by Anna Burke
Anger licked the same depths as desire. Somehow, despite pushing Ivy away at the club, she still felt like prey. Ivy would not win—even if that meant denying herself. She moved to take the jacket just as Ivy shut the door.
The exam rooms had softer lights than the rest of the hospital, designed to soothe as well as illuminate. Lillian opened her mouth to demand Ivy stop fucking around, then swallowed her reprimand. She was alone in a room with Ivy, who was looking at her with a dare her body longed to accept.
“Ivy,” she said, half plea, half curse. Ivy set Lillian’s jacket on the counter and reclined against it. To get to her clothing, Lillian would have to either ask again or reach around Ivy. Half of her demanded she throw Ivy against the counter and sink her teeth into that smile. The other half urged flight. The muscles in her body trembled with indecision. Ivy’s smile widened.
Don’t play, she warned herself.
“May I have my coat?”
“Sure.” Ivy made no move to give it to her. The taunt in her posture was now unmistakable. If Lillian seized her jacket and fled, she’d lose the upper hand she’d gained at the club. And if I stay . . . If she stayed, there was only one way this would end.
Do I want to go there again?
Want was the wrong word. She wanted it. She wanted it too much, and there were thorns in Ivy’s eyes.
“Scared?” Ivy asked.
“Fuck you.”
“I think you want to.”
The burst of heat felt like fury as she closed the space between them and shoved Ivy hard against the counter with her hips while her lips found Ivy’s mouth. Ivy’s response was immediate. She laughed low in her throat, a sound that made Lillian want to scream. Ivy didn’t get to control this.
Ivy didn’t get to control anything.
Her fingers buried themselves in Ivy’s hair, and she tossed the clip that bound it to the ground. Ivy’s laugh turned into a moan as Lillian tangled her hands in the thick blond waves, using her grip to hold Ivy still as she parted her lips with her own. Ivy pushed back against her. She used the counter as leverage until Lillian was forced a staggering step backward. Ivy caught her around her waist with one arm, and braced herself against the nearest wall with the other as they collided with it. The impact wasn’t enough to hurt, but it did momentarily stun her, which was all Ivy apparently needed—she pinned Lillian’s hands to her sides and raked her teeth down the sensitive skin just above her shoulder.
Her knees threatened to give out as her breath came hard and fast. Ivy nipped her sharply—half goad, half promise. She cried out, not in pain, but because the sensation sent a shockwave through her that demanded some kind of release. She tried to break free of Ivy’s grasp, but it was hard to fight when her skin had grown hypersensitive to every brush of Ivy’s mouth. Ivy’s tongue found the groove above her collarbone. She shuddered, no longer capable of coherent thought, and shut her eyes as Ivy pulled down the collar of her shirt.
Ivy’s lips skimmed the hem of her camisole. She was vaguely aware Ivy’s fingers were on the buttons of her blouse, undoing one at a time, but the fact that her hands were now free was secondary to the shuddering breaths wracking her body as Ivy’s mouth worked lower and lower. When Ivy yanked her shirt off her shoulders, following the motion with a bite, however, the surge of desire triggered instinct. She grabbed Ivy by her belt and pulled her closer. The heat between them built as she grabbed a handful of Ivy’s hair once more. Ivy’s green eyes were unfocused, but they sharpened as Lillian pivoted them, guiding Ivy by her hair until she had her back against the counter where they’d started.
“Get up.”
Ivy obeyed. She relinquished her grip on Ivy’s hair and tugged her shirt out from her work pants, using the height of the counter to her advantage as she revealed the smooth skin of Ivy’s stomach. Memory flashed: snow, a stumbling, drunken run from Natalie’s party, hand in hand, and then the strobing lights of passing cars through an unfamiliar window as Ivy lay beneath her.
Stop.
This was not then. This was now, and right now Ivy shivered as she ran her hands up her sides. Her touch was light; she wanted to scratch her, to dig her nails into the thin muscles covering her ribs and the curvature of her hips. She wanted to mark her. She wanted to see the evidence of her touch on Ivy’s pale skin, and she wanted Ivy to see it, too. She wanted to stain her so deeply Ivy couldn’t shrug it off or walk away.
