I drowned in him. Edgar's hands flexed against my sides as he kissed me. It felt so natural, so right, that I forgot to be nervous or afraid or uneasy. I just felt. He was pure sensation, pure heat and fire. When he finally broke the kiss, my knees wobbled and I would have fallen completely if he hadn't held me against his chest. Edgar chuckled, an odd mix with the grumbling purr in his chest, and his lips brushed mine once more. "Doing okay?"
"Yeah." I felt warm all over, flushed and nervous and jumpy. I wanted to touch his bare skin, to feel him over me and next to me and ... in me. My cheeks burned.
"Good," he murmured. Edgar still held me close against him but he looked up and down the hall before shaking his head. "We need a couch."
"A couch?" I bit my lip as I looked at him. "Wouldn't a b-bed be..."
"We're not ready for a bed yet," he said, a hint of a frown on his forehead. I opened my mouth to ask, a little embarrassed that I just wanted to get things over with, but Edgar ducked his head and kissed me again. I met him hungrily, sliding my hands into his hair to hold him closer, and didn't even care if I was a clumsy fool. It felt amazing to kiss him, to be kissed, to be touched. Edgar broke away but nibbled on my ear as I panted and leaned against him. "I have a plan for you, darlin'."
"A plan?"
"Oh yes." His voice went all deep and grumbly, and heat grew in my center as my thighs clenched. A plan.
"That sounds... intense. Are you sure we can't just — do it?"
Edgar smiled, and a hint of the predator glinted in his eyes. My heart leapt. He caressed my cheek and studied my mouth, running his thumb over my lips. "We have a lot of bases to cover before we get to the big event. So first, we're going to watch a movie."
"A movie." I frowned as he caught my hand and led me toward his room. "Why?"
"Rite of passage, Ivy." Edgar opened the door but paused to kiss me again, nibbling on my lower lip. "Sitting on the couch watching a movie, making out and hoping your parents or brothers don't interrupt... It's stage one of the plan."
"Stage one." I laughed a little under my breath, letting him tug me into the living room of his suite. He winked and squeezed my butt as he nudged me toward the giant, overstuffed couch. Edgar fussed with the flat screen television and the pile of electronics around it, pointing remotes and clicking buttons, then he dimmed the lights until only the screen lit the room. I cleared my throat as he faced me, the lion shining from his eyes. "So how many, uh, stages are there?"
"Haven't decided yet," he said, and took a stalking step toward me. My pulse raced and I waned to squirm at the intensity in his gaze. His hands slid to my waist to pull me close, and his head tilted until he kissed my neck, nipped my shoulder. My breath caught and my head fell back and I probably would have fallen if he hadn't eased us both to the couch. "Definitely at least four."
"Four?" I blinked, trying to untangle myself to sit up as some old movie started to play, but Edgar pulled my legs over his lap and started arranging pillows and blankets around us. And then he settled back on the couch, his hand resting on my thigh.
Edgar played with my hair. "Well, we really need to explore first base and make sure you've got a good foundation in kissing. That's stage one. Stage two is above the waist." He played with the hem of my t-shirt, exposing just a hint of my stomach, and I flushed, squirming against him. Edgar ran his finger inside the waist of my jeans, his voice going low and husky. "And stage three is playing below the waist. I have plans for a few more stages after that, so we'll see."
I could hardly breathe, watching the progress of his hand as he inched his way around to my side. He glanced up when we were nose-to-nose, a hint of a smile making him less intimidating. "I'm interested in finding out what you're hiding in here, but not just yet. I'm patient. I can be patient."
"I don't know if I can wait that long," I whispered. My heart pounded so loud I wondered if he could hear. I wanted to see him, to touch him, to let him touch me. Part of me planned to sleep with him immediately, to get to the finish line finally and move on. Remove 'virgin' from that list of attributes that followed me around. I'd assumed he would want to get to the fucking, not play around with making out and second base and shit I'd heard about in movies.
Edgar settled back in the couch, his arm around my waist to keep me close, and winked. "Good things come to those who wait."
"Can mediocre things come sooner?" A desperate wanting gave me the courage to touch his thigh, his side, tug at the buttons on his shirt, sit up so I could wrap my arm around his neck and drag his mouth to mine.
He laughed but it was different — deeper, almost throaty. And the lion kept purring. He kissed me until the world grew dark around the edges and sensation collected where we touched — his lips to mine, his hand sliding under my t-shirt. Heat coiled low in my stomach, spreading desire through me until I moaned. I wanted him. I needed him. He was so damn warm, and I'd been so cold for so long.
