Chapter Thirteen
DELILAH
I have wanted to kiss Ian Chase for a long time. I’ve had a long time to think about how it might go. Like, a long time. An inordinately long amount of time.
Which means that standing in an enclosed space with him on the ride up the elevator to his and Jack’s apartment is both torture and an utter thrill. Questions ping around my skull like a pinball game seeking a high score, wondering if I should have kissed him on the ice, wondering if I should kiss him now, wondering how much convincing it would take to get him to throw me over his shoulder and carry me into the apartment caveman style before having his way with me.
Like I said, a very long time.
He seems as nervous as I am, at least, sneaking glances at me just like I am at him every other second, the ding of the changing floors only making the charged energy between us more palpable the closer we get to his. I keep waiting for him to say something, but we’ve both been quiet on the way over, neither of us in a hurry to break the electric silence that hums between us.
So it’s a bit of a surprise when his hand curls around mine again just as the doors open to his floor—a good surprise, a fucking fantastic surprise even—tugging me out into the hall and practically pulling me down it as he stomps toward his apartment. He doesn’t let go as he fishes his keys from his pocket, as he uses them to let us inside, still holding tight when he closes the door behind us and locking it.
And then he does absolutely nothing.
He just continues to hold my hand, staring at it with his lip between his teeth.
Fuck, he isn’t changing his mind, is he?
“Ian?”
He peeks up at me, brow knit together. “Is this a bad idea?”
“What?” I try not to let the way that question punches me in the gut show. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just…we’ve been friends for so long, Lila. I know we drifted apart there for a while, but you and Jack and Bea were always home to me growing up. I would never want to risk messing that up somehow.”
“Oh.” I avert my eyes to the floor, hoping he can’t see how crushed I am. “I understand. If you don’t want this anymore, I totally get it.”
“No.”
The force of his tone takes me by surprise, and by the time I pull my head up to meet his eyes again, his free hand has darted out to let his fingers cup my chin. His expression is serious, his gray eyes boring into mine with an intensity I’ve never seen from him. At least not directed at me.
“No?”
“Let me be clear,” he says firmly. “I have been thinking about this for a lot longer than I probably should have. Fuck, since the moment you waltzed back into my life. Do you know how shocked I was that day in the studio? That the girl I cared for so much growing up turned into this gorgeous woman I suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about? Because I haven’t, Lila. I don’t know what it means, and I don’t know if it’s a good idea, but I haven’t stopped thinking about you for weeks now. And I can’t think of a single fucking thing I want more than to know what your mouth tastes like.”
The air got trapped in my lungs somewhere around: gorgeous woman—and even when it’s clear that he’s done speaking, it takes me several seconds to remember to let it out. I exhale shakily, feeling my pulse pounding in my ears as the warmth of his fingers leaves a wake of fire along my skin.
“Do you think this is a bad idea, Ian?”
His eyes roam over my face, settling on my mouth. “Probably,” he says quietly. “You should probably say no.”
“Do you want me to say no?”
He studies me for a long moment, one where the seconds feel like minutes and I can feel the weight of each one before finally, “No. I don’t. I want to take you in the other room and find out if your mouth is as soft as it looks.”
“Well.” My lips quirk, and I reach to wind my arms around his neck. “What are you waiting for?”
Nothing, and I mean nothing—not years of want, not daydreams of the dizziest fashion, nothing—could prepare me for the way his mouth fits mine. He surges down to meet me in a way that matches the desperation I’m feeling, his hands reaching under my thighs and hoisting me up into his arms as if I don’t weigh a goddamned thing.
He makes a soft, hungry sound deep in his throat when I tease my tongue along his lower lip, letting them part as he sucks on it like it’s candy, making my toes curl. I distantly register that we’re moving, but barely, too consumed by the way his hands are drifting to palm my ass, the way he tilts his head to deepen the kiss like he can’t quite get enough.
I hear the creak of his bedroom door before the sharp slam of it as he kicks it shut behind us, and then I let out a surprised cry when he drops me into the middle of his bed. He only gives me a second to be caught off guard before he’s crawling over me, letting his body cover mine as his fingers tangle in my hair to cradle my nape.
He lifts his head, his rich, red hair falling around his face like a curtain and his eyes dark with lust in a way I don’t even think my wildest imagination could have ever gotten right, his throat bobbing with a swallow and his hips pressing against mine. “Is this okay?”
“Ian, I’ve wanted you to kiss me since training bras, remember? Fucking get down here.”
My hands curl over his shoulders to drag him back down to meet my mouth, closing my eyes and reveling in the sensations of his warm lips and his soft tongue and the tiny grunts that resound in his chest when I arch into him. His beard scratches against my skin lightly, making me wonder how it might feel elsewhere, which in turn makes me shiver. He’s still cradling my head with one hand, maneuvering me however he wants as he kisses me senselessly, but I feel his other hand press against my side, ghosting along my curves with gentle fingers as he maps the shape of me. Even through my clothes, his touch makes me shiver, makes me tilt my hips up to meet yet another surprise, one that I also could never have really imagined correctly.
Because Ian Chase is hard. He’s hard for me.
And I can see on his face the second that he realizes that I know it.
“Sorry,” he rasps, his lips still resting against mine. “Can’t help it.”
“Oh?” My mouth curves into a sly grin, and I roll my hips just for fun. “You can’t?”
“Fuck, Lila.”
His large hand applies pressure to my waist, effectively pinning me against the bed as his eyes flutter closed. His breath leaves him shakily as he grinds down against me, drawing out a quiet moan from my throat as tingles spread through my belly.
“You like that, sweet girl?”
Oh wow. My imagination should be fired for never offering up that little gem.
I lift my leg to press my thigh to his hip, bringing him closer. “Do it again.”
