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Deep within my belly, I clench, heat whispering over my skin. I want to melt into him, stay there all day. I want to open my legs, have him fill that lonely space in between them. If I tilt my chin, my lips will brush the satiny curve where his neck meets his shoulder. I want to lick that spot, taste it and bite it. I don’t want to think of other girls doing the same.
My breath hitches. All my anger—the vicious words I’d said—is fueled by jealousy. I am jealous of those faceless, nameless women.
Shame is a lump in my throat, the pricking burn behind my lids. I lashed out because of jealousy, and it was so wrong of me. I’m so fucking screwed, and I don’t know what to say to make it right.
“Gray...”
“I don’t want you to have sex like I’ve been doing it, Ivy,” he says with sudden heat. “It should mean something. For you. It should be good like that.”
My heart hurts at the hollowness in his voice, and I spread my hand against his lower ribs, holding him. “Why can’t it be like that for you too? Why the endless hookups?”
Because we’re so close, I feel the tension snake up his back.
“It just...” He swallows hard. “I guess I keep waiting for the one who will make me want to stop.”
“Stop having sex?” I’m chilled to the bone. And a hypocrite because the thought of him not wanting to have sex again is horrific.
My hair musses as he shakes his head. “Stop moving on to the next girl.”
His chest expands on a breath. “Ivy, I love women, and I love sex. But you’re right. It doesn’t mean anything to me other than quick pleasure. I don’t care who it is. I don’t remember their names. Shit, I am as bad as you said.”
He sounds so despondent that I clutch him tight. “No, Gray. Please don’t say that. Can we just... I wish I could take back our fight.”
Slowly, he eases away from me, though his arms remain loosely wrapped around my shoulders. It takes us both a moment to meet each other’s eyes.
It’s awkward, and his expression is twisted as though he’s tasted something foul. My fault. But he forces a smile.
“Hey, we’re good.” He pats my hair with a clumsiness that’s unlike him, his thumb hitting my cheekbone and nearly poking me in the eye. “It wouldn’t be normal if we never fought.”
Wincing a bit, I grasp his forearms and hold on. Because I can’t keep my hands off him, apparently. “This is true.”
Gray studies me, his blue gaze unnerving. The air between us is too thick, and I can’t breathe properly. A crease grows between his brows, as if he can see my guilt and the fact that I am fighting not to rise on my toes and press my mouth to his soft lips.
Fuck. A. Duck.
God help me if he really knew what I was thinking. He’d probably run out the door.
But he doesn’t move. Not yet. No, he presses his forehead to mine, cupping my cheeks in his massive palms. It warms me all over.
“I’m going to go now,” he tells me after a moment. “Gotta get up early for a hell practice.”
“Okay.”
But he doesn’t go. He seems closer, his breath mingling with mine, brushing over my parted lips. It’s too quiet. His fingers twitch, gripping me harder.
And then he lets go so abruptly that I almost stumble. Gray’s smile is wide, maybe too wide. He’s backing up, maneuvering around a chair.
“’Night, Special Sauce.”
I give him a smile back. False. Strained. Fucked-up. That’s me, Fucked-up Ivy. “’Night, Cupcake.”
Chapter 10
Gray
For the first time in our relationship, I’ve outright lied to Ivy. Okay, it was a small lie, but a lie nonetheless. I don’t have early practice. I just had to get away from her. Fast.
She hurt me. Not when she told me the truth of how she saw me. Hell, I know what I am. No, it was the pity in her expression, as if my inability to find any meaning in sex made me pathetic.
