The Game Changer

Chapter Fifteen

DELILAH

It feels strange, foreign even, when Ian’s hand finds mine as we enter my apartment building. It’s a quiet thing; he doesn’t draw attention to it, doesn’t make a production of the act, but our fingers tangle and his grip tightens until it’s definitely a holding type of situation, and what would teenager Lila think if she knew this was going to happen? How many afternoons did I spend daydreaming about this, just this? It fills my belly and my chest with all sorts of flutters that are mostly elation but at least a tiny bit of nerves—something that I find surprising, because I rarely get nervous about anything. Especially when it comes to men.

But this is Ian, my brain reminds me. As if I could forget.

“Building is nice,” Ian comments as we ascend the stairs.

I scoff. “It would be better if they would fix the damn elevator. Stairs and I don’t really vibe.”

“Good for your heart,” he says offhandedly. “Cardio is important.”

I give him a sly smile. “I can think of a lot better ways to get your cardio in.”

His cheeks flush and his eyes turn upward while he mutters something that might be prayers for some sort of guidance; I can’t actually make it out. I love when I can rile him like this, when I can break through that composure of his. It feels like a secret side of Ian that’s just for me.

We’re stepping onto the landing for the third floor—one below mine—when he changes the subject. “Have you lived here long?”

“Since I moved back,” I tell him. “I love the neighborhood, and it’s so close to work…The place is small, but it’s never made any sense to move. It’s perfect for just me.”

“I have to say, I am intrigued by what your place might look like.”

“Why is that?”

“Do you still have your collection of porcelain cat figurines?”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you implying that the Porcelain Pride isn’t amazing?”

“Oh God. You named it. Are there more? There have to be at least a hundred of them by now.”

“I don’t feel inclined to answer that.”

“So, yes, essentially,” he laughs.

I roll my eyes, pushing open the door to my floor and leading him through it. “At least they’re organized now. They have their own special shelf and everything.”

“I can’t wait to see it.”

“Unless it’s to tell me how cool they are, keep your comments to yourself.”

He makes a motion like he’s zipping his lips, and I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. That fluttering sensation is back, intensifying when we get to my door. It’s only just hitting me that Ian is here, at my place. It’s only just occurring to me what will most likely happen after we go inside. What I have thought about happening for so long it’s embarrassing, considering I’ve only been on his radar for a month, at best. A chilled sort of tingle spreads through my limbs as I dig in my purse for my keys, swallowing around a dry lump that’s forming in my throat as I reach toward the knob to undo the lock. I get so far as sticking the key in the latch.

And then I fucking freeze.

I’m nervous, I realize. Actually nervous. Like, heart pounding, stomach clenching, full-on panicking with my key trembling in my hand and my dumb key chain with a mixer on it that says “beat it, just beat it” tinkling softly in the quiet space of the hall.

How the fuck can I be nervous? I’ve literally dreamt about this moment for longer than I care to admit. So long that I might as well have a goddamned play-by-play for it in every possible way that it could go.

But maybe that’s the problem, I rationalize. I’ve built it up for so long, fantasized about what it might be like for Ian to be mine, really mine, and what if it’s not what I expected? What if it ruins everything? Could I live with that? Could I really—

“Lila,” Ian says softly from right behind me, where we’re still lingering outside my apartment door. “Lila,” he says again, his fingers coming to brush against the underside of my forearm that’s still outstretched toward the lock. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m sorry,” I splutter. “Sorry, I’m being ridiculous, I—”

“Lila.”

His touch is heavier now, falling to my waist to urge me to turn, and when I force myself to look at him—at this boy who became a man while I wasn’t looking but has always been larger than life in my eyes—I see everything I’ve ever wanted staring back at me in his warm, gray gaze.

“You know nothing has to happen here, right?” His hand lifts until his thumb strokes my jaw. “It won’t change anything. It won’t change a single thing about how I feel.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to come inside,” I tell him, meaning it.

His head cocks slightly. “You can talk to me.”

“I just—” I swallow, and his eyes track the movement, his palm becoming steadier as it cups my jaw. “I know that you know how long this has been a thing for me, but you don’t know, you know?”

His mouth quirks. “I’m not sure that I do, no.”