“Greedy,” he murmurs, swiveling his hips so I can feel every delicious inch of him rubbing between my legs. “Like that?”
“Feels good,” I groan. “Would feel better without all the layers.”
He does it again, and my legs wrap around his hips like they have a mind of their own.
“Lila,” he says in a sigh, almost like a prayer. His face burrows into my neck, his tongue flicking out to taste me, his clothed cock still grinding in a way that might drive me insane. “You always smell so sweet. You fucking taste sweet. I want to taste you everywhere.” His hand snakes between us, and I gasp when I feel the heat of his fingers sliding against the denim between my legs. “Especially here.”
The mental image of Ian’s head between my thighs makes goose bumps crop up over my entire body, a needy sound escaping me as I tilt my hips up to meet his next slow thrust. Ian shakes against me, his breath leaving him in a ragged pant.
“Gonna make me come in my pants like a fucking teenager,” he grunts.
“Mm.” I let my fingers tease through the ends of his hair, tugging it and forcing a soft moan from his lips. “Honestly, with as many times as I’ve come in my pants while thinking about you, it feels pretty fair.”
Ian shivers. “You really are a brat, aren’t you.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” I practically purr, kissing one corner of his mouth. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I can think of several things,” he says roughly, hissing when my teeth scrape over his earlobe.
“Gonna punish me, Ian?”
“Jesus.” His big body shudders, and I feel a rush of excitement flood through me. “Are you looking to get punished, Lila?”
“I just want your hands on me,” I tell him, trailing my lips along his cheek, the soft scrape of his beard tickling me, until I seal them against his, letting myself fall into the weight of his kiss for another long moment. “I’m not particular on where or how.”
He pushes up, his palms flattening against the mattress as he stares down at me, and in the dying light that peeks in through his blinds, I can make out the soft spray of freckles across his nose, his cheeks. I can see the way his tongue sweeps out to wet his lower lip. The way his eyes are heavy with want in a way that makes my stomach clench.
“You’re going to ruin me. Aren’t you.”
My smile is soft now. “I sure fucking hope so.”
My fingers curl in his shirt, trying to pull him back down to me, and I can just feel the plush curve of his lips brushing along mine when a door slams somewhere in the house.
We both go very still.
“Ian?” Jack calls. “Yo, Ian, you home?”
“Jack,” Ian hisses.
I grimace. “Fuck.”
“What do we do?”
“Well, we definitely don’t let him know you’re home.”
“Hey, Ian,” Jack calls again. “Did you leave your shoes in the middle of the hall?”
Ian winces. Clearly neither of us was thinking about shoes when he was carrying me to his room. I can only hope mine are somewhere by his bed and not out there.
“This is definitely not how Jack needs to find out about this,” I whisper. “If he sees us in here practically dry-humping each other, he’s going to be apoplectic.”
“I’m not really interested in being shouted at by Jack with a hard-on, anyway,” Ian says with a grimace.
“Well, say something!”
“What do I say?”
“I don’t know. Anything that will make sure he doesn’t come in here.”
Jack’s voice is closer now. “Ian?”
“Uh, yeah!” Ian shouts, panic in his expression. “I’m here, man. I’m just…” He looks at me helplessly, and I shake my head, no less lost. “I’m naked in here.”
Jack’s voice is right outside the door. “Like…just hanging out? Naked?”
“Um, yeah. Just decompressing, you know?”
“Huh.” There are a few seconds of silence, and then, “That’s cool. Sometimes I like to eat in my room naked. Inner caveman time, yeah?”
“Uh…yeah,” Ian says with a frown.
I can feel my face scrunching with distaste.
“Cool,” Jack calls. “I’m just going to take a shower. Let’s order Thai after.”
“Sounds good,” Ian shouts back.
Neither of us breathes as Jack’s footsteps move down the hall, only risking words when we both hear the bathroom door shut.
“I did not need to know that about my brother,” I groan.
Ian pushes away from me, but he doesn’t look happy to do so, which does make me happy to notice. “Not really something I want to imagine either.”
Ian rises to his knees as I prop up with my hands braced behind me, the heaviness of the moment Jack just interrupted making itself known as we both stare at each other.
Ian’s jaw works. “To be continued?”
“Yeah?” I ask, beaming.
“You better fucking believe it.” He scowls. “Maybe just…not while your brother is home.”
I sit up properly to pull him to me, capturing his mouth in a long, slow kiss that feels as dirty as it is sweet, and packed full of promise. “Deal,” I say after, a little breathless.
“Deal,” he echoes. “Now let’s sneak you out of here before Jack tries to whoop my ass one-handed.”
“I might actually like to see that,” I tease.
Ian snorts. “I’d hate to hurt your brother. I kind of like him.”
“What about me?”
We’re both standing after I put my shoes back on, and he pauses from straightening his clothes to peer at me, his mouth forming a grin that’s almost boyish, one that makes my chest feel tight. He grabs my hand to pull it to his mouth, letting his lips brush along the back. “I kind of like you too.”
“Ditto,” I answer dazedly, feeling very much like my crush—my first crush—just made out with me on his bed.
He tugs my hand, moving toward the door. He peeks into the hall to check and make sure that it’s still empty before pulling me through the living room to the front door, pausing with it open to haul me against him for another kiss that has me pressing up on my toes, toes that are now curling in my shoes.
“Text me when you get home,” he murmurs when I finally break away.
I grin up at him. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Telling,” he answers firmly, reaching around to give one sharp slap to the side of my ass. “Brat.”
He shuts the door then, leaving me half-shocked and whole-horny, rubbing lightly at the denim covering the skin he just spanked in the hallway outside my brother’s apartment. Honestly, that part isn’t really even registering in my mind.
It’s far too occupied wondering when I can get him to do it again.