Chapter 9
Tip nine; Fast doesn't mean good.
Firm, steady pressure is what most people respond to. Too light feels distracting.
Too rough too soon kills the moment.
Start slow. Increase only when their body asks for it.
Asher
She's here.
And I should move. I shouldn't linger here, behind her.
Watching her watch him.
But Harlow's voice cuts through the noise before I can leave.
"Hurry up, Ash."
I turn, already irritated, already wound tight. And then she turns and her hazel eyes are on me and what she said earlier today comes flooding back.
Put my tips into practice. With a stranger.
Then her eyes flick from me to Dylan.
And fuck.
Of course it's him. Of course he's here.
My jaw tightens before I can stop it.
I step into the room. Her eyes meet mine for half a second - startled, uncertain then drop away.
I don't say anything, slipping past her so I don't do something stupid like pull her down the hallway and -
My fists clench.
I move closer, slip into the circle without acknowledging anyone. I feel it immediately - the tension, the looks, the expectation. I don't care. My focus is locked on Ivy and the way she's standing too straight, hands twisting together in her lap.
I'm so focused on her I don't even know what stupid game Harlow has conjured up for us to play tonight.
Not until Dylan is asking if Ivy wants to play.
She looks at Dylan again.
Something ugly curls in my chest.
"I'm sure she has friends she can go-"
My mouth opens. "C'mon, Ivy, you can sit next to me."
She freezes. Then deflates and I watch her shoulders drop. She makes her way over before Harlow intentionally bumps her over to Dylan and takes her seat. My fists tighten in my lap.
The bottle spins.
I don't look at it.
Harlow leaves my side and I breathe a sigh of relief, but my eyes still won't leave Ivy.
She's nervous. I can tell by the way she holds her breath, by the way her eyes keep darting to the door like she's calculating escape routes. She shouldn't be here. Not like this. Not with people who don't know her.
Not with him. Dylan leans over, whispering something that makes Ivy smile. I narrow my eyes.
Her eyes meet mine. I look away, forcing myself to relax. She's not mine.
Minutes later, Harlow reappears and when she hands the bottle to Ivy I almost want to take it and whisk Ivy away from them. "Your turn, Ava."
"Ivy." I say quietly.
"That’s what I said." I roll my eyes at Harlow as she scoffs and tries to make her skirt shorter. "Spin the bottle."
Ivy hesitates before moving to spin it.
I'm ashamed to admit how closely I watch that bottle.
The bottle slows.
Someone laughs.
Blake opens his mouth, says something stupid, someone responds and before I've consciously decided to do anything, I'm on my feet.
"I'll take her."
I don't give anyone time to argue. I grab the bottle, grab Ivy's hand, and pull her up before she can protest. Her fingers curl around mine instinctively and that alone almost does me in.
The room goes quiet as we move.
Good.
I want them quiet.
The closet door shuts behind us, plunging us into dim light and close air. It smells like perfume and dust and alcohol. My pulse is roaring in my ears.
Ivy presses back against the wall, eyes wide. "What are you doing?" she whispers. "You don't have to-"
I force myself to take a step back.
I have to.
"I'm not letting you practice with some random guy," I say, voice tight. Too tight. "I'd rather take the fallout than watch you with him."
I'd rather deal with Leon's anger . . . I don't say that though.
She shakes her head, confused. "But-"
"You were right," I interrupt, because if I let her finish I might lose my nerve. "You do need to practice. Reading only gets you so far."
Her breath stutters.
The truth hangs between us, dangerous and exposed.
I step closer before I can overthink it, my hand lifting to her cheek on instinct. Her skin is warm. Soft. She leans into my touch before she realises she's doing it.
"You need more," I add quietly.
I pull back just enough to breathe.
"What's that?" Her words are quiet, reverent.
"How it feels. You don't need some random guy to teach you that. I'll show you."
She doesn't need someone who doesn't give a shit.
She whispers my name.
And fuck - hearing it like that does something to me I don't have the words for.
But she's shaking her head, rejection on the tip of her tongue. I can feel it.
My shoulders tense.
I step back again.
I have to keep control.
She reaches for my wrist, stopping me, and that small, tentative touch feels heavier than anything else that's happened tonight.
"Tell me what you want," I say, quieter now.
Her eyes drift to my mouth.
I know that look.
I've seen it on other girls before. Want. Curiosity. Anticipation.
But this is different.
This is Ivy. This is Leon's little sister and fuck-
I shake the thought from my head and paste on a grin, "Ivy? What do you want to know, how to kiss, how to blow-"
She flusters, blushes hard, stammers. My hand lifts to her cheek unbidden, pressing against the rosy skin there. I love pink on her. And red, any shade of blush I can pull from her is my favourite colour.
"You're always blushing."
She leans back. My hand drops.
"Cause it's not me; I don't do this shit. I don't...you-"
"That's not a bad thing," I tell her, stepping closer again.
"Wow, cool, look at the blushing virgin."
I don't know where the words come from, and I regret them instantly. "you're not though, are you?" I pause. Take a breath. "I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry. Let's just forget that."
I don't want to push. I don't want to scare her.
"Tell me something you want to focus on," I say instead.
Her eyes betray her.
They go to my lips again.
My resolve fractures.
"Do you want me to kiss you?"
Please say yes.
I shouldn't want her. I'm not allowed to want her. But fuck, I do.
She startles, embarrassed, says something about not being desperate, and that's it.
And for a second I don't care that's I'm not allowed this. I want it.
I kiss her.
Soft. Careful. Just enough to make the point.
Her lips are warm, pliant, fitting against mine like they've always known how. The contact is brief, but it hits me like a punch to the chest. Like coming home and realising you never want to leave.
"I don't think you're desperate," I murmur against her mouth.
When I ask if she wants to practice kissing, she nods.
The second kiss is slower.
Deeper.
Everything in me screams to take more, but I don't. I keep it controlled, measured, like this is still a lesson and not the most alive I've felt in years.
And then the door bangs.
Time's up.
Reality crashes back in.
I step away first, needing to distract myself from her lips. Force myself not to pull her back and tell everyone outside that door to fuck off.
She avoids my eyes as she slips past me, gone before I can say anything else. The door opens. Laughter spills in. Noise. Light.
I stay where I am.
Just for a second.
Blake leans past the doorframe, smirking. "Damn, Hudson. Seven minutes wasn't enough?"
I don't answer.
I'm still watching the doorway Ivy disappeared through.
I leave without looking back.
Downstairs, the party blurs past me. I find Leon near the kitchen, beer in hand, laughing too loud, arm slung around someone I barely register. Guess his date made its way here.
"Hey," he says when he spots me. "You good?"
"Yeah," I lie easily. "Just not feeling great."
He squints at me, drunk and oblivious to the thoughts in my head of his sister. "Beer pong in five. You in?"
I shake my head. "Next time. I'm going to head home."
He shrugs, already turning away. "Your loss, man. Get back safe."
I step outside, the cool air hitting my face like a reset I desperately need.
I should feel relieved.
Instead, my chest aches.
Because kissing Ivy felt like everything.
And I'm not ready for it to be over.