Chapter 7 - Ivy
Owen Harper is sitting on my couch with his arm around me, and I just had my first kiss at thirty-three years old, and all I can think about is that I want more.
So much more.
I've spent fifteen years imagining this. Imagining him. What it would feel like if he touched me. If his hands explored every inch of my body that I've spent my whole life apologizing for. If he touched me *there*, in places no one else has ever touched. If he was my first.
My only.
And sitting here, tucked against his side, his heart beating steady under my ear, it feels like the perfect moment to find out.
I know it's rushed. I know we just confessed our feelings minutes ago.
I know the logical, spreadsheet-making part of my brain is screaming that this is too fast, too much, too soon.
But we've also wasted fifteen years. Fifteen years of being too scared, too caught up in our own heads to see what was right in front of us.
I don't want to waste another minute.
The problem is, I have no idea how to ask for this. How do you tell someone you want them to take your virginity? Is there a script? A proper way to bring it up?
*Hey, Owen, great kiss. Want to fuck me?*
God, that's terrible.
"Hey." Owen's voice breaks through my spiral. "You okay? You got really quiet."
I look up at him. At those warm brown eyes behind his glasses, at the concerned crease between his eyebrows. He's so beautiful it hurts.
"I'm just thinking," I say.
"About?"
"About how we could have done this fifteen years ago. How we were both complete idiots."
He laughs, and I feel it rumble through his chest. "Yeah, we really were. Levi's going to be insufferable when he finds out he was right all along."
"We should have paid attention to him."
"We should have paid attention to a lot of things." His hand is tracing lazy circles on my shoulder, and it's distracting in the best way. "But we're here now. That's what matters."
"Maybe we should seize the moment," I hear myself say. "Make up for lost time."
His hand stills. "What do you mean?"
I sit up, turning to face him. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "I mean... maybe we shouldn't wait anymore. Maybe we should just... go for it."
Owen's eyes search mine, and I can see him trying to figure out what I'm saying. What I'm asking for.
"Ivy—"
"I know it's fast. I know we just… I mean, I just had my first kiss. But Owen, I don't want to overthink anymore. For once in my life, I want to just... jump."
He moves closer, reaching up to cup my face with one hand. His thumb traces my cheekbone, and the touch sends shivers down my spine. "Are you sure about this?"
"No," I admit. "I'm not sure at all. But it feels right. And I'm tired of waiting for the perfect moment or the perfect circumstances. This is already perfect because it's you."
"Ivy..."
"I want you," I whisper. "I've wanted you for fifteen years. And I know I don't know what I'm doing, and I'll probably be terrible at it, but—"
He kisses me.
It's different from the first kiss. Deeper. His hand slides into my hair, angling my head so he can kiss me properly, and I make a sound I've never made before, something between a gasp and a moan.
It's like fireworks exploding inside my brain. Like every nerve ending in my body just woke up at once. His lips are soft but insistent, and when his tongue traces my lower lip, asking for entrance, I give it without thinking.
This is what people write about. This is what I've read about in a thousand books and never quite understood.
I understand now. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard. Owen rests his forehead against mine, and I can feel him shaking slightly.
"God, Ivy," he breathes. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
"No," I say honestly. "But I want to find out."
He pulls back enough to look at me, and his eyes are dark with something I've never seen before. Want. Need. Hunger. "If we do this, we go slow. We do this right."
"Okay."
"I mean it. You tell me if anything feels wrong or if you want to stop. Promise me."
"I promise." I reach up, taking off his glasses and setting them on the coffee table. Then I kiss him again, trying to pour everything I'm feeling into it. All the years of lust, all the nights I spent imagining this, all the love I've been too scared to name.
He makes a sound low in his throat and pulls me closer, until I'm practically in his lap. His hands are on my waist, and I can feel their heat through my cardigan.
I want to feel them on my skin.
As if reading my mind, Owen breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my jaw to my neck. The sensation makes me gasp, and I tilt my head back to give him better access.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my throat. "Do you know that? So goddamn beautiful."
I want to argue, but then his teeth graze my pulse point and all coherent thought leaves my brain.
He looks happy. That's what I can't get over. He looks genuinely, completely happy to be doing this. Like kissing my neck is the best thing that's happened to him all day.
Owen Harper, successful doctor, handsome and smart and everything I'm not, has a thing for me.