When Edgar leaned toward me, I resisted for a heartbeat — until he murmured, "Lean back, Ivy," against my lips and my breath caught. In the dark room, everything felt warm and close and possible. I lay back against the pile of pillows and his weight settled over me, on me. I couldn't breathe, from excitement rather than the comforting press of his chest against mine, and wiggled under him. He moved and his thigh pressed between mine, sparking a shiver of ecstasy through me. I tensed and Edgar paused, his breathing a little rushed. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No, God no." I shivered and tugged at the front of his shirt, giving up on the buttons to slide my hands under his shirt to the heated expanse of skin across his back. "Please don't."
Edgar groaned and dropped his head to kiss my neck. His teeth scraped along my jaw and he grumbled. "You're ruining my plan, girl."
"No plan survives first contact with the enemy," I managed to say, though the last words disappeared in a gasp as he gripped my side. The strength of his hands made my insides melt. I pulled my knees up on instinct, wanting him closer to my center, wanting to feel his hips against me.
He snorted and then sighed, sitting up enough to drag my shirt off, then shed his own. “Stage two, then."
I bit my lip as I looked up at him, flushing as he looked down at me in only my borrowed, ill-fitting bra. Edgar smiled, tracing the band of the bra across my ribs, and I shivered. He placed a kiss just over my bellybutton, above the waist of my jeans. Edgar's mouth blazed a trail up my body to my breasts, and his hand slid under my back to fuss with the hooks.
I closed my eyes and arched my back, trying to help him out, and then the bra disappeared and cool air drifted over my skin. Every inch of my chest. My breasts tightened, nipples hardening, and I flushed more. Embarrassed, but I couldn't have said why. Edgar chuckled and his palms slid up my sides to tease my nipples. "Beautiful. Perfect."
For a heart-stopping moment, panic closed my throat. Perfect until he saw my back. The scars. Lines and lines and lines of tissue samples. Injections. I suddenly couldn't breathe. Edgar paused, waiting, and held himself over me. My hands shook. What the hell was I doing? I hardly knew him. I had goals to accomplish. I couldn't just roll around on a couch with him. Even if he looked amazing, all hard and muscled and covered in tattoos. The button-down shirts and expensive suits hid tattoos from his wrists to his shoulders and across his chest, probably his back as well. I stared up at him, my brain stalled, and couldn't think of a single thing to say.
Edgar made that rumbly purr sound and leaned down to kiss me gently. He nuzzled his nose to mine, and the sharp panic dulled around the edges. "What do you think isn't perfect?"
"Wh-what?" I couldn't stop touching him, my hands on his arms, drifting up his biceps. I wanted to be close to him but a million things stood between us.
"You panicked when I said you're perfect." Edgar's fingertips drifted across my collarbone in a soft caress. "Tell me why."
"Why do you have so many tattoos?" I whispered, tracing the lines of a massive dragon that curled from his chest and around his side.
He smiled, kissing my jaw, behind my ear, down my throat until I sighed and relaxed under him, moving against him as everything got slow and heated. Edgar settled a little closer. "For a while, the only thing I could really feel was pain. It was the only way I knew I was still alive. So I got tattoos. I did a lot of other stupid shit, too, but the only evidence that remains are the tattoos."
I stroked behind his ear, where I'd seen the hint of a blue smudge. "On your head, too?"
"Everywhere," he said. His eyes glinted in the dark, reflected gold with sudden heat. "I don't think I can show you the rest until we get to stage three, though."
I flushed, lifting my head to look down the length of our bodies to where his thigh pressed between mine, then stared up at him. "What? Really?"
"Oh yes." His palm drifted under my breast as he studied me. "But you're not going to distract me, despite having unbelievable breasts. I will definitely give them a great deal of attention, but first you're going to tell me why you panicked when I said you're perfect."
Tattoos were so much more interesting than lines of scars. Maybe I could cover them up with ink, like his. Hide the pain and shame with colorful pictures. Flowers. Dragons. I frowned as I touched a tribal design on his chest, brushing his nipple. "I have scars. Lots of scars."
"I know," Edgar said.
My breath caught. "You do? How?"
"You were hurt." Edgar rested on his elbows as I shivered, and his body radiated warmth. He felt like an electric blanket, wrapping himself around me. "I bandaged your wounds that first night. I saw the scars."
I frowned up at him. "I hate them. I really do."
"Well," he said, and leaned to study my side, where a few lines crept around from my back. "You're in luck, because I know a hell of a tattoo artist. If you want to cover them up, we can make that happen. But they're part of what makes you, you, Ivy. I wouldn't change an inch."
"I don't want to talk about the scars," I said. I caught his face in my hands. "I want to talk about stage three."
He laughed. "We haven't properly addressed stage two."
"Then get to work." I couldn't think about the scars, or his tattoos, or the meeting tomorrow. I couldn't think about anything other than him, or I'd lose my nerve. I needed him. I needed his distraction. I needed the light in his eyes and the purr in his chest, I needed everything about him. And that was scary as hell.