“I’ve just…Before I knew what it even was to feel something for somebody, I felt things for you. Whether it was just feeling safer when you’re around, or looking for you when I enter a room, or doing whatever I could to make you smile because it made me smile when you did…It’s always been you, Ian.”

“Lila,” he says, but words are falling out of my mouth before I can catch them now, and I hardly even know where they’re coming from, since this anxiety attack seems to be slamming into me all at once.

“And I realize that isn’t the case for you, and that this is all new where you’re concerned, but it’s not for me, you know? It’s been on a back burner somewhere, sure, but it’s never really been turned off. And what if we go there and you realize that you can’t feel those things for me? What if I finally have you, and then I don’t get to keep you? I just…I don’t know what that would do to me, or to you, or hell, even Jack, and I worry that it makes me…”

I press my lips together in a frown, tipping my head down to stare at my feet. I take a steadying breath, teetering between feeling like an idiot for ruining what might be my one chance to finally have him and also being completely terrified that I’m right somehow, but it’s his hands that draw me out of the maelstrom in my head. His calloused, rough hands that are so wide they almost cover both sides of my face completely when he cups my cheeks.

“That it makes you what?”

I gulp, my fingers reaching to grip his forearms as if that will somehow keep me steady when I feel so suddenly unsteady. “That it makes me selfish,” I whisper. “Because I still want it. I still want you.”

Ian’s eyes search mine, looking for my uncertainty, surely, and maybe even for reasons of his own as to why we shouldn’t—so it’s both a surprise and a relief when he leans in slowly, hovering by my mouth. “Do you trust me?”

“I—” It takes me a second to register the question, mostly because the answer is so obvious. “Yes.”

He lifts me in one fluid movement, his hands coming under my thighs as he pulls me up to his body and presses me against the wall by the door to my apartment, holding me steady. Making me feel just a bit more so. His eyes flick to my mouth, and then back to mine like a silent question, and all I can do is nod, because I’ll never say no to more of him.

Ian’s kiss is like everything else Ian does—unassuming, but with a quiet strength that makes you want to fall into him, just like I’ve been wanting to do for most of my life. It’s overwhelming that I’m getting to do so now.

“Lila,” he says again, and I don’t think I could ever get tired of him saying my name like that. Like it’s important. Like it’s his favorite word. “You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to want you that long. I’ve always loved you—”

He doesn’t mean it like that. You know he doesn’t.

“—and even if it wasn’t in the same way, you have always been a part of me. Maybe it looks different now than it did then, because who we were then couldn’t be what we could be now. It wouldn’t have worked. For all sorts of reasons. And maybe that’s the point, you know? Maybe we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be, because all I know is that while I may not have wanted you as long as you’ve wanted me, I can say with absolute certainty that I have wanted you as hard as a person can want another person. I don’t know when you went from the girl I adored to the woman I can’t stop thinking about, but you did. You’ve always been in my heart, but now you’re in my head too. You’re fucking everywhere, Lila. You’re in so deep that I don’t see how I could ever get you out.” I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until his soft mouth presses to mine again, only for a second before, “And I don’t want to. The way I feel right now…I don’t think I ever will.”

Okay, maybe he didn’t mean it that way, but that’s still really nice.

My voice sounds small, unlike me, when I answer, “Oh.”

“Just oh?”

My lips twitch. “I didn’t think ‘holy fucking shit’ was an appropriate response.”

“It could be,” he chuckles. “If it’s a good ‘holy fucking shit.’?”

“The holiest fucking shit,” I say breathlessly.

“You’re so weird sometimes.”

“That’s nothing new.”

“How adorable I find it is.”

My brow quirks. “You didn’t find me adorable back then?”

“Sometimes,” he admits. “But most of the time you were a pain in my ass.”

My lips curl as I lean in, feathering my mouth against his. “Can I make it up to you?”

“Lila, I told you, nothing has to hap—”

I kiss him, hard—hard enough that his word morphs into a throaty groan that makes me tingle with something other than nerves. “Shut up and open the door, Ian,” I mutter against his mouth. “Key is in the lock.”

“I just don’t want you to think I expect anything.”

“After that little speech, I am not above sucking your dick right here in the hallway.”

