“So fucking bad it hurts,” I grit out, not missing a beat.
“Good. Because I’m tired of fucking myself every night and wishing it was your cock,” she says, no amusement in her tone.
Fuck. Me.
“You’re sure?” I ask.
“Yes, We–”
I don’t even let her finish that thought as I whip the blanket off of us to stand, lifting us both from the couch with ease. She releases a tiny squeal, and wraps her legs around my waist, and holds on tight.
Giggling, she asks, “What the hell are you doing?”
“We’re not doing this on the couch. Cursed, remember?”
29
Ivy
It’s happening.
Thank fucking god I took an every thing shower. I squeeze my thighs around Wesley’s waist, and begin peppering kisses down his jaw and neck as he makes his way through the kitchen to the small hallway that leads to the master bedroom. I’ve never seen Wesley’s room, and I’ve started thinking of it as almost a mythical place, like I’d never see it.
Going slow.
He’s been trying to go slow. When I’ve wanted to do nothing but go pedal to the metal. Stupid man.
I run my hands through his dark messy hair, toying with the curling ends at the nape of his neck, and pull. I feel the groan in his chest before it leaves him.
“God damn, baby. I need you so fucking bad,” he breathes out.
Yes.
I feel a dull throb start to pulse in my core, and I writhe on him, desperate to get this started. I kiss down his neck, licking and sucking anything I can get my mouth on. He lets out a soft moan, and tilts his head to the side, giving me better access. I lightly bite his jaw, and revel in the feel of his scruff against my lips.
We step into his room and he kicks the door shut behind us. Reaching behind him, he blindly fumbles with the lock on the door, neck cranked to the side, totally distracted by me nipping at his skin. It takes longer than it should, and I laugh against his throat until he eventually gets it.
With the door finally locked, he walks us over to the bed and gently places me down on the foot of the bed. I frown at the loss of him, but take in my surroundings, surveying every inch of his bedroom. It’s exactly what I imagined.
A dark four poster bed and deep grey or black walls make the room moody. Plants grace every corner, and framed obscure art adorns the walls. There’s a brown leather armchair in the corner with what looks like already worn clothes draped over the back.
The room looks lived-in, and cozy. I instantly feel at home.
His signature leathery-musky scent fills the space, and I wonder if it’s those used candles on the bedside table. It feels so masculine in here—so him. I run my hands over the white duvet, feeling the soft fabric. What I wouldn’t give to wrap myself up in these sheets like a cocoon. I bet they smell like him too.
I zero back in on Wesley, craning my neck to meet his gaze. I always wondered whathis eyes darkenedlooked like when reading romance novels. Now I know. His gaze is hungry, near feral looking, and I make a mental note to describe his exact expression in my book.
He lets out a deep breath through his nose, locking eyes with me. “There's no going back after this,” he grits out, gently stroking my cheekbone with his thumb. “Once I have you, you’re all mine. No space. No taking it slow.” The contrast of his rough words and soft touch makes my stomach hollow out.
I swallow hard, and stammer, “Yes. I want that. I want you.”
“If you want to stop at any point, you just say stop, alright?” he says, a touch more gently while tracing his thumb over my lips.
I nod in response.
“Words, Ivy.”
“I’ll say stop if I want you to stop,” I reply softly.
