Chapter 8
IVY
That same night, I snuck away to drive to Will’s place.
He lived in a small house just ten minutes away from campus. It wasn’t far, but it was secluded enough. His house stood at the edge of a small forest. I never came out here, but I would from now on.
I parked my car next to his and got out to head over to the front door, and before I could even reach it, he opened it.
I smiled. “Hi.”
“Hey.” He looked around before reaching for my hand, pulling me inside without giving me a moment to think about what was happening.
“Is everything okay?” I asked as he closed the door behind me.
He still didn’t say a word. Instead, he pushed me back against the wall and kissed me.
I sighed in surprise but melted into him immediately.
His tongue pushed into my mouth, curling around mine as his hands wrapped around my thighs to pick me up. I put my legs around his hips, moaning as he deepened the kiss by tilting his head to the side.
“I’m so fucking glad you’re here,” he murmured into the kiss, grabbing my ass tightly as he pressed his middle against mine.
I was glad too. Here, we didn’t have to hide. We could just…be.
He kissed me slower, his lips moving gently with mine before he pulled back to look at me. He smiled, then slowly let me back down. Lifting both hands, he cupped my face and brushed my cheeks with his thumbs. “Nobody will bother us here.”
I nodded slowly, smiling gently. “I know. I’m happy.”
“Good. Me too.” He leaned in to kiss me again, and when he moved away, he added, “I cooked us something. You’ve not eaten all day.”
That was true.
I only had a couple of snacks from the vending machine, and once I got home, I had a sandwich. I loved how much he cared about me.
“What did you make?” I asked, admiring him as he simply stood there.
“Chicken breast with beans. Nothing fancy.”
“Sounds good.”
He smiled back and pressed another kiss to my lips before guiding me through the living room and to the open kitchen. His home was exactly how I imagined it to be.
There were canvases and three easels standing around in the corners, with finished paintings hanging on the walls, and a large bookshelf on the wall across from the couch.
He had a fireplace, and it looked—and smelled—like he recently used it.
Most of his furniture was made of dark wood and leather, and the mostly muted colors scattered all around made the place feel cozy.
“I like it here,” I said as I sat down on one of the stools.
“Yeah, me too. I moved in here three years ago. It’s quiet around here.”
“I can imagine.” I looked out the kitchen window, seeing only trees. “I wonder what it’s like when it storms.”
Will smiled and looked at me over his shoulder as he stood in front of the stove. “It’s the most beautiful thing. The trees scratch around the roof and sides of the house, and the rain splattering all around is the perfect white noise to fall asleep to.”
I watched him as he spoke, unsure if he knew how poetic he sometimes sounded. “Sounds dreamy.”
“You might be in luck tonight. Just heard on the radio that a storm is rolling in.”
I had heard that too on my drive here, but the sky was so bright that I believed the weatherman was wrong. “I hope so.”
He glanced back at me again with a crooked grin. “Me too. I want you to hear it from here.”
A flutter stirred in my chest. I looked around again, taking in every little piece of him that lived in this space.
His brushes in a mug by the sink, sketchpads piled near the fireplace, his jacket slung over the back of a leather armchair.
It felt like him. Warm. Grounded. Thoughtful. And now, quietly, mine.
Dinner was ready a few minutes later, and we sat at the small wooden table by the kitchen window.
The sky was dimming, and the soft light of the lamps in his house warmed up the place.
He poured me a glass of wine, and we ate slowly, talking about everything and nothing.
Music hummed low in the background, some old bluesy guitar piece that fit the mood perfectly.
He made me laugh, and I made him pause mid-chew when I said something that surprised him. We shared a plate of fresh fruit afterward, and when I told him the chicken was perfect, he gave me this little boy grin, proud and bashful all at once.
He told me he rarely cooked for a woman, but that he was going to cook for me more often in the future. I liked that.
When we were done, I started gathering the plates, but he reached for my hand. “Nope. Sit. I’ll clean up.”
“You sure?” I asked, already sliding off the chair.
“I cooked. You relax.”
I didn’t argue. Instead, I hopped up onto the counter near the sink, crossing my ankles as I watched him rinse the plates and stack them into the dishwasher. The sleeves of his button-down were rolled to his elbows, and his forearms flexed every time he reached or moved.
“You always do your dishes right away?” I teased.
“Old habit,” he said without looking at me. “My mom used to hate waking up to dirty dishes. Guess it stuck.”
I tilted my head. “You lived with your parentsong?”
“Until I left for college. My dad wasn't around much because of his work, so it was mostly my mom and me. She worked a lot too, but she was the kind of person who made a home feel like home, you know?”
I nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at me. “You’re like that too.”
He paused. Glanced at me over his shoulder, brows slightly lifted. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You make things feel…safe.”
The silence that followed was thick with something unspoken. Something real.
He turned back to the sink, rinsing the last plate before placing it carefully on the rack. “You do that for me, too,” he said after a moment, quieter now.
Outside, the first few drops of rain began to fall. Soft, scattered, tapping lightly on the windowpane. I smiled.
“You hear that?”
He turned the faucet off and wiped his hands on a towel. “Told you it was coming.”
I reached out my hand and touched the side of his face to get him to face me. “Then it’s the perfect night.”
He stepped between my legs and put his hands on my hips, then leaned down to kiss me. His lips moved slowly, and they felt warm and tasted faintly of wine. The storm was just beginning, but everything else…this kitchen, his touch, the weight of his hands on my body, was already everything I needed.
He carried me to the couch where he sat down, making me straddle his lap.
