Chapter 29
The moment we're in our room, Ivy stumbles toward the bed, and every instinct in me screams to follow. To press her into that mattress until she forgets anyone else ever existed but me.
She faceplants onto the bed while I shut the curtains. "Everything's spinning."
"That's what happens when . . ." The words evaporate as she starts wrestling with her robe, the silk sliding off one shoulder to reveal milky skin. "Fuck, Ivy, don't—"
"S'hot in here," she mumbles into the mattress, then starts wiggling like a drunk caterpillar trying to escape its cocoon. "Help? I'm stuck."
I keep my eyes firmly on the ceiling. "You're not stuck, you're just—" A soft thud follows. "Did you fall off the bed?"
"No." A pause, filled with drunk dignity. "Maybe." Her giggle hits me low and deep. "But the floor's really comfy."
When I glance down, she's sprawled on the plush carpet, dress rucked up to reveal an endless expanse of creamy thigh. Blood rushes in my ears as certain parts of my anatomy remind me exactly how long it's been since I've had sex with anyone.
"Ivy—"
"Oh! I need my skincare routine." She stretches onto her back, eyes locking on mine and knocking the air straight out of my lungs. The position puts her on display like an offering I'm not holy enough to resist.
"Let's get you back on the bed." My voice breaks as I reach for her, and the moment my fingers graze bare skin, electricity shoots straight to my groin.
Bad idea. Terrible fucking idea.
"Mmm, getting me into bed already?" She peers up through her lashes, then hiccups.
"For fuck's sake." I haul her up, keeping my hands strictly PG-rated even as she melts against me. "You're testing every ounce of self-control I have."
"Good. I want you to snap." She flops onto the bed. "I need to change." By the time it sinks in, Ivy's already stripping out of her clothes.
"Shit!" I whip around, but not before my brain catalogs every inch of navy lace that'll fuel my fantasies for the next decade. "Ivy!"
"What?" She sounds genuinely confused. "It's just underwear."
"Don't you dare—"
Something soft smacks against my shoulder, then falls to the floor with a soft thump. When I glance down, there's her bra, lying discarded like the world's sexiest landmine, waiting to detonate what's left of my self-control.
"Whoops." The sultry giggle in her voice makes me want to pin her against the nearest wall. "Now, where did I put my..." She trails off, and the rustling behind me suggests she's giving me a show I'm simultaneously grateful and devastated to be missing.
I snag my shirt from my bag, throwing it behind me. "Put this on before I do something we'll both regret."
"Ooh, it smells like you."
If I survive this night, it'll be a miracle.
"Safe to look?"
"Mmhmm. All decent. Mostly."
She's drowning in my shirt, the hem hitting mid-thigh, and something possessive stirs in my chest at the sight. I grab her toiletry bag, desperate for distraction. "Skincare time."
"Yes! Can you help me?" She bounces on the bed. "First is the blue bottle. No, wait—the pink one. The tall pink one. No, the short pink one. The mushroom one!"
I force my eyes to her collection of bottles instead of where that shirt's slipping off her shoulder. "None of these resemble mushrooms, babe."
"The fancy one! With the gold cap!" She crawls toward me on all fours, and Jesus fuck—this is how I die. "It's expensive, and Korean, and makes me look ten years younger."
My dick throbs as she leans over my shoulder, her breath hot against my neck. "That's . . . not helping." I grab the first bottle within reach. "This one?"
"No! That's step seven!" She presses closer. "The cleansing balm is . . . somewhere."
Five minutes of pure torture later, I find what might finally be right. She's practically in my lap now, and I'm one twitch away from losing my goddamn mind.
"Close your eyes." I sit beside her, but she nuzzles into my space like a drunk kitten with no sense of self-preservation.
"You have to massage it in circles," she demonstrates with little finger movements that shouldn't be erotic but somehow are. "Like you're petting a very small, very fancy cat."
If someone had told me last month, that I'd be doing a fucking twelve-step skincare routine for a girl while fighting the hardest erection of my life, I'd have laughed in their face.
But this is Ivy.
So I'm sitting here, carefully applying some ridiculously expensive cream to her face while she makes little content sounds.
"Now the foamy one." Her eyes stay closed, lips parted, and it sparks the sharp urge to sink my teeth into them. "The one that smells like clouds."
"Clouds don't smell like anything."
"Yes they do! They smell like . . ." She yawns. "Like clean laundry and angel tears."
Twenty minutes, and a hundred dollar’s worth of products later, she's glowing. I've definitely fucked up the order, and probably violated several skincare laws, but she looks so happy I can't regret it.
"Perfect." She beams up at me, face shining.
I grab water and Advil, desperate for space. "Drink this. Future you will thank me."
"Future me is future me's problem." But she takes the pills anyway, then flops onto the bed with a sigh.
I glance at the couch by the window. It's going to destroy my back, but it's safer than—
"Caleb." She pats the space beside her. "Don't be stupid."
My fingers strangle the pillow. "That's not the point."
"What, you think I'm going to jump you in your sleep?" Her attempt at eyebrow waggling just makes her look cross-eyed, but somehow it's still sexy. "I mean, no promises, but . . ."
"And on that note—" I turn toward the couch.
"Please?" The vulnerability in her voice stops me cold. "I just . . . I don't want to be alone."