“Jesus,” he chokes out, keeping me upright against the wall with one fucking hand as he fumbles with the key sitting in the lock with the other one. “You can’t say shit like that to me.”

I let my mouth drift along his cheek, feeling his beard tickle my lips. “Why not?”

“Because it might have me doing something stupid.”

“Like?”

“Like letting you suck my dick right here in the hallway.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

He groans again just as the door swings open beside us. “Get your ass inside, brat. I have plans for it.”

He releases his hold on me to let my body slide down his until I’m back on my feet, his forearm coming to rest against the wall by my head as he looms over me, tension in his features like he’s struggling not to touch me. I like that. I really like that.

So maybe I make a little show of swishing my hips when I slide past him to duck into my apartment, going for a seductive look when I peek over my shoulder at him as he follows me inside, only to let out a sharp yelp when he swats my ass through my jeans.

“Not fast enough, Lila.”

“I thought you wanted to see the Porcelain Pride?”

“Is that what you want to do right now?”

I make a show of pretending to think about it. “I don’t know…It could be.”

“I think you’re trying to test my patience.”

“Is it working?”

He looks deathly serious when he answers, “You’re about to find out.”

My eyes round as he starts toward me, and my heart rate doubles as I stumble away, going into a run toward my bedroom, hearing his heavy steps following close behind. A giggle that sounds almost like a scream leaves me when his arm slides around my waist just as I burst through my bedroom door, his solid frame colliding with mine.

I don’t think I’ll ever get over how easily he seems to be able to toss me around; Ian Chase treats me like I’m his own personal shot put, and he’s going for the fucking gold medal. It feels like he barely puts any effort in throwing me onto my bed, crawling over me like a predator, with a look in his eye to match as his wide shoulders block my view of the ceiling. His gray eyes are darker now, like charcoal that’s just been lit, with the way they seem to burn.

I let my fingers skirt over the toned expanse of his inked forearms that are braced on either side of me, keeping my touch light, teasing, just happy to be able to touch him the way I’ve always wanted to. I let them slip higher until they’re smoothing over his biceps, his shoulders—curling my hands around his neck and lacing my fingers there.

I don’t tug at him very hard, but thankfully he takes the hint, anyway. He lowers himself until his body is practically zippered to mine, and I can feel every hard inch of him against every soft inch of me and the contrast of it is wonderfully decadent. His lips mold to mine as my eyes flutter closed, opening for him without question as his tongue slips inside to explore my mouth. There’s no one here now, I realize, no one to interrupt, no one to stop us from fulfilling every fantasy I’ve ever had, and the realization of that has me kissing him just a little more desperately, has my body pressing against his as if I can somehow get even closer.

This is actually happening, I think with wonder. He’s here. He wants me.

It makes me feel a bit frantic.

My hand snakes between us, searching, seeking him out until I can feel the hot, hard length of him in my palm. He hisses through his teeth, breaking the kiss, his breath huffing against my jaw as his eyes press closed.

“Lila,” he rasps.

My lips drag along his cheek. “Want you,” I hum, sounding out of breath myself. “Please, Ian.”

“You’ll have me, sweet girl,” he breathes against my skin just before his lips press a lingering kiss there. “But I’m not looking to do this rushed, and if you keep touching me like that, it damn sure will be.”

“I meant it when I said I wanted to suck your dick,” I say petulantly, feeling robbed of the opportunity.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Not this time. I’ll never last through that. But I can do that for you.”

“But I don’t have a dick.”

I yelp again when he swats the side of my ass. It’s really becoming a thing for him. I wonder if he can tell just how much I fucking like it.

“Stop being a brat,” he warns, “and I’ll make you come.”

Holy hell. I’m dreaming. This must be a dream. Maybe I’ve died, even. Is this heaven? Would there be talk of orgasms in heaven? Actually, I don’t know if I want to go if there isn’t.

He pushes up on his knees, reaching to wrench his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere on the floor, and my entire brain turns into goo because he has tattoos there too. My eyes drink in the black-and-gray lines of script and some sort of claws covering the expanse of his left pec, leading right up to the tight, pink bud of his nipple that I weirdly have the urge to suck on. I’m too horny to function, probably.