My skirt bunched up over my thighs, and I could feel the outline of his cock through the thin cotton of my underwear.
I rolled my hips, shifting over him, letting the friction build and heat pool in low, secret places.
His hands tightened on my hips, then slid under my t-shirt, up my ribs, thumbs pressing softly on the undersides of my breasts through the bra.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said, words muffled by the kiss. His tongue traced my lower lip, and I let him in, opening for a long, wet kiss.
I ground against him, feeling the rigid outline of him grow even harder. For a second I just wanted to keep going, to ride the pressure until I broke, but I wanted to take my time, to savor his body and the way he looked at me as if I were the only thing that mattered in the world.
“I want to taste you,” I said. The words surprised even me. It was a reckless confession. His face changed into a twist of lust, pride, and complete lack of apology.
“You tasted me, now I want to taste you.”
“You ever done that before, darling?” he asked, and I quickly shook my head.
“No, but I want to try.”
He leaned back, giving me the space to slide off his lap and kneel between his legs. “You can’t do anything wrong,” he assured me, brushing aside a strand of my hair.
The lightning through the windows turned his skin a strange, pale blue for an instant.
I ran my hands up his thighs, feeling the soft, faded denim against my palms, then worked the button and zipper.
He arched his hips up a little to help, and I tugged both jeans and boxers down at once, exposing him.
He was already fully hard, thick and flushed, and I wrapped my hand around the base, thumb pressing gently into the sensitive underside. I liked the way he looked at me then. Half-pain, half-anticipation, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Or, letting it happen.
I bit my lower lip before leaning in. I had seen this in movies. Yeah, those kinds of movies. I wasn’t a prude. I knew about porn and sex and everything dirty. But this would be the first time I gave a man a blowjob. One of many I hoped to give him. And only him.
I licked a slow trail from the base to the tip, then back down, savoring the way he shuddered just slightly under my mouth.
He hissed in a breath when I took him in, slowly, letting my lips slide down the length of him, tongue pressed flat against the ridge.
I started with a lazy rhythm, dragging it out just enough, pulling back to swirl my tongue around the head before sinking down again, deeper each time.
His hands slid into my hair, not to control, just to hold on, his fingers flexing with each pass.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, voice ragged and naked. “You look so fucking good on your knees for me.”
I hummed in response, and he jerked a little, the vibration making him grip my hair tighter.
I worked him with my mouth, hands stroking what I couldn’t take, tasting salt and skin and the knowledge that I was undoing him.
He started to rock his hips, small at first, but growing lost in the pleasure, fucking into my mouth.
I let him, let myself be used, and it made me feel powerful, starved and worshipped all at once.
“Goddamn, baby. That mouth is perfect.”
I looked up at him and smiled through my eyes—because it was truly impossible to actually smile with his cock in my mouth.
I was proud of myself for not backing down. For being confident.
“I’m about to come, darling. You gotta let me know if you want my cum in your mouth. Or if you want it somewhere else.” He gripped my hair tighter, and I looked at him again.
Without taking him out of my mouth, I silently let him understand that I wanted him to come in my mouth. I continued to suck his cock, and a slow grin tugged at the corners of his lips.
“You gonna swallow it, too?” he challenged.
That, I wasn’t so sure about.
The idea of his cum puddling in my mouth didn’t disgust me. Ruby often talked about how she hated the taste and consistency of cum. But I couldn’t judge that without having tried it first.
I gave him a small nod.
“Good girl,” he praised. His voice was tight and hoarse, and I didn’t stop.
I closed my eyes and took him deeper, felt his cock pulse and twitch as he came.
His grunts made me clench my thighs, and my pussy reacted to the sounds he made. His cum filled my mouth, and bit by bit, I swallowed it all.
“Goddamn beautiful,” he murmured as he calmed down. His eyelids were lowered and his breath was shallow. And he looked so damn hot. “Come here.”
I let his cock plop out of my mouth and moved up to straddle his lap again. He cupped the back of my head and pulled me to him, kissing me intensely, and tasting himself on my tongue. It didn’t bother him, which made him as a man even more attractive.
“That felt incredible,” he murmured between kisses, making me smile.
I wanted him inside me, but he told me he needed a moment before he could get hard again. I didn’t push, but I helped quicken the process by rubbing my pussy against his length until he was ready.
***
We were on the couch, naked, legs tangled, and his arms tightly around me.
He kept kissing my forehead while I kept my eyes closed, enjoying the closeness. The calm. The storm outside.
It was perfect.
His breathing had slowed, steady against the crown of my head.
I stayed curled into him, my cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart.
One of his hands was splayed across my back, the other tracing lazy, absentminded circles on my hip.
Neither of us spoke for a while. We didn’t need to.
Outside, the rain picked up, tapping harder against the windows, and thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. But inside, everything was still. Warm. Safe.
I shifted slightly to get more comfortable, and he adjusted with me, pulling a blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over us.
“You good?” he murmured, his voice soft and sleepy now.
“Yeah,” I whispered, tightening my arm around his middle. “Really good.”
His lips brushed against my temple. “You sure?”
I nodded, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. “I could stay like this forever.”
He chuckled lightly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “You can. I’m not moving.”
We lay there for a long time, bodies warm beneath the blanket, letting the storm play its soundtrack in the background. It was the kind of quiet I hadn’t known I needed. No words. No hiding. Just the weight of him holding me together.
Eventually, his hand found mine beneath the blanket, and he laced our fingers.
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself feel completely still. Completely his.