It's impossible. It's a dream. It's—
"Don't overthink," Owen says, pulling back to look at me. "I can see you getting in your head. Stay here with me."
"I'm here," I whisper. "I'm right here."
"Good." He kisses me again, softer this time. "Tell me what you want, Ivy."
The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Don't stop. Please don't stop. Take everything you want. I'm yours. I've always been yours."
Owen goes very still. "Ivy, are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Yes." My voice is shaking, but I force myself to meet his eyes. "I want this. I want you. All of you. Tonight. Now."
"You mean—"
"I want you to be my first. If I'm going to do this, it should be with you. It's always been you in my head anyway."
He closes his eyes, taking a shaky breath. "God, Ivy. You can't just say things like that."
"Why not? You said things like that to me earlier."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because I'm not—" He opens his eyes, and they're blazing. "I want to make this perfect for you. I want to make sure you have the best experience possible. I need you to be sure."
"I'm sure." I am. I've never been surer of anything in my life. "I'm terrified, but I'm sure." I tell him.
"Okay." He takes a breath, then another. "Okay. But we're doing this right. Can I take off your clothes?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He starts with my cardigan, sliding it off my shoulders slowly. It falls to the couch behind me. Then he reaches for the hem of my shirt, just a plain t-shirt, nothing special, and pauses.
"Still okay?"
"Yes."
I raise my arms and let him pull it over my head. Now I'm sitting here in just my jeans and my red bra, thank God, one of the few nice ones I own, and Owen is looking at me like I'm art.
"You're staring," I whisper.
"I'm appreciating." His hands hover over my shoulders, not quite touching. "Can I?"
I nod, and he reaches around to unclasp my bra. It takes him two tries, and under different circumstances I might find that endearing. Right now I'm too nervous to find anything endearing.
The bra falls away, and I fight every instinct I have not to cover myself. I've never been this exposed to anyone. Never let anyone see this much of me. And I'm not small or perky or any of the things women in movies are when they take their clothes off.
But Owen is looking at me like I'm God's gift.
"Perfect," he breathes. "You're fucking perfect."
Then he leans down and takes my nipple in his mouth, and I stop thinking entirely.
The sensation is overwhelming. His tongue, his lips, the gentle suction… It's so much, too much, perfect. I hear myself making sounds I've never made before, loud and uncontrolled, and I slap a hand over my mouth.
Owen pulls back immediately. "Hey, no. Don't do that."
"I'm being too loud—"
"You're perfect. I love the sounds you make." He kisses my chest, then my other breast. "Don't hide from me, Ivy. Let me hear you."
So, I do. I let myself moan and gasp as he lavishes attention on my breasts, as his hands explore my sides and back, as he maps out my body like he's trying to memorize every inch.
Then he's kissing a path down my stomach, and I realize where he's heading. He reaches my jeans and looks up at me, his eyes dark and heated. "Can I?"
"Yes." It comes out as barely a whisper.
He unbuttons them slowly, then slides the zipper down. I lift my hips so he can pull them off, and then I'm lying on the couch in just my underwear, plain cotton, nothing sexy, and I realize with horror that they're old.
"I'm sorry," I blurt out. "I wasn't expecting… I mean, if I'd known—"
"Ivy." Owen's voice is strained. "I don't care about your underwear. I'm about to take them off anyway." He hooks his fingers on the waistband. "Unless you're regretting this?"
"No!" I say it too quickly, too emphatically. "No, I'm not. I want this."
To prove it, I spread my legs slightly. It's the shyest, most awkward invitation in the history of invitations, but Owen's eyes go dark.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters. Then he's sliding my underwear down and off, and I'm completely bare before him.
No one has ever seen me like this. No one.
Owen kneels between my legs, and the look on his face is pure reverence. "You're so beautiful. Look at you. Already wet for me."
I am. I can feel it, the slickness between my thighs, evidence of how much I want this. Want him. He leans down, and I tense, not sure what to expect.
Then his tongue touches my pussy, and the world explodes.
I've touched myself before, of course I have. But this is nothing like that. This is Owen's mouth on my pussy, exploring my folds, finding my clit and circling it with the tip of his tongue.
I cry out, my hands flying to his hair, and he makes an appreciative sound that vibrates against me.
"Owen… Oh God, Owen—"