AllFreeNovel
Share Us
His palm over my mound. Fingers teasing my core. Thumb on my clit, light as a feather.
“Shane,” I moan.
“Like this?”
“Just like that.”
He murmurs against my ear: “I want to make you forget everything except me. I want to be inside your body and your head and your fucking soul, and I want you inside mine.”
“I know. I know.”
He pulls back for a moment, and then he’s there, pressing the thick head of his perfect cock to me. Holding there, his expression wide with wonder, like he’s never done this before, and it brings tears to my eyes. He moves just at my entrance, making sure I’m ready for him, making sure I’m wet enough to take him. It’s a sweet tease, and it draws so much sensation out of me that I immediately need more, arching to try to take him deeper, grabbing at his back to pull him in.
With a long, thick, sure stroke, he fills me, stretches me, the pressure so good I cry out with it. “Shane!”
Then we’re moving together, and it’s like the kissing, like we were made for this and for each other. My body is soft and liquid for him, and his eyes hold mine, won’t let go. It’s so much, so intimate—the thick slide, the deep thrust, his eyes telling me what his mouth was earlier, mine telling him back. He’s inside me, we’re inside each other, and I can feel each thrust somewhere in my chest, like an ache.
We break eye contact, and for a moment I miss it, but then I don’t because he wraps me up so tight, he holds me so close. We’re one—the slow, steady rhythm of the two of us seeking together, finding together, tipping over the edge so I can’t tell if I made him come or he made me come, but we’re both coming, coming, coming, clinging as tight as we can.
35
Ivy
He holds me afterward. Ties off and tosses the condom, then comes back to me and wraps me up in his arms, face buried in my cheek and hair. Murmuring my name, tangled up with words of praise and pleasure. So good. So hot. You’re—amazing. God, Ivy, I just want to?—
He doesn’t finish all the sentences, so I don’t know what it is he wants, but I don’t mind because he holds me like he can’t imagine ever letting me go, and there’s something about this big charming guy clinging to me like he’s drowning that just—undoes me the rest of the way.
Shane’s so blithe and cheerful, but he’s lost so much—that has to have left scars. I’m pretty sure he’s terrified to need people. It hasn’t worked out well for him in the past. It’s easier to tell himself he doesn’t care that much, maybe even that he isn’t the kind of guy who can.
But tonight he let me in. He told me who he was, and even though it must have scared the shit out of him, he told me what he wanted. Me.
And I know he didn’t mean just for sex. The anguished look on his face when he told me he couldn’t watch me in that scene with Drake Jennings?—
The way he made love to me, like I was something utterly precious, like bringing me pleasure was the only thing that mattered to him.
And: I want to be inside your body and your head and your fucking soul, and I want you inside mine.
I hold him a little tighter so he knows that I’m here.
I swallow my fear of what I could lose and squeeze him tighter, letting him know that if he wants me, if he wants this—whatever the fuck this is—I’m here.
After a while his hands move to my back, stroking, and he murmurs, “Tell me things about you.”
So I do. I tell him about growing up in Massachusetts, about playing all kinds of make-believe games with my sister, about how we both got into theater in high school and how that almost broke our relationship because we’re only a year apart and sometimes competed for parts. I tell him about my dad’s death and how hard it was and how Quinn’s ALS drug changed everything for us, even if it only postponed the inevitable. I tell him about being with Anthony and not being with Anthony, about losing my spot on the show and realizing I was okay with that, that there might be something I could love just as much in the world that wouldn’t make me feel as lonely and afraid. I tell him about learning to garden and falling in love with it—sketching landscape plans, buying plants, composting, fertilizing, weeding, pruning, splitting, replanting.
We lie face-to-face in bed as we talk, hands clasped. It feels even more intimate than being held.
Then I make him tell me more about him, and he tells me about growing up in Rush Creek with four brothers, about how they played in the woods and made a blood vow to run the ranch together, about how even when he made the cut he knew if he could get away, he would be an actor and how he still feels guilty about that. He tells me about how he and Hanna have gotten close again, how he and Quinn are finding their way back to each other even though they’re really different people.
And he tells me about his mom, how much he still misses her, how even tonight he wants to tell her things. He wants to tell her that it wasn’t her fault that his dad left, that his dad doesn’t know how to love.
“I want to tell her I’m not like him,” he says. “I thought I was, but…” He stops.
“You’re not,” I tell him. “You’re nothing like him. Look at what you’re doing for Hanna. You’ve given up months of your life to make things okay for her.”
“Yeah,” he says.
He hesitates, like he has something else to add, but he doesn’t. He just moves closer and settles his mouth, butterfly soft, against my ear, his breath whispering across the sensitive skin. I let out a gust of breath that’s almost a moan, and he shifts his body against mine.
