Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Romeo
The way Ivy bites her lip is sexy as sin. There is something about her mix of shyness and confidence that drives me out of my fucking mind.
She knows so much, yet she's experienced so little in reality.
Maybe that is what makes me a cliche. I want a woman who is somehow a virgin and a whore. But fuck if I'm going to analyze it at the moment.
"That's not quite how it goes…" She plays with the robe. "The way I imagine it. It's not an active show, exactly."
"Oh." My brows rise. My voice lifts. My entire body perks. I want the details. All of them. Right away. "How does it go?"
"I'm alone. Or at least, I think I am. And I'm touching myself, thinking of someone I want. They notice and they keep watching. Start to touch themselves because it turns them on so much."
That sounds hot as fuck. "Where do you want me to start?"
"Logic ruins everything, doesn't it?" A laugh spills from her lips.
It breaks the sexual tension in the air, but it sets the mood too.
Because we can laugh at each other. Because I know she's not expecting perfection.
"Maybe… you could be in the corner…" She motions to the desk.
"Like you're working. Like you're in another room, and you only have a view from the corner. "
"What if the closet was another room?"
"You want me to literally put you in the closet?" she asks.
"It's a walk-in."
"In that case…" She laughs again.
"How does it work, in your fantasy?" I ask.
"It depends," she says. "Sometimes, it's a sex club. Sometimes, the office. A shared hotel room. Or the guy is in the bedroom and I'm in the tub, in the ensuite. Or vice versa."
If only we had the master bedroom. But I'm not about to cross that line. "We can pretend the closet is the bathroom."
"Does that mean you'll put on a towel?"
"Sure."
She laughs, again, but this time there's a charge to it. The joy in her eyes shifts to desire. She nods yes, let's go.
I motion one minute, find a towel in the linen closet, turn to do away with my robe.
I can't see her, but I can feel her eyes on me. Feel her chest rising and her fingers curling into the sheets as she checks me out.
I take my time cinching the towel around my waist, then I move into the closet.
It's a nice closet, enormous by California standards, but it's not exactly the penthouse at the Ritz Carlton. Mirror on one side. A small window letting in the light.
The view of the bed isn't perfect, but it's pretty damn good. I can see almost every inch of Ivy.
Then she leans back, and I can see all of her. "Whenever you're ready… I'll uh…" she trails off.
"Close your eyes and count to ten. Then we'll start."
She does. At least, I think she does. I can't see her eyes with her body horizontal.
The time passes slowly. Finally, she undoes her sash.
The teal silk spills open, revealing her breasts, torso, hips.
She has a beautiful body. Those long, lean curves. Her athletic swimmer's shoulders and enough softness around her hips.
Women are often insecure about their lack of defined abs, especially here in Southern California, but there's something so sexy about the softness of her stomach.
I want to run my hands over skin.
I want to touch her everywhere.
I want to watch all of this.
She slips her hand between her legs. She starts touching herself with gentle strokes. Slowly, at first.
Then a little faster.
Her other hand goes to her breasts. She toys with her nipple lazily, as if she's too focused on her bliss to really put much thought into it.
I can't see the desire in her eyes or the part of her lips, but I see the way her body tenses in little spots.
I hear her breath hitch.
The moan falls off her lips.
Blood flows south with every moment, but I take my time. I wait. Not to prove I can. To draw it out. Enjoy the show.
When I can't take it anymore, I touch myself. My hand around my base, my grip tight, my stokes fast, my breath heavy.
She gasps.
She can hear me.
The thought gives me a thrill. One I haven't felt in a long time. One I can't quite place.
This isn't like what I normally do.
On the surface, we're pretending—we're doing a role play—but under that, this is real.
She's fucking herself the way she likes.
And I'm watching because I want to see.
Not because she's paid me, or because we've made this trade, or because I think I'm supposed to watch.
Because it feels good to see bliss overtake her body. Because it turns me on. Because it makes me hard.
Because I want to come with her.
My gaze stays on her as I work myself.
She gets there fast, touching herself with just the right speed, breath hitching, legs shaking as she comes.
She tugs at the soft sheets then she releases, a spent puddle.
Only she's not spent.
She catches her breath and works herself to orgasm again.
It's enough to push me to the brink. I watch her moan through her orgasm, then I grip myself tighter, move faster.
I'm there just after her.
My cock pulses as I come. I spill onto the damn towel. A mess I don't care about cleaning.
Then I do the next thing I want.
I move out of the closet, I join her on the bed, I slide into the sheets with her.
Not because it's what I'm supposed to do.
Because I want to hold her.
And she sinks into me.
Because she wants my arms around her, I hope. But I don't know.
And that's a strange and terrifying feeling.
To want someone and hold absolutely none of the cards.
How the hell does anyone do it?