Page 20 of Covetous

“We kiss all the time.”

“Not like this.” Tilting my head back, I give him better access to my neck. “Not when we’re making love.”

Every muscle in Ian’s body goes rigid, causing me to open my eyes. He cups my jaw, grazing his thumb over my bottom lip before giving me a bruising kiss, biting down hard on my bottom lip. “Anything else, Ms. Wyatt?”

“No.” Nervous energy pulses through me as I lick the blood off my bottom lip.

“Are you sure?” Ian separates our bodies but remains on top of me. “You seem like you have a lot to say, so say it. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“We don’t have to do this right now.”

“I think we do. Is there anything I’m not giving you in bed?” His voice is deceitfully calm, but I know better.

How should I handle this? Either I can tell him the truth, or I can lie, which he’d probably see through. “You, umm.” I swallow the lump lodged in my throat. “You never go down on me. And I go down on you all the time. So…”

“I wouldn’t say all the time,” he mutters, rolling off me until his back hits the mattress.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I observe him as he rustles under the covers, discarding the condom and tossing it into the nearby wastebasket. “Is there something you want from me—sexually or otherwise? Something that I’m not giving you that you need?”

He won’t look at me. “I’m satisfied, but you aren’t.”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just…maybe if you reciprocate? Unless you don’t like it.” Is that it? He doesn’t enjoy it with me? I don’t smell bad down there, but do I taste weird? “If you don’t like performing oral sex on me, maybe we can try something else. You could finger me or rub my clit while we kiss. Or maybe we can use toys. I’m open to trying anal beads. Those look like fun.”

He twists his head up off the pillow to meet my gaze, his eyebrows raising in a perplexed expression. Crinkling his nose, he asks, “You want to try anal beads?” It’s difficult to gauge the exact emotion on his face, but there is definitely a trace of disgust and confusion.

Never mind, then. Heat floods my cheeks. I’m probably turning a shade of plum-red mortification. “Forget the toys. Just more foreplay would be nice.”

“I’ve been having sex a helluva lot longer than you, and I’ve never had any complaints.”

My mouth opens and shuts again.

“What were you about to say?” He lifts his head from his pillow.

“Nothing.”

“Fuck this.” Retrieving his briefs from under the bed, he hastily slips them on.

“The way we were just together was so good.” As he gets out of bed, I attempt to reach for him, but he rejects my touch, slapping my hand away. “I only meant that I want more of that.”

“Do I make you come?” He goes to stand at the foot of the bed with his hands on his hips, waiting for me to answer.

Sitting up in bed, I tousle my wild hair with a shaky hand. “Yeah.” This lie doesn’t come easy, but I’d hate to see what the truth would do to him.

A muscle twitches in his cheek as his jaw clenches. “You’re lying to me.”

“You’ve made me come before.” Fuck. I’m so bad at this. “Baby, come back to bed.”

Quiet laughter shakes his shoulders as anger blazes in his eyes. “I can’t fucking believe you. I’m going to take a shower. Do not follow me.”

Tears swim in my eyes. “I love you, Ian,” I murmur, feeling vulnerable.

His footsteps falter as he turns away, but then he pauses and retraces his steps back to the bed. With his tall figure looming over me, he stares down at me with a mixture of hurt and anger in his eyes. The silence stretches on, but instead of responding verbally, he sifts his fingers through my hair. My eyes drift shut as I try to hold on to this perfect moment, but it’s ripped away in an instant when he spins around and storms out of the bedroom, the door slamming behind him with a bang.

In that moment, I shatter, the weight of my emotions crushing me.

A heavy, aching silence fills the air as we dress for dinner. Ian dons a sleek Armani suit, while I slip into a form-fitting cut-out maxi dress from Nookie.

Dinner is served on our private hotel balcony, adorned with twinkling lights and flickering candles, creating an intimate atmosphere beneath the stars. The scent of fresh flowers and the sound of champagne being poured add to the luxurious setting. A four-course meal, complete with decadent dishes and rich flavors, is laid out before us. It should be the recipe for a perfect date, but the tension between us is palpable. My attempts at small talk about the weather and food are met with only brief, distant responses. The energy lingering between us suffocates any hope of a romantic evening.

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