Page 49 of Up In Smoke

It was supposed to distract him, break the connection of him seeing her soul. It only deepened.

Luke didn’t move, content to sit with her sheathed around him, maybe forcing her to take the reins. Ivy lifted her hips, the burn in her thighs as welcome as the sweet sting in her blood.

She rode him slowly for a few minutes, moving up and down, arching her back and rolling her hips to claim the best angle. Still Luke watched her face, made it impossible to break eye contact as her senses heightened and tightened.

When she was wound to the point of bursting, her body stole control from her and she picked up her pace, riding her own need as sure as she was riding his body. Luke’s hands grabbed her hips, fingers tightening until she would have bruises that would tell anyone who saw exactly what she’d been doing. He let her set the pace, but his grip held her close, grinding them together as the focus in her eyes began to fade and she looked beyond his precious face and into something that wasn’t visible at the surface.

“Ivy!”

She screamed loud enough to rouse his neighbors. Then she did it again. Her back arched, her head fell back, and her body bucked with the release of her orgasm. When her consciousness returned, she could still feel her body clenching rhythmically around him. Her fingers gripped his thighs, her back like a bow, her chest heaving … the movement of her breathing pressed her against him in a way that shot more small spikes of pleasure through her even as she came down from the high of being with him.

Slowly, her breathing normalized. Slowly, she returned to her body and heard him gathering his breath, too. She leaned onto his chest, and then over him. Tipping her head to keep her hair out of the way, she dipped in and kissed him.

The kiss was reassuring rather than seductive. It was deep and fulfilling, not needy and taking. She squeezed her eyes as reality and all the intrusive thoughts returned.

Luke’s arms came up around her and, with a little pressure, pulled her down against him. His embrace was warm and comforting. His words were not. “Ivy, what was that?”

She shook her head. She didn’t want to tell him.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Ihave to get to work.” Ivy rolled over, grateful that it was Wednesday morning, and that no one would notice if she wasn't there exactly on time. Because, on Wednesdays, there was noexactly on time.

Luke grinned up from bed, one arm tucked behind his head. “That was it? You just came over, used me, and now you're leaving?”

He thought he was being funny, she knew. But, as he said it, she realized that was almost exactly what he’d done the first night they were together. Ivy couldn’t take offense at it, though.

He stayed there, reclined on the bed as she climbed into her clothing. More of her original things had been ruined in the fire than she’d thought. It had required paperwork with the insurance company to get them to pay out more, but she wasn’t the only one to realize further damage after the fact, and she'd fought to get the payout. That’s what insurance was for. She told herself it was about the money and ignored the fact that her house had been deliberately set on fire.

Some of her clothing, particularly the dryclean only pieces had not ever been able to be cleared of the smoke smell. She’d waited on the check, then replaced the old long skirts and loose style pants with work pants in more comfortable stretch fabric. She added skirts that didn’t swing wide and hit below the knee.

But even as she was sorting through the nice new clothing that she’d thrown onto his old, worn carpet, Luke was sitting up in bed, not quite lazing back, a not-quite-grin on his face.

“Ivy.” Something about the tone stopped her halfway into getting her legs into her pants. She looked at him and tried to ignore the tug of his expression, the seriousness of it.

She pulled them up, buttoning the front and zipping them.

“Ivy.” He said it again. “You're so tense.”

“Of course, I am!” she snapped. Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It wasn't his fault, though he seemed to think it was. But he was a victim here as much as she was. She was just getting herself together to apologize when his words stunned her.

“I think we should maybe stop seeing each other for a while.”

“What?” She didn't even have a bra on and she whirled around as quickly as humanly possible to face him, her incredulity clear on her face. “I thought you were myprotection! But you’re just dumping me?”

She heard the words coming out of her mouth, the sarcasm, the disdain dripping. But she couldn’t stop it.

“Obviously it didn't work,” he said.

But he’d said it wasn’t about that. He’d said that hewantedto see her. In fact, he’d told her he didn’t want to just be her protection, he wanted to be more.And now …?

“And if whoever's targeting me thinks I've broken up with you …” She let it trail off. But she waited and he didn’t reply, he just looked away.

“What?” she asked, maybe just to fill the space. “So I can just sit at my house in the evenings alone? That sounds super safe.”

But she didn’t want him if he didn’t want to be there. She would sit at her house alone. Whoever was watching her be damned. She knew how to use a gun, too.

“I don't know what to tell you.” He was standing up now, absolutely unconcerned with his own nudity.

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