Chapter 29

BLOOD A ROAR in his ears, Vasic wasn’t conscious of teleporting them back to her cabin. It was lit by a lamp Ivy had left on beside the bed, the glow soft around the screen she hadn’t folded up.

Breaking contact with him, Ivy took a step back. “Rabbit’s usually home by now,” she said after a quick glance at her pet’s cushioned basket. “Eben?”

“Spending the night on a cot in Isaiah’s cabin.” And because he knew her, he told her the rest. “Isaiah has three younger brothers—he offered to take Eben to allow you to rest, and the boy appears to have bonded with him. Rabbit is with Eben.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Her voice trembled, her skin flushed hot . . . but she raised her fingers to the zipper of his jacket.

“Don’t,” he said, hating himself for having asked, for having pushed. “I’ll go.”

Ivy reached out to grip his hand. “Stay.” A whisper that wrapped steel chains around him. “I want to . . . I just—” Blowing out a shuddering breath, she gave him a nervous, coaxing smile. “I’ve never done anything like this before. Be patient with me.”

Her words turned him to stone. He didn’t move when she released his hand and began to tug down the zipper. There were so many things he would never do with Ivy Jane, but this one thing, this experience of erotic pleasure, it would always be a thing they had shared. Breathing ragged despite his attempts at control, he followed her every move as she took off the jacket and put it on the chair to her right.

She wore her heavy orange cardigan beneath, over a long-sleeved white top. He watched her fingers fall to the buttons, slide one after the other out of the holes until the garment was open. His rock-hard penis pulsing in time with the thumping beat of his heart, he clamped down on his Tk. Using it on her would be breaking the rules, would be touching when he’d been invited only to watch.

Making a quintessentially feminine move, Ivy shrugged the cardigan off over her shoulders to drop it on top of the jacket. The white top was a thin thermal knit, shaped her curves with gentle precision. When she crossed her arms in front of her, hands going to the bottom of the top, he had to close his eyes, his chest screaming for air. His lashes flicked up the next instant.

He didn’t want to miss even a millisecond of this.

Ivy bit down on her lower lip, released the swollen flesh . . . and tugged the top off over her head. Raising one hand to pull back strands of her hair that had curled over her face, she didn’t attempt to hide herself from him, the plump mounds of her br**sts cupped by a confection of ivory satin and lace. “That’s not Psy issue,” he said, fighting every single cell in his body not to push the delicate fabric aside and look his fill.

Ivy’s own breathing was unsteady, her br**sts rising and falling as if in invitation. “No,” she admitted in a husky tone. “I’ve always liked certain textures against my skin.” Raising one hand, she pushed off a strap.

Desert winds rolled around them, the wood of the floor suddenly porous. Ivy made a startled noise, and he had her back in the cabin the next instant. “Sorry.” It was proving nearly impossible to keep a handle on his ability with so much of her bared to his eyes, despite the painful psychological echo of dissonance.

“It’s okay,” she said, breathing even shallower. “Shall I keep going?”

The cabin could’ve collapsed around them at that instant, and it wouldn’t have induced him to say no. “Yes.”

Ivy pushed off the other strap, and though her cheeks were hot peach, her skin heated, she reached behind herself to undo the bra . . . and lowered her arms to allow it to drop to the floor. He was aware of her backing up until her shoulders hit the screen. It held, the black-painted wood framing her like an erotic artwork of golden cream flushed with life.

He was too close. He couldn’t remember moving, but he was an arm’s length from her. Gripping the top of the screen above her head, he looked down past her shyly lowered eyelashes, the soft curve of her cheek, the lush shape of her lips, the slope of the neck she’d angled to her right . . . lower.

The screen cracked under his hands.

She was made for his palms, promising to fill them to the brim, the dusky pink of her ni**les tight little knots he wanted to touch, to feel, to know. Ignoring the sound of wood groaning under his hands, he looked and looked, her body separated from his by bare inches, the hard black of his Arrow uniform throwing the vulnerable softness of her into stark relief.

Hot desert winds as his ability slipped the leash again, Ivy grabbing on to him.

Back in the cabin, he said, “Please let go.” He had to enunciate each word with extreme care, his mind not quite certain it remembered how to shape speech.

The tumble of her curls in his vision, Ivy released him . . . and he made himself back off before he teleported them somewhere less private. “Dress.” The order came out harsh. “Please,” he said, to ameliorate the roughness, and bent to pick up the scrap of satin and lace for her.

Not meeting his gaze, she took it and turned her back to him. The line of her spine was a thing of unutterable beauty, the flare of her h*ps making his hands itch to shape them. Hooking on the bra with quick movements, she pulled up the straps and turned. He’d thought he’d hurt or insulted her with his order, his entire body rejecting that unwanted coda to the gift she’d given him, but she shot him a nervous, wicked smile as she reached for her white top and pulled it on over her head.

Tugging her hair out from beneath, she said, “Next time, I’m asking you to strip.” Copyright 2016 - 2024