that once, before your last game. But you never really told me what it means.”
Gray’s hands move to my waist. “Before you, it meant I’ll fight for every inch of yardage, never give up until I’m in the end zone. But now?” His blue eyes meet mine. “It means I’ll fight for every inch of you. That I love every inch of you.”
For a second, the air between us goes heavy and still. His words settle on me like a warm blanket. It sinks beneath my skin when he slowly smiles, as if he’s realized what he’s said and likes it.
“I love you, Ivy Mac.” His smile grows and he cups my cheek. “I really do. So much.”
A husky laugh leaves him. “It feels good saying that.”
He loves me. No man has ever said those words to me. I’ve never wanted to hear them from anyone else but Gray.
I draw in a tremulous breath, my heart swelling within my chest. “I love you too.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Yeah?”
Standing on my toes, I kiss his forehead, his cheeks, his smiling mouth. “Every inch, Cupcake.”
Gray sighs and hugs me close. “I’ve never been in love before.”
I smile in contentment and wonder. “Neither have I.”
Gray breathes in deep. “Drew was right. It’s better than football.”
A shocked laugh bursts out of me. “Oh, wow. That’s huge.”
He pulls back to look down at me. The love in his eyes comes through crystal clear. “Huge as in, ‘Oh Gray, let me give you a celebratory blow job’ huge?”
I give him a look. “You’re killing the moment, Cupcake.”
Gray grins, his hand caressing my side. “It’s turning you on. Just admit it.”
“Yeah, okay,” I whisper. “A little.” Sexy stranger Gray was exciting, but this is the Gray I love with all I am.
He chuckles low, contented, and gently cups my breast. “I knew it.” He palms me, moving in a slow circle. “Let’s go home, and we can celebrate properly.”
I’m about to agree when he hits a spot that is tender. “Ow, careful.”
Gray frowns. “That hurt you?”
“Yeah, it’s a little sore.”
His face grows eerily blank as he gently touches the spot, then draws a sharp breath. “What the fuck?”
“What?” I ask, alarmed.
“This,” Gray hisses, wrenching my shirt further down. With a grim look, he bends close and prods at my breast. “This...lump.” The word comes out like a curse.
Frowning, I bat his hand away and feel for myself. Okay, there’s a small lump on the fleshy side of my breast. “Huh. I’ve never noticed that.”
“Never noticed?” he cries in outrage. “Jesus, Ivy. Don’t you check your breasts?”
Normally I’d laugh, never expecting a guy to even know about that. But this is Gray. He’s seen his mom die from breast cancer. So I keep my voice low, calm. “Of course I do. This is new.”
“New?” He presses his fingers to his eyes. “Fuck. Fuck.” His hand falls, and he levels me with a wild-eyed glare. “You have to get it checked. Now.”
“I can’t go now. It’s late at night—”
“We’ll go to a clinic.” He paws at my breast again, moving it this way and that, angrily prodding it as if he can scare the lump away.
“Gray,” I snap, pushing at his hand and trying to pull up my shirt. “Would you stop?”
“No.” He’s beside himself, his voice almost shrill. “Are you even listening to me? You need to get this checked.”
My temper breaks. “Calm the fuck down. Someone is going to come in here any second.”
As if timed, there’s a knock on the door and a tentative “Uh, is everything okay in there?”
“Fine,” I shout, just as Gray yells, “Go away.”
“Not helping,” I snarl at Gray. But the distraction lets me get my top up and my breasts covered.
“I don’t give a fuck what that guy out there thinks,” Gray snaps back. “You’re not taking this seriously. You have a lump.” He’s shouting now. “A goddamn lump. Do you even care?”
I’ve never seen him like this. His skin is ashy, his eyes wide and wild. He’s shaking so hard now, I’m afraid for his health.
“Gray, baby, you need to calm down. It’s okay—”
“It’s not okay,” he bellows. “You have a lump. Fuck.”
Gray stumbles back, his hip hitting a shelf and sending brooms clattering to the floor like matchsticks. “Fuck! I can’t...” He grabs the ends of his hair and clutches them as he stumbles backward to the door. “Can’t breathe.”
“Gray!”
But he’s wrenching the door open. “I can’t do this again.”
Before I can say another word, he flees. Gone so fast, I swear I feel the air stir. And I’m left alone, wondering what the hell just happened.