“Your turn,” he murmurs, fingers finding the hem of my T-shirt.

I’m worrying about what kind of bra I’m wearing, or if I remembered to shave under my arms this morning, and several other ridiculous things as he wrestles my shirt over my head, but when I see his mouth part, his throat work with a swallow, his eyes greedily taking me in wearing nothing but a bra—it’s pink polka dots, turns out, which isn’t terrible, all things considered—I forget to be worried about anything.

“Fuck, Lila, you’re…”

He trails off, eyes still moving over my body hungrily, making me desperate for whatever he was going to say.

“I’m…?”

He presses one thick finger between my collarbones, letting it drag slowly down over my sternum to the valley between my breasts as his breath stutters.

“Fucking edible.”

Honestly not what I expected, but judging by the way everything between my legs clenches, I’m apparently a big fan of the descriptor. I’m about to tell him to get down here and taste me then, but he’s already reaching for the button of my jeans, seeming in an awful hurry now, for someone who said they didn’t want to do this rushed. He’s so focused on the task of seeing more of me that I forget all about what’s waiting underneath the denim, right up until he pauses with my jeans shucked around my hips, pulling one of his hands away to brush a thumb against the soft skin by the bone there.

The pad of his thumb traces the soft colors, sliding over the pink icing, the blue wrapper, lingering on the little red cherry on top, his eyes growing more and more hooded with every second. “You really do have one.”

“I told you I did,” I say hoarsely.

“A cupcake?”

His voice is tight. “When?”

“When I turned nineteen.”

He presses against the cherry on top of the icing, flicking his gaze up to meet mine with an intensity that makes me shiver. “And were you thinking of me when you got it?”

“Maybe,” I answer quietly. “Just a little.”

“Fuck.” His entire palm covers the tattoo, his fingers wrapping around the fleshy bits of my hip and squeezing. “That shouldn’t turn me on, right?”

“Kinda hoping it does, actually, since I’m wanting to get to those plans you talked about.”

His body bends, and I suck in a breath, having no warning before his warm, wet mouth is pressing against the ink that his hand had just been covering.

“It does,” he mumbles into my skin. “Everything about you does.” He’s tugging at my jeans again, dragging them down my legs with an urgency that makes my nipples tighten and my pussy throb. “Wanna taste you. Want to know if you taste as sweet as you look.”

“O-okay,” I manage, my skin feeling tight with anticipation. “No complaints here.”

My jeans join his shirt on the floor, and my breath catches when he kisses his way back up my calf, against my knee, my inner thighs—pushing them apart before burying his nose against my underwear without any warning whatsoever to actually inhale me and making my back bow off the bed of its own accord. I don’t think my brain was ever capable of imagining this—this ferocity that he seems to have in the need to touch me, taste me—but it’s better than my imagination. It’s better because it’s him, because it’s real.

“Is this okay?” he asks directly to the increasingly wet fabric between my legs. “Can I?”

So polite, my Ian.

I grin lazily. “Have at it, Cupcake. I was promised an orgasm.”

“Thank fuck,” he grunts.

He doesn’t even bother to peel my underwear off, apparently too impatient for that; he hooks a finger under the elastic at the crease in my thigh, pulling it to the side and wasting no time sliding his hot tongue right through the crease of me.

“Oh God,” I moan.

“My name,” he practically growls, surprising me in the best way. “You say my name when I’m between your legs.”

“Ian,” I whine when he licks me again, humming against the most sensitive part of me before he swirls around the bud of my clit. “There,” I sigh. “Right there. That’s what I need.”

He flicks my clit again. “Here?”

“Yes,” I hiss through my teeth.

“Mm.”

He wraps his lips around my clit to suck, and the urge to prop up so I can watch is too strong to resist. His eyes peer up at me as he alternates between long pulls with his mouth and soft swirls of his tongue, watching the way it drives me crazy.

He’s making sounds I’ve never heard him make—soft grunts and chest-laden moans that I can feel on the most sensitive part of me, and I feel my thighs clenching against the softness of his dark red hair that tickles my skin. I can feel my mouth hanging open; I’m unable to look away from the sight of him between my legs but also physically incapable of forming coherent thought outside of Ian is between my fucking legs—and the way he laps at my pussy like he’s trying to consume me is enough to have me hurtling toward something mind-blowing.