Ivy tried to fumble with Lillian’s hair tie. She raked her nails down Ivy’s back. Ivy cried out as she wrapped her legs around Lillian to draw her in closer. The feel of her skin giving beneath her nails was even more intoxicating than she remembered. She did it again, and again Ivy whimpered, arching into the touch. Ivy’s lace bra met first her gaze—only Ivy would wear something like that to work—and then her teeth as she teased the nipples half-visible through the sheer fabric while her hands continued scratching their manifesto.
“Oh God, Lil.”
The strong muscles of Ivy’s back tensed beneath her hands as her teeth dragged over her nipple. Her mouth found the swell of breast above the lace. She traced the cleft between with her tongue, then bit down hard. Ivy’s hips jerked. She heard a thud as Ivy’s head made contact with the cabinet behind her.
She bit and sucked past Ivy’s full breasts and down along her side, leaving marks behind. They filled her with a savage satisfaction. If it hurt, Ivy made no move to stop her. Shirtless, the dark green lace of her bra stark against her pale skin and her hair tumbling around her shoulders in a heavy sheet, Ivy’s beauty destroyed her. She stood, staring, and was therefore unprepared for Ivy’s counterattack.
Ivy slid from the counter and tore Lillian’s shirt from her back. Her hands were warm as she splayed her fingers over the skin above Lillian’s hips and turned her around so her back was to Ivy. She let Ivy ease her camisole over her head, the memory of the club clouding her senses as Ivy’s fingers undid the clasp of her belt, then the button, before sliding back up her stomach and to her breasts.
Lillian’s bra was simple and practical. Ivy unsnapped it, letting it fall as she cupped Lillian’s breasts and rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She felt the moan building inside her and bit her lip, but it broke free anyway, need transformed into sound. Ivy’s lips were on her ear, tracing the outer shell and then covering it to whisper, “I want you, Lillian. Fuck, I want you.”
She reached over her shoulder to hold the back of Ivy’s neck as she leaned into her body, Ivy’s words echoing in the spaces between her atoms. Ivy’s tongue flickered over her ear in the wake of those words. Her knees momentarily gave out. One of Ivy’s hands still held her breast, but the other slid into the top of her pants, brushing the fabric of her underwear while she teased her ear with her tongue, making a promise she desperately hoped Ivy intended to keep. It occurred to her, very dimly, that they were in an exam room, and that tumbling Ivy to the floor would be unhygienic. The unfairness of that fact was wiped clean by Ivy, who dipped her hand lower, still over the fabric, and into the wet heat at Lillian’s center.
Blues and greens swirled in the corner of her vision. She hadn’t been touched in months by anyone other than herself, and she’d forgotten—how had she forgotten?—the way it felt to be stroked by another person, to melt into the touch, to lose herself entirely beneath the hands and mouth of someone she desired.
Even if that person was Ivy.
• • •
Lillian’s breath came in gasps as Ivy held her, and the feeling of Lillian in her arms, letting her hold her, trusting her to keep her upright, was mesmerizing. Lillian’s nipple hardened against her palm, and lower down—she didn’t bother biting back her moan as she eased Lillian’s underwear aside to stroke the delicate skin around her opening. Lillian’s body shook as she arched into her hand.
How many times had she lain awake imagining this? Remembering this? She felt Lillian’s desire building as she teased her, Lillian’s hair against her face and her ear—she’d always liked Li
l’s ears, unpierced and perfect—pressed against her lips. She wanted to fuck Lillian now, right here, and she wanted to wait, drawing this moment out.
“Ivy, please,” said Lillian as Ivy passed over her opening for the fifth time, dragging her fingers up to part around her clit, arousing without satisfying. The sound of Lillian begging closed like a fist around her heart. A growl rose in her throat: possessive, hungry. She released it into Lillian’s ear. Her ecstatic shudder sent a mirrored thrill through her own body, and she licked the delicate shell before answering, tasting her words.
“No.”
