Her jaw drops. “Well, that’s that. We have to break up.”
I catch her hand and pull her in, drunk off the fumes of her open joy. It’s as clear now as it was the night of the masquerade. “Finish your question.”
Ivy slips out of my hold and keeps walking, but her smile lingers. “So she comes home, and instead of getting you the speaker system of your dreams…”
It really shouldn’t surprise me that she’s already guessed what I would ask for.
“She’s booked you both a cooking class called 101 Ways to Enjoy Avocado at Home. What do you do?”
We’ve reached the elevator, and I follow her inside when it arrives, taking the opportunity to openly admire her. “I’d say thank you, because it’s the thought that counts.”
Ivy scoffs. “Please. If she’d thought at all, she’d have known you would hate that.”
Slipping my hands around her hips, I drag her into me. Exactly where she belongs. “Are you angry at my imaginary girlfriend right now?” I ask, close enough I can feel the moment her breath hitches.
“Technically I’m your imaginary girlfriend,” she whispers, blinking up at me. “And if I ever buy you a gift you hate, I want you to tell me.”
I can’t imagine she could do anything I would hate, but I’m willing to dedicate as much time as needed to test the theory. The rest of my life, perhaps? “Would you tell me if the roles were reversed?”
Her bare throat is calling to me, and as I cup her jaw, I know her heart is beating as fast as mine is.
“You haven’t given me anything I hated yet.” Her eyes catch longingly on my mouth. I’m about to give her exactly what she wants when she swallows and pushes out of my hold, putting a careful distance between us. That’s twice, now. “But if you ever eventhinkof giving me anything fishing related, your family will need to use it to find your corpse.”
“I suppose I’ll have to throw out the tackle, then.”
“Only if you want to keep yours.”
It’s wondrous, how quickly she’s becoming my favorite person.
CHAPTER24
THE MAN WITH THE SILVER TONGUE
IVY
It’s hardly news to say I fall fast and hard when I like something. Ciara and I have that in common. We don’t just taste, weconsume, sinking our teeth in so deep it becomes a part of us.
So, when Lincoln tells me he records porn (“erotica” Emma reminds me, “and there’s a strong story aspect to it. You should listen to a few.”),I skip right past “a few” and listen to every single one I can find. Twice.
And while Emma avoids all British voices— “The accent always reminded me too much of Lincoln, funnily enough.” Which is immediately interrupted by Charlie’s indignant, “Could’ve just said you didn’t want anyone else’s voice getting you off these days, jeez”— I have no issues letting his sultry tone and sexy little breaths turn me on.
Because, hey, I’m no saint, no matter how often Mom has asked me to be. And with Lincoln’s husky voice captured in surround sound and his permission to “enjoy”?
Yeah, I’m gonna slip on my party shoes and dance straight on down to hell. And it’ll be Lincoln’s name on my lips as I enter.
I find and replay my favorite clips. Every single one reminds me of him slipping his hand around my throat, his commands working as quickly as his fingers to make me come.
“Don’t speak unless you’re prepared to lose your voice screaming my name.”
Damn, he sounds sexy. It’s undeniably him, but also not, sounding deeper, rougher, like rolling storm clouds.
“I’ll have you anyway I want you, and you’re going to beg me for more.”
He’s good. Really, really good.
Gotta be the accent. I’m convinced Lincoln could read my phone’s terms and conditions agreement, and I’d be on my knees before he reached the second paragraph.
“Look at you, so eager to be filled. To feel my big, fat cock inside you. Is that what you want? No, I need to hear it. You’re not going to get anything until you say please. Come on, beg me for my cock.”
