Page 28 of Up In Smoke

His hands gripped the new tile countertops, his mind flipping through scenes of him finding her expertly using the tile saw, laying each piece and then grouting the whole thing with a pastry bag. The woman knew what she was doing and his fingers clenched against her handiwork before reaching to her hip and clutching her hard enough to leave marks.

Luke couldn’t regret it. His mouth sought hers, his tongue battled for dominance, and he loved every second. When he stopped to draw a breath, she expertly maneuvered him, swapping their places and pressing him backward against the counter.

Her mouth traced his jawline as his head tipped back in ecstasy. If anyone had told him he’d be getting ravaged by Ivy Dean he would have … well, he would have had fantasies that didn’t even begin to rival reality.

No longer holding her in place, Luke’s hands slid up from her hips. He didn’t have to hold onto her, Ivy wanted to be here … or at least she needed to be. His fingers traced the top edge of her bra, her breasts silk to the touch as her sudden intake of breath heaved her chest up for a moment.

That one gentle, reverent touch hadn’t been enough. He reached around and ripped at the clasp, having no idea if he had suavely removed it or torn the thing by brute force, but he didn’t pay attention as it hit the floor. His hand reached into her hair, holding her head back as his mouth traced her neck, her collarbone, and finally tasted the pink tip of her breast.

He wasn’t normally such a beast. But Ivy was giving as good as she got. He was going to have fingernail marks down his back tomorrow and he not only didn’t care, he loved it.

The sweet suction of his mouth on her was thwarted by his shirt getting tugged up and over his head. Ivy wasn’t playing nice. As one hand tossed the shirt away the other reached for the snap on his jeans and it occurred to him for the first time that they weren’t playing at all. Neither of them was going to come to their senses and call this off.

Her fingers slid along the skin of his hips, pushing everything downward. His muscles had been on fire with need, but he entered flashover, everything igniting at once. Any thoughts were incinerated. He was operating on pure need as he reached for her pants. Finding them still unbuttoned, he growled with need as he saw the crossed swords on her hip and leaned down to nip at them.

His feet were caught and he kicked at his shoes and clothing, suddenly naked in Ivy’s kitchen. But her hips were wiggling as she let the silky pants slide down long bare legs, panties going with them. He could smell her. He couldn’t think. He wanted her. He needed her. He couldn’t resist.

Pushing her to walk a few steps backward, he had her against the edge of the new dining room table. A sturdy, butcher block piece, it held her easily as he lifted her to the edge and then pushed her backward until she was draped, naked, open, and inviting across the top.

Her hair splayed out around her like she was a mermaid. Her body with all its visible tattoos and hidden scars was his, if only for a moment or two.

He must have looked at her too long, because her ankles hooked behind his knees, pulling him closer. He didn’t need to be pulled, he wasn’t going anywhere.

She spoke his name, a sound somewhere between begging and demand. If he’d ever had the ability to resist her, it was gone now. With his own hand, he positioned himself at her entrance, pausing for a split second to savor the moment. Ivy’s legs open, her body laid out like a feast on the table, her eyes glazed and hot with need. For him.

He pushed into her. Hot and wet, the sensation wiped every shred of self knowledge from him. There was only now. Only her. Only this.

Her hips moved, taking him deeper and forcing him to comply. Her legs wrapped around him, holding him inside as her hips rotated, pushing and pulling against him until they were moving in a rhythm neither of them had complete control of. His tension built, and he tried to savor the sweet feeling of being inside her. She felt like heat and danger and home all at the same time. But nothing about this was letting him stop and linger.

Ivy arched her back, changing his angle and making his eyes roll. Luke fought to keep moving against her, to give as good as he got. When he managed to open his eyes again, she was propped up on her elbows, bare breasts heaving with her gasping breaths, eyes demanding.

She reached up, lacing her fingers into his hair and controlling his head until their lips were locked. He was pressed, full body, against her, inside her, over her … and yet she’d still invaded him.

They moved as though they were made for this. Each fighting for dominance and each conceding that they’d never quite achieve it. Their groans and cries probably reached the neighbors’, but Luke didn’t care. He couldn’t hold back as the blackness crept in around the corners of his vision and he both felt and heard her cry out her release. The feel of her around him changed and he couldn’t hold out anymore as his own body convulsed with what had to be the most sweeping orgasm of his life.

Collapsing forward onto his elbows, he tried not to crush her as his lungs fought for air and he gasped repeatedly as he fought to both return to reality and to never come back.

Slowly, he felt her melting away underneath him, her own senses likely returning as her head rolled to the side almost as if she could fall asleep right here in his arms, still laid out on her own dining room table.

But as his head slowly lifted and he looked her in the eyes, Luke knew there was nothing he could say. He had to get out of here.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ivy woke up in her bed and immediately her hands went to her head. She was wearing her pajamas, sleeping alone in her home, and her alarm was going off. She could try to believe that this was any normal morning. But it wasn't.

Reaching out, she slapped at the alarm clock as memories of the night before flooded back in. When was the last time she'd even had sex?

She tried to remember. It had been in life number two. Life Number Two had been tight jeans, low cut tight tops, friends who actually turned tricks for a living. They’d been high end call girls and Ivy had enjoyed the occasional limo with a Hollywood star funding everything. She’d been to after-parties galore and partaken of plenty of hedonistic pleasures.

But one night at the restaurant, she'd waited on a group of librarians coming from a conference. They'd been ecstatic about their trip and happy to see each other again and told her all about it. When she'd asked about their jobs, they had encouraged her. Like magicians, they pulled out their phones, referencing everything, giving her tips for things she hadn't considered. They told her what degrees to get, what the best schools were, and linked her to loan sources that would help fund someone like her through the high cost.

Ivy had spent six more months after that waiting tables. No more hookers and blow for Ivy Dean. Every penny went into savings. That fall, she entered New York University’s Library Sciences Program. Life Number Three had begun.

And she hadn't slept with anyone. Not since the night she'd waited on those librarians. Until now.

Rolling over in bed, she knew she could burn the time until her snooze went off. Ivy tried not to think about Luke. About the sizzling heat of his touch and her complete inability to control herself when he kissed her. They’d gone from zero to sixty thousand degrees in a moment.

Forcing her thoughts back to the librarians, she wondered if she should reach out again. She had stayed in touch with two of them, letting them know when she graduated NYU and when she'd gotten her master's. She’d told them of the job in Redemption. They'd been cheerleaders all the way as she'd once again cut herself off from most everything and walked away from Life number two. This time it had been of her own free choice.

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