Lillian uttered a wordless curse and twisted, breaking free of Ivy’s hold and crushing her mouth to hers. Lil, she had time to think, before Lillian stole her breath and her willpower and anything else not securely lashed down as she kissed all the light from the room and gathered it between them. Whining, blinding need drowned her. She fumbled for something to grab onto, finding the edge of the counter, and was aware that Lillian was undoing her pants as she fell back against the smooth wall. Lillian took Ivy’s lower lip between her teeth and bit down. The pain sparked a cascade effect that sent desire spilling over as Lillian’s hand slipped into her pants and under her underwear and into her.
She screamed into Lillian’s mouth as the feeling of Lillian Lee inside her, moving, stroking where she needed it most built and built. Lillian didn’t break the kiss. The weight of Lillian’s body kept her standing, and Lillian buried her hand in her hair again, the tugging following the same rhythm as Lillian’s fingers. She clung to her, arms around her neck, and her tongue entwined with Lillian’s as Lillian took control. She felt her climax rising to meet her demands, and whimpered when Lillian stopped without warning, pressing into her and pinning her desire against her fingertips. Ivy’s eyes flew open as Lillian smiled against her lips.
“Don’t stop, Lil,” she said. “Please.”
“I never thought I’d hear you use that word.”
“Lil—”
Lillian pushed deep inside her, then slowly withdrew, leaving Ivy shaking and gasping in frustration.
“Oh fuck,” she said, still clinging to Lillian. “Oh fuck Lil, no, please.”
“Why?”
“Lil, I swear to god, oh shit—” A shudder took her by surprise, and she rode it out, needing Lillian inside her again.
“You made my life hell.” Lillian brushed her clit with the tip of her finger.
“You made mine hell, too,” Ivy said between gasps. “More than you know.”
“Tell me.”
“I—” she couldn’t speak with Lillian poised just above her clit, the barest hint of pressure resting against her, and Lillian’s hold on her hair unflinching. She felt she might split open, unmade in a clinic exam room while Lillian laughed at her. “I wanted you.”
“When?”
She jerked her hips, desperate for Lillian’s touch, but Lillian pulled her hair and she trembled to a halt.
“Since second year.”
Lillian parted her folds. Her touch was languorous, and lacked the urgency Ivy ached for. Lillian’s lips were bare centimeters away from her own. Every time she tried to reach them, Lillian pulled away.
“Second year?” Lillian’s voice rose. The brief show of vulnerability almost brought her to climax.
“Yes.”
It had been long before that party, though she hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t walk away from you right now, Ivy Holden.”
“Because,” said Ivy, breathless. “You want to fuck me.”
Lillian searched her face with her brown eyes. Her lashes brushed her cheeks each time she blinked, and Ivy couldn’t read her expression. Lillian’s bare chest rose and fell against her own. She longed to taste that skin again.
“That’s not a good enough reason.”
“Isn’t it?” Ivy managed to capture Lillian’s lips for a second before Lillian pulled away, only to tilt Ivy’s head back and kiss along her neck, her lips and teeth exquisitely rough. She didn’t answer Ivy’s question. That didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Lillian’s mouth was claiming her, and that the torturously slow rhythm of her fingers was increasing, skimming and then plunging in a way that turned the world red behind her eyelids. Her left leg had hooked itself around Lillian’s waist at some point, and she used its leverage to ride Lillian’s hand harder, her neck nearly as sensitive as her clit beneath Lillian’s tongue.
“Lil?”
Morgan Donovan’s distant voice broke through the insistent pulse at her core. Lillian straightened, still inside her, and met Ivy’s eyes with shock writ large across her features.
“My car,” said Lillian. “She knows I’m here.”
Which meant she would come looking, and if nothing else, she’d notice the light on in the room and turn it off.
“Go,” Ivy said, hating Morgan.
Lillian withdrew slowly, leaving Ivy shaking, and threw on her shirt and jacket before shoving her camisole and bra into her bag. Ivy struggled with her own shirt. Her hands refused to cooperate, though at least this was from thwarted desire and not nerve damage. Lillian reached for the door handle and shut off the light.
She ducked behind the table and rested her face in her hands as Lillian left her alone in the dark.
