He glances toward the towel that’s dropped to the floor and back at me.
“Nope.”
I narrow my eyes. “Rude.”
“You could get it.”
“I could,” I agree. “But you’re standing between me and it.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
I huff out a quiet laugh, but it comes out softer than I mean it to. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Not enough,” he admits.
Silence draws out between us.
My hands are still on his shoulders. His are still at my waist. Close enough that I can feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the way it stutters just slightly when I shift.
“Still testing?” I ask, tilting my head just a little.
His mouth curves, but it’s slower this time. Less teasing, more… something else.
“I’m starting to think we’ve gathered enough data,” he says.
“Oh?” I say lightly. “That’s unfortunate. I thought we were committed to a thorough process.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Me too.”
His thumb brushes along my nipple, just barely there, and the lightness evaporates immediately as I moan.
“So fucking perfect, Ivy. Everything about you.”
“Except my morning breath.”
“Except that,” he agrees, and then his tongue is on my nipple, teasing it, teeth scraping over the sensitive bud. “I think I can deal with that problem, though.”
“Caleb.” It’s quieter, needier. A plea
“I know, Ivy, ” he says again. “I have you.”
He doesn’t move away.
Instead, he lifts one hand, slow enough that I can track every inch of it, every second of it, until his fingers find their way into my damp hair, pushing it gently back from my face.
The touch is careful. Measured, like perfect music, like he’s giving me time, like he’s waiting for me to stop him.
I don’t.
I just stand there, heart racing, watching him like I’m standing on the edge of something and fully aware I’m about to step off.
“Still okay?” he asks.
There’s nothing casual about the question.
I swallow, then nod, then I reach between us, taking his hand off my breast and moving it lower, between my legs.
“Please,” I say, and this time my voice holds.
