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“Yes.”
“You won’t like the answer,” she says as she starts gathering the sheets and blankets and pillows into a pile in the middle of the mattress.
I don’t like being kept in the dark either. “Tell me.”
“I prefer men I’m not dating to have the hot on-screen love affairs. Especially after what happened last night,” she says without looking at me. “I understand it’s acting. It’s fake.”
“Last night was—”
“Fake too as far as I’m concerned.” Her eyes sparkle. “I’ll find a way to get comfortable with your career again. But for right now, I think it might bother me to see you kiss someone else.”
“Ah fuck,” I mutter as I rub the back of my head. I feel like an absolute dog. The last thing I want is for her to hurt. “Which Hemsworth?”
We move the couches around and I lay the couch cushions on the floor between them. We cover the whole thing with blankets. Fill it with pillows.
I put onThe Avengersbecause apparently Chris is the only Hemsworth that will do for my baby. I order in a chocolate fountain. And sushi because I’m starting to get concerned about the amount of sugar Ivy can consume. It can’t possibly be healthy.
She laughs at me when I suggest strawberries over Pop-Tarts. Dabs chocolate on my nose.
I scoop up some of the warm, gooey treat. Catch her jaw with my hand and draw a heart on her cheek. Rasp my tongue up the side of her face to collect all that sweet.
“You’re so gross.” She pushes at my chest. Laughs.
I slip my tongue in her mouth to stroke hers. This moment feels so perfect. This whole day with her has been perfect. I don’t want it to ever end. She crawls onto my lap as we kiss and kiss.
“I love it when you’re happy, baby. I want to keep this smile on your face always,” I tell her.
“I’m happy when I’m with you,” she says as she tugs my shirt up my abs.
I raise my arms above my head and she pushes the stretchy cotton up until I have to finish the job myself. She starts on her dress, shimmies it over her hips and torso. I slide my hands along her warm skin. Any excuse to touch her. Gather the material as I go. Over the curve of her breast. Up her arms. Discard the dress.
Gazes catch. She wets her lips. Her tits rise and fall inside the cups of her bra. Skin so satiny soft quivers for my touch.
My lips are kissed by the happiness in my chest. It bubbles into a smile. One-handed, I undo the hooks on her bra. Draw the straps down her arms and toss it. I take her hands. Twine our fingers together. Lay her down on the pillows.
She’s so beautiful. Sexy. Everything that I want. “How’d I get so lucky?”
“I’m the lucky one,” she argues. Eyes sparkling and hot. Her lips—those satiny pillows—parted and glossy.
I release one of her hands into the grasp of my other. Both of them held above her head. I run my finger through the melted chocolate and smear it on her pale skin.
Her breath catches as I begin. A line. A curve. A line.
She licks her lips. Breathless. “What are you doing?”
“Writing.” One long curve. Scoop up more chocolate. Draw another.
“What are you writing?” She whimpers as my finger dips into her belly button.
“I’ll show you. When I’m done.” Another curve. Move lower. More curves and lines. I paint her skin.
“I want to know.” She moans when I smear chocolate between her legs.
“Almost done.” I lick the last trace of chocolate from my fingers and pick up a strawberry. I put it in my mouth and wet it before running the fruit the length of her slit.
“Rogue,” she breathes, her body squirming with need.
I push the tip of the fruit into her entrance. “So fucking pretty.”