“I-Ian,” I whimper, reaching down to card my fingers through his hair. “Right there. I’m going to fucking come.”

His eyes shut tight as his hand slides under his body, and I can see his shoulders trembling, feel them quivering against my thighs as a tortured groan leaves him. I let out a whine of protest when he suddenly releases me, his forehead resting on my hip as ragged breaths puff against my clit, almost enough to finish me off but not quite.

“What the fuck,” I pant. “Don’t stop.”

“Gonna come,” he grinds out, his arm moving beneath him, and I realize he’s squeezing himself to prevent it from happening. “Fuck, your sounds,” he rasps. “Your taste.” He shudders again. “You’re going to make me come.”

I like that. I really like that. Ian Chase being so into eating me out that he almost comes in his pants? Yeah. Suddenly not as outraged at being left hanging.

I tug on his shoulders until he painstakingly crawls back up my body, melding his mouth to mine. I can taste myself on his tongue, and that knowledge has me shuddering too.

“I want to come with you inside me,” I murmur. “Wanna feel that cock I’ve been dreaming about forever.”

“Jesus, Lila,” he groans. “Are you actually trying to kill me?”

“The French call an orgasm ‘the little death,’?” I chuckle softly. “La petite mort.”

“Keep talking French, and I might still come.”

I grin as I lean into his ear, whispering, “Je veux que tu me baise, Ian”

“Fuck.”

His hands grip my waist as he licks and sucks at the sensitive place beneath my ear, and he blessedly lifts his hips just enough so that I can reach between us to fumble with the button of his jeans. Every soft scrape of his beard against my throat has me trembling, a condition that we seem to share, if the way he shivers when my hand delves inside his pants is any indication. He’s hard and so warm in my palm when I cup him through the soft cotton of his underwear, and I can’t help but give his cock a slow stroke that has him tensing against me.

“Je veux cette grosse queue,” I tell him softly.

He arches into my hand. “Tell me what it means.”

“I want this big cock,” I purr. “I was promised an orgasm, remember?”

I can practically hear him swallow, it’s so loud. “Do you have condoms?”

“Bedside table.”

There’s a tension in his jaw when he lifts up and peers down at me, obviously thinking about the last time I might’ve used them, and sure, if it were any other man, I might kick his ass. But this is Ian, and I’m realizing that I like him jealous. I like him hating the idea of me with anyone else.

I lean up to kiss his cheek. “I haven’t used them in a long time.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he mutters sheepishly.

I feel my lips curl. “I know.”

He rolls away from me with renewed urgency, and I take advantage of the opportunity to rid myself of my bra, tossing it to the floor.

“I wanted to do that,” he huffs as his knee dips on the bed, sans jeans and condom in hand. “Fuck, look at you.”

And he is. Looking at me. He presses his palm against the top of my belly, slowly pushing upward until his fingers are smoothing through the soft skin between my breasts.

“Fucking edible,” he murmurs again.

And as if to prove his point, he leans in close until I can feel the warmth of his breath against my nipple, and it hardens in anticipation. The first flick of his tongue is tentative, like a tease, but just like when his mouth was between my legs, it takes him no time at all to wrap his lips around the stiff peak and suck it into his mouth, leaving me a moaning mess by the time he releases me with a wet pop.

“How do you want me?”

I blink dazedly, trying to process the question. “Huh?”

“You said you’ve fantasized about this.” Another slow pull of his lips around my nipple before, “I want to make sure to get it right.”

My mind flicks through a dozen scenarios that I’ve dreamt up over the years, feeling like a kid in a candy store with it being left up to me. Although, I think it’s one of those situations where there’s no wrong answer. But still, there’s one picture that is solid in my thoughts, and if we are working through my list, it’s as good a place to start as any.

“On top,” I say breathlessly. “I want to ride you.”

“You really are going to kill me with that mouth of yours,” he huffs. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to get used to it.”

