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“How many times has Ivy Laine been kissed?” comes the low growl, like he can guess that I’m inexperienced.
I don’t know why I feel compelled to be honest with him. “Twice,” I admit. “Once in middle school and once at a party in high school. I can’t remember either of their names.”
“Seriously?” A half-incredulous, half-sincere smile touches his lips. “Middle school counts for half of your kisses?”
“I know. It’s a little sad but it is what it is. I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what?”
“You really want my life story right now? I’m supposed to be kissing you.”
The humor in him is back, inked with heat. “You can tell me all about it when we’re watching the movie.”
“Movie?”
“The rom-com.”
“Oh. Yeah. Okay.”
“I guess it’s going to be a serious case of third time lucky for Ivy Laine, then.”
I stare into his midnight-dark eyes as his head barely tilts. “You think so?”
“I know so.” His voice is dark. Commanding. His CEO’s voice. “Do it.”
A newly-discovered piece of me—the one I discovered as soon as I sat down onto his massive erection—wants to obey him. It wants to please him and turn him on. It wants to drive him crazy with lust.
Girl, who are you?
Most of all it wants to taste his sneering, perfect mouth.
So I place my hand gently on his square jaw, letting my fingers explore. It’s rough with his stubble. The scratchy, swarthy textures of a man are so foreign to me, it’s almost daunting. But my new craving has a restless edge. I lean closer and I slowly, slowly brush my lips against his.
Alexander goes very still, letting me softly kiss his mouth. But the ridge underneath me rears up, hardening even more, pressing more strongly against my clit.
Oh my god, that feels good.
He makes a low, savage sound and it’s basically the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard in my life. I go shamelessly wet, my practically nonexistent panties clinging to my pussy, making the writhing squirm of my body feel so good I think I’m…god, I’m so close.
Alexander grips my hip in one hand and my jaw in the other, holding me in place. And he kisses me back.
He tastes like champagne and mint and something darker—something almost unbearably appealing. His hand moves, wrapping around my hair, pulling me closer until my breasts are pressed against his broad chest and I’m pliant against him.
His mouth opens mine, and as soon as he gains entry, his tongue slides into my mouth, tangling with mine, sending warm currents of warmth directly to my softening pussy. He tastes so freaking good. Wanting more, I gently suck on his tongue, which makes him groan.
Oh my god.
This is supposed to be a performance. It’s not even close to that. The need in me to get closer to him feels greedy and primal. He tastes like lust. He tastes like dreams coming true.
Both my hands are in his hair now and I hold soft fistfuls of it as his tongue thrusts and his kiss deepens.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a surprise for you this evening,” a strident voice comes through the microphone, jarring me a little. Margot, of course. “Turns out we have a superstar amongst us who has generously agreed to perform a song for us this evening. Please find your seats. Ivy Laine, please come to the stage now.”
We break the kiss slowly, like we’re drugged from each other’s effect. His eyes are an unholy blue, his black hair ruffled now from my hands. I gently smooth it a little.
The timing isn’t ideal. I’m flushed. I’m wet. I’m crazily turned on.
There’s the low commotion of people murmuring. They all turn to look at me.
