“Your setup is pretty professional. Did the app set you up with all that stuff? I imagine it’s not a course they teach at Eton.”
Christ, it’s hard having any secrets when Ivy is able to magic up the details of my life like her own. It’s rather refreshing, if I’m honest. So much of my life has revolved around what isn’t said.
I retake my seat beside her, preferring to have this conversation face to face so I can read her reactions. “My earlier attempts were far less impressive, I promise you. But I did my research and spoke about what worked and what didn’t with other artists until I had enough practice under my belt to make my own decisions.”
“Where do you get your ideas from?”
“Some are my own, others are prompts provided by the platform or on a shared forum.”
She sags, demure in a way I’ve rarely seen her. “Sorry. I guess I was thinking… I don’t know. Something sexier, like at the ball.” She drops her gaze to her lap, where she’s rolling the frayed ends of her distressed jeans between her fingers.
Reaching out, I brush the hair away from her face. I’m rewarded as she blinks back up at me. God, I could let hours disappear without anything but this. Brown eyes, warm like hot chocolate with glimmers of honey throughout.
“I don’t know that I can take full credit for that. I was inspired by a beauty with a wicked mind.”
Her cheeks darken, although there isn’t any other change in her expression. Ivy is a vault. She’s expressive in her excitement, and yet everything fragile is kept protected.
“I didn’t think I’d like it,” she admits. “Most guys aren’t great with talking in bed, and the few that tried put me off it until now.” She toys with a spare hair tie on her wrist. Two more are already in use where her hair is twisted back. It’s so rare to see her let her hair down. “The first time I had sex with a guy, he was running a commentary the whole time. I’m pretty sure he thought he was great at pillow talk, but it was distracting and not even a little bit sexy.”
She deserves so much more. The urge to blast away any dissatisfying remnant of her past experience roars in my gut. I’m going to rewrite every fantasy she’s ever had until the only way she can come is by hearing my name.
“And that isn’t even the worst story I have,” she says, with the tired acceptance of any woman I’ve ever met. Men should have to pass a test before they’re allowed to get their pricks out. But if they did, I could be out of a job. “There was this one guy, an app date. You know how it is. We start kissing on his couch, and then he unzipped, pulled out his dick, and goes, ‘Now give it a little kiss.’” Ivy’s whole body contorts, as if shaking off the memory. “At first I just stared. All I could think was “you’re ruining this blowjob for me.”
A laugh rips itself free from my chest, and she ducks her head with a smile. What a fucking treasure she is. I lean closer, missing the bright spark of her eyes. “Please tell me you left him hanging.”
“I should have. Nothing ruins a good blowjob more than a man’s personality.”
And this is where I should cut this line of conversation off, because sitting beside her and not being able to have her is quickly driving me to distraction.
I can’t help it. I lift my hand to touch that perfect mouth. Pillowy soft and so eager to please. Whoever the fuck this guy is, he didn’t deserve the gift of it.
I stroke the corner of her lips with my thumb. “None of them have known how to handle you, have they?” I bet none of them took the time to appreciate her, too busy taking what they wanted and then fucking off. “Bastards, all of them. Has anyone ever taken the time to truly get to know you?”
“There’s not much to know.”
Well, that’s a fucking joke.
I pull her chin toward me. “I told you, Ivy; we don’t lie to each other.”
We sit like that for a moment, simply looking at each other. I’m quietly cataloging all the wrongs I’m going to right for her, while she looks like she’s trying to decode my programming.
“You’re nothing like I expected,” she says with something I want badly to believe is awe in her voice.Please.If there is any chance of redeeming my past mistakes, let it be by meaning something to her.Ivy finally looks away, smoothing a hand on her knee. “How is it you’ve never been in love? I mean, I noticed your audios are always two strangers, or a coworker, or a boss. You never play a boyfriend or a husband. Why is that?”
I take a breath. It’s a fair question; one I’ve been asked by Pulse before. When certain tags get popular, they like to encourage everyone to jump in. At the time, I skirted the truth, but I want to give Ivy more than that. “The relationships I’ve had have been short-lived. When I try to write those scenes, I either feel like a fraud or I put too much of my own heart into them. The result is…” I hesitate.
“Too much of the truth or too much like a lie,” she says.
Exactly. Dating was easier when I only cared about impressing a woman long enough to get between her sheets. It’s infinitely more complicated now. If it’s not my bank account they’re chasing, my work disgusts them.
Rarely is it me they see.
Not like Ivy can.
She twists to fully face me, curling her feet under her, her knees pressing into my thigh. I lay a hand on the closest one, holding her there.
“I know I’ve only pretended to be your girlfriend, but take it from me; you know what you’re doing.”
The list of reasons that this can’t work is becoming increasingly small. And yet, I can’t help but notice how careful she is around me. Close, but never crossing the line. In my mind, the only fictional part of this relationship is our history. But something is holding Ivy back, and I’m determined to find out what it is.
