“Truly, it’s really good. Tastes like mango. A sweet fruit eliminates all the spinach and broccoli flavors.”
“I’ll taste it from you,” he said, as he slid a hand to the small of her back and ducked to kiss her, relaxing when her mouth opened on his. He edged back to look into her eyes, which had darkened with want. “You’re right, it is good,” he murmured, lifting her up on the counter with one arm.
She set aside her glass and turned off the stove knobs as the bacon sizzled nearby. “You taste better,” she murmured, sliding her hands up to his nape and letting him sip up all that mango taste from her mouth.
And that was just his appetizer.
* * *
The days went by in a state of constant, heart-pounding, pulse-jacking arousal. They played strip poker again, except this time in their opening bets, they fed each other wine, grapes, and chocolate. When they lost … they had to remove an article of clothing.
“These stay on,” Ivy once against insisted of her bra and panties.
Cade smirked. “Sooner or later, they’re going to come off.”
Well she’d rather leave it at later, much later, otherwise she’d be too self-conscious.
But, oh, Lord, every time Cade came over to feed her mouth, he’d duck his head and take a sip of what he fed her, and she melted just like the chocolate melted in her mouth. Her pussy got juicier than the grapes. And his taste got her more drunk than the wine.
She had never had such torturous foreplay. They kissed until they ended up gasping for more, then they played another hand, surveying each other’s bodies, savoring telling each other what they would do when they were finished. Whoever won got to choose the punishment for the loser. But seriously? Punishment? Licking Cade up? Eating him up? Goodness, she was really hoping to lose this time around, he had her so primed.
Every time Cade dealt new cards, he watched her, his eyelids half-mast, his voice rough. “I’m going to lick my way up your pretty little legs with my tongue…” He did the procedure with his eyes, and her pussy creamed at the prospect. “And when I get up to those panties, I’m going to pull them aside and get drunk on you.”
Ivy squirmed, panting and anxious. When the game was finally over, she crawled over to him across the carpet like she had the first night, coiling her limbs around him as she settled down on his lap, facing him. “What’s my punishment?” she said, her chest heaving.
“Me,” he answered huskily, his big hands engulfing and massaging her ass as he took her mouth with his and kissed her. They had awesome groan-out-loud, excruciatingly pleasurable sex in that seated position, where he got his cock incredibly deep inside her, hitting her G-spot, making Ivy explode several times in a row.
On Friday, they left his apartment to grab some Chinese food, and it felt strange and wonderful when he parked his car, came over to open her door, and grabbed her hand to walk her into the restaurant. He did the same when he parked in his own spot, then led her into his building. The gesture affected her so much, Ivy felt her blush spread all over her body, and she had to drop her face and cover her cheeks with her hair.
She was sure nothing and nobody could pull her away from Cade as long as he would have her, and since he’d decided to enjoy a vacation from work until Monday, she felt like they were honeymooners—except there had never been a wedding.
All they did was lounge around, eat, eat each other, fuck each other breathless, and talk in the dark.
She had never been happier and dreaded the time when reality would intrude on them both.
Today it was Saturday, and Ivy lounged around in her panties and top, watching Cade step out of the shower and wrap himself in a towel. A pang of yearning struck her in the chest, and she wished she had the confidence to get naked and in the shower with him. She’d almost started to feel sorry for herself when she noticed the text message from one of her friends.
The news wasn’t good. Ivy immediately started dressing.
“Cade, I should go. One of my friends … it’s really bad. She was diagnosed at stage four and now she’s … in her last. I just want to say good-bye.”
He stared at her for way longer than she expected, then he burst out laughing—not a happy laugh. He jammed his hands into his hair, looking very frustrated all of a sudden. “My God! I’m going to hear about cancer every day with you, aren’t I? Why the fuck do you have to befriend everyone who has it, Ivy?”
She shot him a furious scowl. She’d seen beneath the layers, and Cade was so much better than this, she wanted to slap him. But she also knew his anger was a survival mechanism, as was distance, a pretense of not caring. She tried to calm her voice. “I want to be there because she shouldn’t be alone. I wasn’t there for my mother, Cade, and now it’s eating at me. She died all alone. Because I was in college and obsessed with being a graphic design artist, and obsessed with graduating with honors. She died that morning alone in the hospital because I just couldn’t miss my classes. I couldn’t even say good-bye to her one last time. What kind of loser daughter do you think I feel like now?”
He turned away and angrily combed his wet hair, then whirled around. “I said good-bye a thousand times to Laura. You think it gets better if you do?”
Ivy’s heart cracked a little when he mentioned her. Did it mean that he trusted her now? Her insides moved at the thought, and her face softened at the tormented look in his eyes.
She took his comb from the sink, hopped onto the small ottoman, and slid it through his dark locks, watching the thick, glossy wet strands sift beneath the comb teeth. “Let go,” she whispered, in his ear. “It wasn’t your fault, none of this is anyone’s fault.”
He reached up to take the comb away, then set it down on the sink and glared down at the closed faucet. “She didn’t deserve to die that way. I was the bad one, the asshole; she was good. She died a … virgin. She’d always saved herself for marriage and I … went with it. In the end, we had to marry in a rush when she found out she was sick, stage four … I couldn’t even touch her like she wanted me to. I couldn’t even … do that for her.”
Ivy slid off the ottoman, and a barrage of raw emotions opened in her chest as she realized why he was so angry. And at whom.
“She wanted me to have sex with her,” he said through gritted teeth, glaring down into the sink, his arms bulging and straining as he braced himself on the marble. “She wanted to know what it felt like. And after all those years I’d been waiting like an idiot, settling for a hand job, I could not even … get … my … cock … to work!”