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GrayG: 1184 and 1210 are amicable numbers :)
IvyMac: I love it when you talk nerd. So sexy.
Hitting the elevator button, I grin wide and tap out my next message.
GrayG: Almost there. Be naked.
IvyMac: Bossy.
GrayG: If you could start playing with yourself, get nice and wet for me, that’d be good too. ;-)
Snickering, I tuck my phone into my pocket without waiting for her reply. By the time the elevator coasts to the twelfth floor, my dick is already throbbing.
The door to suite 1210 is open a crack, and I smile, knowing Ivy left it that way for me. Unrelenting need has my skin too tight for my body. I’m practically panting as I walk in, my heart thudding in time to my hard, quick steps.
Standing in the middle of the small living room is Ivy, wearing an oversized red T-shirt—and nothing else. I pause, take in the sight of her long, smooth legs, the way the shirt falls off one toned shoulder. White lettering across her breasts states, If you can’t handle my Tight End, you need a stronger D.
A coy little smile plays on her pretty pink lips, and her dark eyes shine beneath the heavy line of her glossy brown bangs.
She’s five feet from me, but I swear I can smell her scent, sugar and spice and everything nice. Lust hits me so hard, I actually shiver, my skin prickling, my knees going weak. Something that sounds like a growl rumbles in my chest, and her eyes go wide, her lips parting.
“Hey there, Cupcake—”
My mouth is on hers, my hand cupping her neck, before she can finish. I kiss her like she’s my only sustenance, going deep, licking into her mouth for that first taste.
Heaven. Home. Delicious. And she’s kissing me back as if she can’t get enough either. It makes me lose my mind.
My hands find her ass, and I haul her up, take two stumbling steps to the couch. Knees hitting the cushions, I maul her mouth as I fall on top of her, wrenching her shirt up to get at her sweet tits. She arches up, a little whimper escaping, as I suck at one perfect nipple.
Mac fists my shirt, pulling me up so she can attack my mouth again. I groan, my kiss so frantic our teeth clash. Her thighs spread wide as I tear at my jeans, my hands shaking so badly it takes two tries to get the button open.
My cock springs out, slaps against my belly. Fumbling, I cant my hips, find her slick heat, and thrust. Mindless, pushing into that hot, tight clasp. This time we both groan, our breath mingling. And then I’m pumping hard and deep. There’s just the sound of our flesh slapping together, the greedy, animalistic grunts I’m making, and the need for more and more. Fucking her is a heady mix of relief and agony. I’m frantic with wanting Ivy, and I know it will always be like this.
Long legs lock around my waist, her nails digging into my shoulders. When she sinks her teeth into the soft flesh at the crook of my neck, my body seizes, and I’m coming on a strangled cry. Ivy strains against my hips, gasping, her pussy milking me with rhythmic pulses that have me pushing as deep into her as I can get.
I collapse against her, jelly-kneed and head spinning. Her arms come around my shoulders, limply holding on. We’re both panting hard, my open mouth pressed in the folds of her shirt that’s gathered high on her neck.
Taking a breath, I manage a casual, “Like your shirt.”
Ivy’s laugh is weak. “Thanks. I was totally going for a ‘gimme a hot and dirty quickie’ look.”
“Glad to oblige.” I smile, kiss the edge of her jaw.
Gently I detangle her from the shirt, pulling it free and throwing it aside. Ivy takes my shirt off as well, and I settle back, loving the feel of her skin against mine. A few more awkward wiggles and I’m out of my sneakers and jeans. But my softening cock stays deep inside her. I don’t want to leave her heat. Ever.
Somehow we’ve ended up on the floor. I frown, not even remembering tumbling.
“Are you okay?” I ask, touching her cheek. The fact that she’s pregnant comes back to me in a rush, and I go cold. “Shit. I wasn’t too rough, was I?”
“No. You were perfect.” Her fingers thread through my sweaty hair. “You always are.”
“You sure? I had this whole slow-seduction thing planned, but you looked so hot, and I’ve been dying for you, and—”
“Kiss me, Cupcake,” she says, tugging on my hair.
So I do. I kiss her softly, stroking the edge of her jaw with my fingertips. I kiss her as I carry her to the bedroom. I kiss her as I lie beside her, gathering her close, until we’re skin-to-skin. This is what I needed, the scent and feel and taste of Ivy all around me. The tightness in my chest eases.
Never am I more aware of my size than when I’m touching Ivy, of how my hands span the sides of her head, of how fragile yet necessary she feels to me.
