By the time we return to the little white house Aunt Grace lives in, the rain has let up. We’re both soaking wet. Ivy is warmed by the pure heat of afterglow, and I’m warmed by her. I roll to a stop at the curb as Ivy searches the car.
“Where’s the umbrella?” she asks.
God, she’s adorable. “A willing sacrifice to the gods of lust. What time do you want me to pick you up in the morning?”
Her kiss-swollen lips turn down. “You’re not coming in?”
I hate tearing myself away from her, but I should get back. I kiss her fingertips and urge her to leave. “You and your aunt should have some time together.”
She removes her seatbelt with an exaggerated sigh. “So be it. But my death will be on your hands.”
I chuckle. “What?”
She points to the house. “That woman will dredge me through batter and deep fry me if I return without you. You rescued her sink. She’s indebted. And when a southern woman is indebted, her kitchen overfloweth.”
I stare at the front door. This deal is too good to pass up. The truth is, I want more time with Ivy. This gives me an excuse to stay close. “Fine,” I say as if settling. “With the way your aunt cooks, I’ll be big as a house in no time. I’m guessing the two of you are fattening me up to eat me.”
“Just me.” She giggles with a wink.
An entire fried chicken later, we enjoy cookies and several rounds of Jenga. There’s one thing I’ve learned about Ivy that I never would’ve guessed. This girl cheats.
I point a wooden block straight at her nose. “Don’t.”
She bats her eyes, innocent and sweet.
“I’m warning you,” I say firmly.
As soon as I attempt the pièce de résistance, sliding the block into a hole that’s nearly two and a half feet high, the vixen goes right for my side rib. She knows I’m ticklish. How? I have no idea.
The tower collapses, and I lunge for her, chasing her playfully around the couch. Hearing Ivy and her aunt in stitches makes me laugh louder. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so loud.
Or laughed at all.
“Well, I’m pooped,” Aunt Grace announces.
I check my watch. Midnight. Where did the time go?
Grace pulls me into a hug. “Goodnight, Leo. If you’re here in the morning, peach muffins are on the menu.”
“You’re quite the temptress,” I tease.
“And you’re quite the knight in shining armor,” she insists as I let her kiss my cheek. Before I can argue with her, she moves to Ivy, whisking her into a hearty, swaying hug. Their love is apparent. Beautiful. No matter what, they have each other. I don’t know why that thought fills me with relief, but it does.
“Come with me, Ivy Vine.” They lock arms and disappear into a room, which gives me time to look around. There are two more rooms down the opposite end of the hall. I wonder which one is Ivy’s.
She moves in beside me with a small pile of clothes in her hands. “What’s this?” I ask.
“Fresh towel. T-shirt. Sweats. Aunt Grace kept all my uncle’s favorite things. You’re welcome to these if you’d like.” The T-shirt says U.S.M.C.
Knowing she lost her uncle two years ago, I take the pile in reverence.
Ivy offers to let me relax as she attempts to do the dishes without me. Fat chance. I change and return to the kitchen. We glide into a natural rhythm of washing and drying, tidying, and turning out the lights. The simple dance normal couples do—the steps I’d almost forgotten.
Her hand tangles with mine, her dark skin radiant against my lighter, Italian tones.
I lead her to a little room at the far end of the house. “This is your room.”
She looks surprised. “How did you know that?”
I peel away her shirt, dusting kisses along her neck and shoulders as I breathe her in. “I know your scent. Vanilla. Citrus. I’d know it anywhere.” I nip at her neck. “You could say I’m addicted.”
“I see.” Her hands smooth down my shirt. I remove the rest of her clothes, and she works to take off mine.
The modest twin bed we land on struggles to hold our weight. “There’s a good chance we’re breaking this tonight, angel.”
I tug a nipple into my mouth, and she moans. “I dare you,” she sighs.
I slide between her legs, gliding the tip of my cock across her entrance. “Fuck, you’re wet.”
This woman is gorgeous, sexy, came for me in the middle of an alley, and just dared me to fuck her hard enough to break her bed.
“Challenge accepted.” I take a breath and thrust in to the hilt, my head falling back in pleasure.
Her legs wrap around me, and her moans are a drug. Ivy Palmer is an addiction I can’t go without. Our rhythm is hard. Fast. Instinctual. Two people whose only thoughts revolve around pure, primal need.
Every cell in my body is alive, fired up, and electric. I move her legs to my shoulders, kissing her tenderly as I fuck her so deep that nothing else exists. Nothing but her.
I watch her, back arched, every movement in ecstasy. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Her body begs to be taken hard, and mine aches to give her more.
When she quivers beneath me, I know she’s close. “Open your eyes,” I command, our glistening bodies lit by pale streaks of moonlight.
She flutters them open. And it’s all there. Want. Need. Lust.
Love.
I didn’t want to see it before. Now, I can’t not see it. See her. See us. Together.
She looks up at me, and I know she sees it, too.
I give her more, my thrusts rising. Our bodies slapping loud—skin against skin—sweat-drenched sounds echoing in the dark.
I empty everything inside her. All I have. All I am.
We crash into each other, wave upon wave, until there’s nothing but the loudness of our breaths and the beating of our hearts and her beautiful, tender words.
“I love you,” she says as she drifts to sleep.
With Ivy, I’m freefalling from one life into another—from the life I have to the one I want. And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel it. My heart. It pounds a drumbeat of elated happiness one minute, followed by an unnerving S.O.S. signal the next.
Her body rests peacefully on mine. Her breaths are heavy. Peaceful. With my heart in her hands, she sleeps. I kiss her head and hold her close.
She loves me.
I’m not exactly sure what I feel in this moment. But one thing is for damn well sure.
Everything is about to change.