I sit up, smirking at him as I reach for his underwear. I tug at the elastic, pushing at his hips simultaneously to urge him to go where I want him. He falls down onto his back with the same eagerness he’s given everything else, watching me through hooded eyes as I start to drag his boxer briefs down his thick thighs. I don’t think I could ever be fully prepared for the experience that is seeing Ian’s cock for the first time; it slaps up against his abs, hard and red and so fucking thick I press my thighs together in anticipation—and if I wasn’t so desperate to have him inside me, I would definitely be pushing the “sucking his dick” issue.

Later. Definitely later.

“You look pretty edible yourself, Cupcake,” I tease. I hold out my hand, gesturing to the condom he is still holding. “Gimme that.”

He passes it to me wordlessly, never taking his eyes off what I’m doing. I can feel the weight of his gaze as I tear open the wrapper with my teeth, biting gently at my lip as I concentrate on rolling it over his thick length. His large hand wraps around the base, giving himself a slow, lazy stroke when he’s fully encased, still tracking my every move as I push up on my knees, grinning at him as I shimmy out of my underwear. His fingers curl around my hip—and it turns me on even further that he can encompass me entirely, given how generous my hips are—to steady me as I lift my leg to straddle his waist, my heartbeat thumping away in my ears as his eyes drift between my legs.

“Fucking hell.” His palm slides across my hip bone, his thumb dipping between my thighs to slip between them to tease my clit. “Look how wet you are.” His thumb glides through my folds in a slow back-and-forth, his breath punching out of him like it’s a chore. “Is that for me?”

My lashes flutter as I nod, sucking in a breath. “Mhm.”

“Come here, sweet girl,” he hums. “Wanna watch you sit on my cock.”

I brace my hands on his abs that feel like granite under my fingers, imagining for a moment tracing each groove with my tongue. Something else for later, I think. I rock my hips back and forth so that I can grind down on his cock without actually taking him inside, delighted that his gasp is as loud as mine.

“Lila,” he murmurs. “Need you.”

It’s a good sort of overwhelmed that I feel, hearing that—the elation of knowing he needs me, that he wants me—threatening to fill me up to the point of bursting. Even more so than I know he’s about to. He’s still holding his cock with one hand, but the other wanders, teasing the soft curves of my belly and the supple skin of my thigh until every inch of me feels like one big nerve, oversensitized to the point of almost being too much.

“Watch me,” I tell him, reaching between us to brush my fingers against his. I take over holding him steady, catching his gaze as I notch him right where I want him. “Watch.”

And he does—eyes fixed on the place where he slowly starts to slip inside—the delicious stretch of him filling me, causing me to clench around him involuntarily as a ragged breath falls out of my mouth. I take him inch by inch until I can feel the soft hair of his massive thighs against my ass, supporting my weight, and I can’t help but circle my hips experimentally, just feeling him.

Ian’s head tips back then, his lips parting. “Fuck.”

“Mm. You like?”

He grits his teeth. “You’re lucky I haven’t come already.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I’m begging you to move,” he groans. “Put me out of my misery, Lila.”

I lift up just a little, dropping on his cock as the slap of skin rings through the air. “Like that?”

“You’re being a brat again,” he says through gritted teeth.

A breathy laugh escapes me. “I think you like it.”

“Yeah?” He grips my hips with both hands, his molten gaze tilting up to find mine. “I think you like being one.”

The sharp smack takes me by surprise—slightly harder than the others, but that could be because it’s bare skin. Whatever I’d been about to say dies on my tongue as a garbled moan tumbles past my lips, my pussy clenching hard around the throbbing weight of his cock that’s buried inside me.

“Ian.”

“Like that?” he says, echoing me. “You like that, sweet girl?”

My movements are instinctual now, my body lifting from his cock without thought before slamming back down as I nod frantically. “Do it again.”

“Yeah?” Another loud crack rings through my bedroom as his palm lands against the rounded curve of my ass, making it tremble as I start to find an actual rhythm. “You want me to spank the brat out of you?”

“Need it,” I sigh. “Need you.”

“You have me, sweetheart,” he coos, landing another smack. “You’ve got all of me.”

My head falls back when he tilts up his hips, bracing his feet on the mattress beneath us to gain some leverage as he starts meeting my thrusts.

“It’s too much,” he groans. “You feel too fucking good.”

“Don’t stop,” I plead in a low whine. “Please don’t stop.”