Fuck me sideways.
"Fine." I drop the pillow. "But you're staying on your side."
And I'm going straight to hell.
I strip down to my boxers, every nerve ending on high alert as her gaze tracks my movements. The air crackles with something dangerous. When I chance a peek, she's watching me through heavy-lidded eyes.
"Like what you see?"
She's not even pretending to look away. "Yes."
The way she says it makes something in my chest crack. Because she has no clue what she does to me. No idea that every time she looks at me like that, another thread of my control snaps.
I kill the lights and slide into bed, keeping a deliberate distance. "Sleep."
Silence stretches between us, broken only by soft breathing. I'm painfully aware of every breath, every shift, every whisper of sheets. My skin stretches taut, itching to crawl toward her heat without my permission.
"Caleb?"
Her whisper cuts through the dark, and my fingers curl into the sheets. "Yeah?"
"Do you ever think about it?"
My heart kicks against my ribs. "About what?"
"About us. About what it would be like."
"Ivy . . ."
"Because I do." She shifts closer. "Think about it. Think about kissing you. How you'd feel—"
"Stop." But my body's already betraying me, blood rushing south as she presses against my side.
"What if I don't want to stop?"
Her palm finds my chest in the dark, and every rational thought evaporates as her fingers trail lower.
"This isn't you," I manage, catching her wrist before those wandering touches can destroy what's left of my sanity.
"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think."
"Trust me, I—" But the words die as she shifts, throwing one leg over my hips until she's straddling me.
"Still want me to stop?" She rolls her hips experimentally.
"Fuck." My hands find her thighs on instinct, torn between dragging her closer and pushing her away. "Ivy."
"Please." She breathes it against my mouth.
Screw it.
I snap like a fucking rubber band, surging up to crush my mouth against hers. My fingers twist in her hair, grip tight enough to make her gasp. She opens for me instantly, and the first slide of her tongue against mine has my brain fracturing into static.
She tastes like champagne, and impending catastrophe. Like every red flag I should've heeded but couldn't resist, and now I'm mainlining her like a drug.
"Fuck, babe." The word fractures as she rolls her hips in a slow figure eight, the heat of her core blazing through thin cotton. My hands slide up to grip her waist as she experiments with angles that have my vision spotting.
She shifts forward, changing the pressure and making us both moan. The new position lets her drag herself along my full length, and the heat soaking through the layers leaves no doubt how wet she is.
When she rocks back, then eases in again slower, my hips buck up involuntarily.
She's lethal. Sharp nails scoring my chest, teeth finding my pulse point, body moving like she's studied exactly how to break me. I grip her ass, guiding her movements until we find a rhythm that has her gasping my name.
Each roll of her hips gets more deliberate. When she leans back, bracing her hands on my thighs, the view nearly kills me—my shirt riding up her stomach, her head tipping toward the ceiling, grinding against me while she chases her own pleasure.
"Look at you." My hands grip her tighter, guiding each motion. The new angle drags her clit right over my cock, and the sound she makes ruin me.
She leans in, chest flush to mine. Her mouth finds my neck, and when she bites down on my shoulder, my hips jerk up.
"Touch me."
My hands move on instinct, rough palms sliding beneath the fabric to trace skin I used to think I'd never get to touch like this. She arches, and I cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over tight, perfect nipples that make her moan.
"That's it," I growl, as she grinds down harder, thighs trembling. "Show me how much you need it."
"Yes," she keens. "God, I want you."
"You can't just say shit like that." My entire body tightens and I tip my head back with a low groan.
"Caleb, please."
I'm going to come. Going to lose it in my boxers. I’m seconds away from total nuclear meltdown, and I don't even care because she's saying my name like it's salvation and my brain's completely offline.
"Fuck—don't stop—don't you dare fucking stop—"
She hiccups.
And it's like slamming into a wall.
The spell shatters, and blood rushes from my dick to my heart so fast I might pass out.
What the fuck am I doing?
"Stop." My hands find her hips, holding her still even though every part of me is screaming not to. "We can't."
Her eyes flutter open, glazed and confused. "But I want—"
"You're wasted." Self-loathing rises like bile. "And I'm not. I can't be that guy. Not with you."
She jerks away. "Not with me?" Her voice cracks. "But you can be that guy with every other girl who throws herself at you?"
"Ivy—"
"No." She slides off me, and the loss leaves a hollow that shouldn't ache this much. "I thought after this week, after everything . . ." Her laugh comes out hollow. "I'm such an idiot."
"You're drunk. You don't actually want—"
"Don't tell me what I want." Her voice wavers, caught between hurt and anger.
"We're drunk," I say flatly, like that explains everything. "This isn't . . . we're not thinking straight."
She's quiet for a long moment. "Right." The word comes out small. "Because this would be such a terrible mistake."
Ivy rolls away, taking all the warmth with her, and the six inches between us might as well be the Grand fucking Canyon.
Her breathing's uneven, and I press the heel of my hand to my eyes.
Shit.
Tomorrow, she'll wake up with a hangover and laugh it off, blame the champagne, tell me we're good. I'll bring her coffee with three sugars. She'll share her muffin without asking. We'll slide back into our rhythm like we didn't just set fire to the rulebook.
It’ll be fine. It has to be.
If I act normal, she will too.