AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’m jazzed when I get home from the bachelorette party. Riding high. It’ll be hours before I fall asleep.
I make myself a cup of chamomile tea, drink it at the kitchen table. Then I go upstairs and change into a tank top and PJ shorts. Brush my teeth. Get into bed.
It’s quiet in the house. And it’s quiet in my head after spending a whole night with those great women.
Which means I can feel the chatter in my body loud and clear.
I challenge anyone to spend a night talking about sex toys and not come home a little keyed up, especially following a week of thinking virtually nonstop about Shane Hott’s thigh muscles and mouth and the way his groans vibrate under my skin.
I reach for the little buzzy vibrator, which I’d set on my nightstand when I went to bed. I press the button on the end and touch my finger to it. The high, tight vibrations race through my nerve endings. Even though I can’t feel them anywhere else but my hand, my nipples tighten and my clit throbs an answer.
Oh. Wow.
I touch the vibrator to my nipples through my tank top, and?—
Mmm.
That’s really nice.
I bring it down between my legs, through my PJ shorts and underwear. The fabric picks up and mutes the vibrations, and it’s delicious. I hold it there a moment, and I can tell if I keep that up, I’m going to come fast. Too fast. I want to play for a while.
It’s a rotten consolation for what I really want, but it’s definitely better than nothing.
The tenor of the vibration changes—no, wait, that’s my phone.
Shane: You there?
Ivy: Yeah.
Shane: I’m outside.
I click off the vibrator. I don’t need to get caught with my hand in the cookie jar (read: my pants) twice in one week.
Can I come in?
Hell yes, he can come in.
I mean, there’s only so much self-control a girl can exhibit, and my body is already soft and warm and molten and needy.
And he’s here.
As I pass my closet, I eye my robe hanging from a hook inside. And leave it there.
I answer the door as I am. Short shorts. Tank top. I know what I look like. Face flushed, nipples hard.
I know how wet I already am.
And I answer the door just like that because this is what I want and I don’t want to deny myself anymore.
“Hey,” I say.
His gaze combs lazily over me, taking me in. And I know he sees. I watch his pupils flare and his eyes darken. I watch a slight flush rise under his dusky skin. “Hey,” he says back. “I?—”
“I know,” I say, and then he takes a step forward and his arms band around me and we’re kissing. His tongue is in my mouth, seeking and giving, and oh God, it feels so familiar and right and good but also so dirty—a slow, teasing stroke, a battle for control. You know sometimes you kiss someone and it’s like you were made for each other, that’s how well you match?
Yeah. That.
“I fucking love kissing you,” he groans out when we pause for air, and then he pulls me inside my house and backs me up against my door and puts both his hands on my face. Just looks at me for a moment. “You’re so beautiful, Ivy. I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen the first time I saw you. I couldn’t look away. You’ve got this—fuck. This glow.”