Chapter Six
“Surprised to see you still here,” said Morgan as Lillian rounded the corner.
“I was just finishing up paperwork.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her pants to hide the evidence of Ivy’s desire.
“Good. Come to Stormy’s with us,” said Stevie.
Stormy. She was still angry at her friend. More than that, however, she needed to get home and change into clothes that didn’t smell like Ivy’s perfume, because if she didn’t, she was going to find herself in Ivy’s driveway later on that night. Going out didn’t fit into that plan. “Not tonight.”
“Come onnn,” said Stevie. “I need a baked good, and you and Angie haven’t made anything in ages.”
“We have a perfectly functional, fully stocked kitchen,” she reminded her. “You are capable of baking things yourself.”
“But am I?” said Stevie. “The last time I tried I lit the stove on fire. Also what happened to your hair?”
“My hair?” Lillian reached up to feel her head. Loose strands met her fingers, and she had a sudden image of how rumpled she must look. “Oh. Yeah. I got bored. Paperwork.”
“You got bored,” Morgan repeated. “You okay, Lil?” Her eyes drifted around the clinic, and Lillian realized Ivy’s things were still on the counter.
“You know what? Yes. Let’s go to Stormy’s.” She needed to get them out of here before Morgan came to conclusions she wasn’t prepared to address. “Maybe she has some leftover muffins.”
“Or scones.” Stevie said. “I love absconding with scones.”
Scones were not what she wanted in her mouth. She trailed behind Stevie, hesitating at the door. Ivy’s perfume clung to her skin as well as her clothes, and her hands smelled like Ivy—sharp and sweet at the same time, like her namesake.
“Lil, c’mon.”
The sanctuary of her car came as a relief. She rested her head against her steering wheel as Morgan and Stevie piled into Morgan’s truck across the lot. At least Ivy’s truck was parked behind the building out of her friends’ sight.
“Holy hell,” she whispered to her knees. “What am I doing?”
• • •
“Boifriend,” Stormy sang out as they entered. Her expression faltered when she saw Lillian.
The pub was mostly empty. Several students with laptops and lattes lounged at the tables, but only a few people sat at the bar. It was, after all, a Monday night in November.
“Got anything with chocolate?” Stevie asked as she slid onto a barstool and leaned on her elbows to stare up at Stormy hopefully.
“You bet your sweet blond ass I do,” said Stormy. “What are you in the mood for?”
> “Carbs.”
“Pain au chocolate?” Stormy’s French, Lillian noted, was terrible.
“Yes.”
A chocolate croissant appeared in front of a gratified Stevie as Morgan and Lillian took their seats beside her.
“How’s Emilia?” Lillian asked Morgan.
“Good.” Morgan’s face broke into a broad smile. Lillian’s heart warmed. Seeing Morgan happy took the edge off the turmoil in her own life. Morgan deserved happiness, and Emilia was a wonderful human.
Emilia. She could talk to Emilia about Ivy. Emilia had no connection to the practice, and she hadn’t known Lillian in vet school, which made her a safe repository for the emotions boiling inside her. Stormy, who she might also have turned to, had betrayed her trust—she glanced up at that moment to see Stormy staring at her with an anguished expression—which ruled her out.
“What can I get you two?” Stormy asked.
“Hot cider,” said Morgan.
“You do know I only keep that on the menu for you, right?”
“That’s why I love you.”
“And you, darling?” Stormy turned to Lillian. Her eyes brimmed with apologies, but Lillian was unmoved.
“I’m all set. I had some of your coffee this morning.”
Stormy blushed, and Morgan glanced between them with a crease of confusion between her brows.
A soy hot chocolate appeared in front of her a minute later. Lillian sighed and accepted it. Stormy was a meddler who needed to feed and hydrate everyone around her, which made her perfectly suited to her job, even if it sometimes made her difficult.
“I am so not ready for winter,” Stevie said as she washed down her croissant with a hot chocolate of her own.
“You should take Olive skijoring,” Morgan suggested, referring to the horse Stevie had adopted over the summer. “It would be good for her hind end.”
“Skijoring?” Lillian asked.
“Skiing, but pulled by a horse or dog.”
