Page 2 of Covetous

His question catches me off guard, though it shouldn’t. Not with how possessive Ian is. “No. He only ever saw me as his little sister’s friend.”

Ian squints his brown eyes as he scrutinizes me, making me feel exposed. “Did you want him to make a pass at you?”

“Nope.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily, but there’s no use in dredging up the past. Why bother if it’s only going to make Ian unnecessarily jealous?

Esme’s cries of pleasure fill the air, surpassing the volume of her moans from before, and Victor’s groans follow as they take each other to orgasm heaven. Ian and I share a look before laughing.

“If you move in with me, you won’t have to listen to Esme and her latest fuck toy,” he says.

Victor’s reputation as a ladies’ man, both during our high school years and afterward, is well-known, but it doesn’t give Ian the license to devalue him into nothing more than a fuckboy. Yet defending Victor will only raise Ian’s suspicions—which are totally unwarranted.

“I don’t think it’s like that with them. I think it’s serious.” What started as casual sex between two single people who could have anyone they wanted turned into something more. Now they’re exclusively hooking up. That’s a relationship, right? And who am I to judge what they have? People evolve. Maybe Victor isn’t the playboy he used to be. And maybe Esme has finally discovered someone worth considering for a long-term commitment.

“It won’t last,” Ian dismisses, closing my laptop and shifting it onto the bedside table.

“Why do you think that?” It’s been months, and they’re still going strong.

He meets my gaze, his face a blend of playful disbelief and cynicism. “Because it’s Esme we’re talking about.”

My spine stiffens, and I feel my hackles rise. “Careful,” I warn. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”

A mischievous glint enters his eyes as a lazy grin stretches his full lips. “I thought I was your best friend.”

My anger dissipates into a smirk. “Eh.”

“That’s cold.” Ian laughs.

I shrug. “It’s a cold world out here.”

He nips at my thigh, making me giggle. “Esme’s cool, but if he doesn’t have enough money for her, she’ll drop his ass when she’s done with him.”

At his callous words, my laughter dries up. “She’s not a gold digger.”

“Oh yeah?” The absence of emotion in his tone is like a flat line. “Who is his family? I’ve never heard of any Prescotts.”

“Senator Quentin James is his stepdad.”

Ian blows out a breath. “Shiiit. That family is as rich as the Bushes.”

“Something like that.” I hate that Ian thinks I’m proving his point—that Esme only dates guys with money or who come from money. Though that’s always been her goal.

“My mistake.” His mouth curves into a wide smirk, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m sure it’s serious. They’ll probably beat us to the altar.”

His thinly veiled sarcasm aimed at my best friend has me rolling my eyes. “Enough already.”

“Enough about them, and back to the subject of living together. When are we moving in together?” His words hang in the air between us, stirring up emotions I’m not quite ready to confront.

Ian’s been bringing up me moving in with him much more lately, and every time he mentions it, my stomach hurts. “I’m still not ready. Maybe in a year. But before we get married, for sure.”

“A year?” Rolling over, Ian lies flat on his back, directing his gaze toward the ceiling. “I’m a grown-ass man having sleepovers with his fiancée. I don’t mean to pressure you, but living here with your roommates can’t last forever.”

“I know that.” This is where our eleven-year age gap comes into play. Ian’s always making comments about my level of maturity compared to where he is as a thirty-three-year-old man. “With Liv leaving for grad school at USC in September, and with Esme planning on joining her in LA next summer, Ms. Sharon will probably sell the house. So our setup won’t last forever.” When Sharon Ryder’s job transferred her to Las Vegas, the three of us moved out of the dorms and into Esme’s childhood home. I’ve loved living here. I’m not ready to give that up just yet to play house with Ian.

“I love you. You know that?” he says, his brown eyes searching mine.

I hesitate before replying, unsure if I truly do love him the way he needs, or if I’m just saying it because it’s expected of me. Lying down next to him, I move to share his pillow like we’ve done on so many nights. “I know you do.” Ian is like the perfect guy—my family certainly thinks so. But do I still love him? I think so. Or I want to, despite the nagging feelings of doubt and guilt churning in my head. “I love you too. You were my first.”

His lips curl upward into a warm, gentle smile, the corners of his mouth reaching up toward his dimples. “And I’ll be your only. No other man will ever know what it feels like to be inside you.”

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