“Not until I feel you come on this cock,” he grates. “Want to feel your sweet little pussy soaking me.”

For the love of all that’s holy—praise be to the dirty talk gods.

“Then fuck me harder,” I tell him, sounding out of breath and much less teasing than I intend. “I can take it.”

Another smack to the ass for my efforts, and I actually tremble.

“So fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, his thumb dipping between my legs again to circle the throbbing button of my clit. “Need to see you come. Can you come for me? Wanna feel you.”

“Right there,” I whimper. “Keep touching me.”

His hips slam into me harder now, bouncing me on his cock and shaking the entire bed with the force of his efforts, and I have to actually hold on to his waist just to keep myself steady. I feel that hot pressure building between my legs, hurtling toward the precipice of something earth-shattering.

“You’re getting so tight,” he gasps. “So fucking tight. Are you close?”

I nod quickly, eyes shut tight as I chase after the orgasm that is right there. “Yes, just—Don’t stop. Keep—Right there, I—Holy fucking shit, I—”

My entire body curls inward when I come, my forehead resting against Ian’s chest as I shiver and shake. His still-thrusting cock means that it goes on and on and on, so much so that it almost feels like dying, but in the very best way.

Little death is right.

I’m still shaking when I feel his rhythm falter, his hips stuttering and his arms coming around me to hold me tight as he fucks into the wet mess he’s made, his lips resting against my forehead, his breath washing against my skin there.

“Fuck. Fuck, Lila.”

He gets so tense beneath me, when he comes undone, his fingers clutching me so tightly I imagine there might be bruises tomorrow, but I want that. I want the reminder of what we’ve done. I want the proof that this is fucking real.

We both lie still after, catching our breath, time passing at an unknown pace. I can’t say when it is that my melted brain registers the slow stroking of his fingers up and down my spine; maybe it’s when his lips start to press lingering kisses down the side of my face, maybe that’s when I come back online.

“Wow,” I laugh, my voice sounding scratchy and not quite like me. “That was…”

“Fucking amazing,” he finishes.

I grin into his chest. “Yeah?”

“Gimme a bit, and we’re doing it again.”

I lift my head, feeling a strange sort of thrill run through me. “Really?”

His brow scrunches. He looks so fucking delicious like this—sweat-slick skin and too-red lips and eyes that are a shade too dark with pupils that are entirely blown out—and it only occurred to me this very second that there was some deep, deep part of me that worried he would change his mind after. After we gave in.

“Did you think I wouldn’t want to do it again?”

Did I? I must have, right? What other reason would suddenly make me feel so unsure?

“I…Maybe?”

He frowns, pushing up from the bed and bringing us to a sitting position without seeming to exert any effort whatsoever. It really is unfairly hot how easily he manhandles me.

“Lila,” he says in a tone that almost seems chiding. “This wasn’t—” He puffs out a breath, shaking his head. “This wasn’t just sex to me. I couldn’t do that. Not with you. I could never do that with you. This is…” His hand reaches until his palm covers my cheek, and my fingers drift there to hold it steady like they have a mind of their own. “This is so much more than that. Do you understand?”

I honestly can’t say that I do, not one hundred percent, but the sincerity in his eyes, the absolute truth in them—it makes it hard to argue.

“Okay,” I say quietly. “Me too.”

He kisses me in that way of his—like he has all the time in the world, but he wants to use every second of it for me—slow, dirty, but with the promise of so much more.

“You’ve got bigger things to worry about,” he mumbles, a smile in his voice.

I frown, pulling back. “What?”

“Well.” He brings his finger to my lip, tracing the shape of it slowly as a devious grin spreads across his face. “We still have to tell Jack.”

I groan as I slump forward, ignoring the tiny oomph Ian lets out when I cover him with my weight, dropping my face to his shoulder. Definitely was not anticipating the buzzkill that is thoughts of my brother after having dream sex with my dream guy.

“You ass,” I grumble. “Way to kill the mood.”

Ian laughs loudly, thinking he’s funny, no doubt, the bastard, but I certainly don’t. Probably. Mostly. Not even the tiny kisses he starts to pepper across my shoulder are enough to make me forgive him. Nope. Definitely not.

His tongue slowly traces the curve that leads up to my neck.

On second thought…