Chapter 205
I can’t help myself, then, as I turn my face to Ivan, a tiny moan on my lips that he snatches away with his mouth on mine.
I kiss him without remembering to breathe, so hungry for him that I forget myself – hungry for his joy, his laughter, his ease and his jokes
the way he lets me escape the rest of my world and lose myself in him. Ivan’s mouth is hot against me as he wraps me in his arms, twisting his body and me with it so that I’m all tied up in him, his back now flat against the cushions and
Chapter 205
my chest pressed on top of his as I
take control of the kiss.
His hands feel like they’re everywhere, all over my body, and I want them there – and I slip my own hand beneath his shirt, feeling the flat stretch of his stomach, the ridge of the v of his muscles as they disappear into the top of his pants –
But suddenly I gasp, pulling away
remembering another stomach another stupid pair of pants –
I sit straight up, aghast, staring
down at Ivan.
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“Fay,” he says quietly, sitting
up, looking at me with concern. “What’s wrong?”
I just stare at him, appalled at myself. How could I – Kent was –
“It’s all right,” Ivan whispers, putting out a tentative hand and brushing a curl of my hair behind my ear. “It’s okay. We don’t have to. Do you want to go inside?”
“No,” I breathe, shaking my head, my body starting to calm down.
Because, of course, Ivan isn’t going to make me do anything I don’t
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want to. I realize that, as I stare at
him.
The real problem is that I…I don’t know what I want. And with
everything that happened with Kent – the intensity that grew between us until it broke
until
he broke – I hadn’t realized…that
maybe this, with Ivan…
Maybe this is what I want? Want
more?
Or…is it just Ivan is the one in front of me right now…and after twenty–some years of celibacy
something has broken in me
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and I just want to have sex with
everyone –
I sigh and hang my head, shaking it, so terribly confused. “No,” I say, closing my eyes and letting myself rest. “Can we just…can we just stay out here?”
“Of course,” Ivan responds instantly, leaning back against the cushions and looking at me with concern. He takes my hand and tugs on it, inviting me to come close and relax. I move to sit next to him, putting my head on his shoulder, knowing that he’ll let me take the lead. That he won’t push.
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We’re quiet for a long minute, Ivan reaching for two more beers from the bucket and handing me one. I take it, giving him a little
smile, truly grateful that he’s… well, that he’s being so nice to me.
“So, Rodrigo,” I say with a little sigh. “Tell me how you grew up.”
And he does. Ivan invents a long story for Rodrigo for me, of his childhood raised by panthers and his early years in the sands of the Sahara, including weird twists and heart–wrenching turns that have me laughing long into the night.
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A few hours later, my head still pillowed on Ivan’s shoulder, I fall asleep listening to the sound of his voice.
The next morning the dawn light wakes me, rudely peeking through my lashes and invading my sleep. I rub my eyes, the early–morning air cold and dewy against my skin, and look to Ivan slumped against my side, still asleep.
I smile as I look at him and raise a
hand to softly brush his hair back
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