His nostrils flare on an indrawn breath, his gorgeous lips curving upwards just a bit. “That image has definite possibilities. But, no, I don’t want another girl in our bed either.”
I love that he says our bed and that his fingers twine with mine. His other hand slowly slides down my ass to my thigh, lifting it with languid slowness and resting it on his hip. Spreading me. The tips of his fingers skim along the opening of my sex, such a light, fleeting touch that I might have imagined it. I clench in response.
Slightly distracted, my voice goes breathy. “So having a bunch of girls in your bed at once isn’t your secret fantasy?”
His smile remains but his eyes dim with wariness. And because I know him so well, I understand that look. I can’t help it; my body tenses.
“Right,” I say with false levity. “You’ve already done that.” Of course he has. He’s told me how wild a sex life he’s had.
I want to turn away. Close my eyes and not think about Gray and all the women he’s been with.
But he knows me too. His hand cups my face with such care that my heart squeezes. “Hey. I don’t like that expression. Makes me worry that you’re thinking the wrong things.”
I try to smile but fail. “It’s stupid. I shouldn’t be jealous—”
“No, you shouldn’t,” he agrees softly, his thumb caressing my cheek.
“I can’t help it. I think of all the things you’ve done and…” I look away and bite my lip to stem the flow of stupidity leaving my mouth. But I’ve gone this far. Feeling ill, I tell him the rest. “What if being just with me gets boring to you?”
“Boring?” Gray rasps. I hazard a glance and find him staring at me, his brows raised, his eyes wide and shocked. “You’d think I’d rather have a bed full of chicks than be with you?”
God. I sound so insecure when he voices my fears. “I don’t want to think that way,” I murmur.
He rests his forehead against mine, his breath a warm caress against my lips. “Ah, Mac. You have it so wrong.”
I resist the urge to squirm. Almost absently, his hand drifts over my sex again. Nothing more, not seeking, but as if he can’t help exploring. I arch my back, moving into his touch, heat licking over my skin.
But his focus is on my face. “You want to know what it’s like?” he asks. “All those things that I did?”
“Not really,” I mumble.
“Well, I’m telling you. I promise never to lie to you, so you know what I say is true.” His voice is solemn, his expression earnest. “It was a novelty act. Half the time I was outside of myself, snickering at the fact that I was doing those things. The other half was awkward, elbows going where they shouldn’t, impersonal desperation, weird shit like girls obviously faking that they’re into each other because they think that’s what I wanted to see.” He clears his throat. “Yeah. Not hot. Not like it is with you.”
“Gray…”
“No, Ivy. Don’t blow this off,” he whispers. “You have to know. I get hotter from just kissing you than any sex I’ve had before.” As if to prove this, his lips find mine. His kiss is a slow, seeking exploration that has my insides melting and his breath quickening.
Our lips meld and part, and he gives my lower lip a sexy little lick. “So hot. So perfect.”
In one smooth roll, he moves over me, his arms bracketing my shoulders, and then he’s entering me, all hard, heavy cock and steady intent. The action is so unexpected, so good, that I gasp, my legs spreading wider to take more of him.
“Yeah,” he says. “Like that.”
He grunts when he pushes, as if he has to work hard at fitting his thick cock into me. My body tightens at that delicious feeling of him stretching me, filling me. Going just a bit deeper each time.