“God, baby. You’re so fucking tight. You grip me just right. I love fucking you. I’ll never get enough, Ivy. Ever.”
She turned to steel in my arms, and I kissed her as I thrust harder, rubbing against her until she shattered, melting into bliss with my name on her lips and my heart in her hands.
Her orgasm brought mine, her walls squeezing me like a velvet vise as I emptied into her, mind-blowing pleasure exploding through me until my vision blacked for an exquisite second.
Then I collapsed, quickly rolling to my side so I didn’t crush her—she was so small compared to me, and brought her along so she was resting on my chest.
It was more than a few minutes before either of us could talk or breathe at a normal rate. I’d known sex with Ivy would be great, but never in my life had I imagined it would blow every other sexual experience I’d ever had out of the water.
“Three orgasms?” she asked, resting her chin on her hands to look up at me.
“Are you complaining?” I ran my hand down the damp length of her spine.
“No, just thinking you tackle sex like everything else in your life.”
I pried an eye open to see her sleepy, sated grin. “And how is that?”
“You’re an overachiever,” she answered with a shrug.
How could the woman make me want to laugh when she’d nearly killed me a few minutes ago? Scratch that, how could I already be hardening inside her again?
“Yeah, well, give me ten minutes and I’ll overachieve you in bed upstairs.”
“It’s okay if it takes you fifteen,” she said with a sparkle in her eyes.
“Make it five.”
Chapter 12
Ivy
Connor’s lips against mine.
His body pinning me against the chaise by the pool.
The way he devoured me until I was limp with pleasure only to slide inside me and send me into orbit.
The memories deliciously haunted me, replaying the events over and over in my mind.
Heat crept along my skin underneath my jersey of choice today—Warren Kinley’s. I’d almost reached for Connor’s but wearing his name on my back would actually mean something. And I wasn’t ready to find out exactly what yet.
Still, I hadn’t blinked twice when Hannah had asked me to coordinate outfits—jerseys complete with back leggings, sparkly pink Ugg boots, and Shark green bows in our hair.
“Yeah!!” Hannah clapped and screamed louder than any fan in the stadium, which was packed. Game seven of the second round of playoffs, we were tied at three games for the series, the scoreboard showed us tied at four, and Connor had just gained possession of the puck. This could make or break the game—and the season.
One mistake, and the Sharks were done.
His toned body wasn’t evident under the pads and gear, but I knew his hard abs clenched, and his strong, thick thighs screamed as he skated across the ice. I shifted in my seat, holding my breath as I watched him soar with such power I swore the entire arena gasped.
Conner drew back his stick, those arms perfect for sweeping me off my feet and shooting goals. A loud crack! And the puck flew with lightning speed toward the goal…and right past the goalie’s attempt to block it.
We darted to our feet, hollering and cheering along with a thousand other Shark fans. The arena became a loud, chaotic entity as speakers blared music and fans blew horns.
“Yay!” Hannah squealed as she high fived me before we proceeded to jump up and down as if Connor had won the game for us. There were still three minutes left in the third period, but there was no stopping the mini-celebration. Hannah’s love for Connor was downright infectious.
As we settled back into our seats, I couldn’t a remember a time I’d been so stoked to be at a game.
Sure, I loved the Sharks and enjoyed watching them play, but there was something different about this game that I couldn’t put my finger on.
Connor’s tongue darting out to draw a moan from my mouth.
His smile that was equal parts grin and smirk.
The sound of his laugh.
The way he could be touchingly gentle with me as much as he could be downright deliciously animalistic.
The way he loved Hannah.
The way he made me feel like a goddess, worthy, and even…loved.
I jolted in my seat, my eyes trailing Connor’s moves like he was the center of my world.
How long had I been doing that?
Longer than we’d been…whatever it is that we were.
Longer than I’d ever admit to myself.
Warmth snaked its way up my limbs, filling the center of my chest with a solid heat I’d never felt before. Visions flashed behind my eyes, too fast and intense to stop them.
Connor’s arms around me, a wall at my back, his teeth grazing my skin.
Connor across the table from me, a breakfast spread between us as we laughed at something Hannah said.
Connor and Hannah wishing me luck as I rush out the door for a celebrity event I was covering.
A beautiful life—one with playful days and even wilder nights.
“Ohmygod!” I was so wrapped up in my own realization that I’d spoken the word aloud.
“I know, right?” Hannah asked, beaming up at me as she clapped and pointed toward the ice. “Uncle Eric blocked another one!”
“Right. Yes!” I fist-bumped the air and whooped for good measure.
I’d totally missed Eric’s not-at-all-surprising block.
Because I’d been too busy realizing I was completely and totally in love with Connor Bridgerton.
“Can’t you just write about how we won the second round?” Connor asked, his hands on my hips as he stood behind me.
I finished touching up my lipstick, a bright shade of pink that matched my dress. I spun slowly, wrapping my arms around his neck. “You know,” I said, a smirk on my lips. “I should use you as a story,” I teased. “Connor Bridgerton, powerful on the ice but even hotter in the sack.”
“Ha. Ha.” He trailed the tip of his nose along my bare neck, and heat shot straight to my core. “You wouldn’t dare advertise that,” he whispered, raising chills along my skin. “Then every woman in the city would be after me.”
I chuckled arching against him as he tucked me closer, his arms snaking around me to hold me tight. “I think we both know how many women are after you, Connor. You don’t need an article in the Seattle Chronicle to prove that.”
“Too bad for them there is only one woman I’m interested in fu—”
“Ivy!” Hannah squealed from the bedroom’s opened doorway, and Connor reluctantly put some distance between us. It had been a little less than two weeks since we’d enjoyed the pool house, and we weren’t hiding from Hannah, but I wanted to respect that this was her house and she was the woman running it. “You look so pretty!” She came barreling into the room, stopping to look up at me. “Pink is definitely the best color ever.”
“I have to agree,” Connor said as Hannah came to hug his leg.
A blush crept over my cheeks as I smiled at them both.
Is this what Pepper felt like all the time? Is this why she glowed? Because she was in love with an incredible man that made her feel like a queen?
Tell him.
I swallowed around the rock forming in my throat. I’d never once told a man I’d loved him before—sure I fell hard and fast, but I never dared utter the words, and I certainly hadn’t felt this with anyone before, either.
Connor and I hadn’t defined anything. It was too early. Hell, we’d been at each other’s throats weeks ago. Though, I now knew most of the hostility came from the two of us trying to deny the connection we couldn’t ignore and were terrified to explore.
Some of that cold fear threatened to steal my warm moment—the doubt creeping behind all the shine…the fact that I didn’t deserve this. That I always ended up messing up every relationship I’d ever had. That if I stayed with Connor—in any capacity—I would find a way to r
uin him.
I clenched my eyes shut, forcing the negativity away.
This was different.
Connor wasn’t Crosby or any other man I’d been with.
He was kind and smart and wild and sexy and…
Too good for you.
Ugh.
“Will you talk to Tristan Barber?” Hannah asked, grounding me in the present.
I shifted my dress so I could kneel at her level. “I will try.”
Her eyes grew as wide as saucers. “Really?” Her tone was high enough for a dog whistle.
“I can’t promise it,” I said, wanting to always be honest with her. “There will be so many people there, I may not get to him. But I will definitely try for you.”
“Omg so cool!” She bounced on the balls of her feet. “I can’t believe you could possibly see him. Talk to him! Gah!” she started speaking faster than I could understand, and Connor rolled his eyes. He could hardly believe Hannah had a celebrity crush at her age despite me explaining how early girl crushes started.
“Who else do you plan to talk to?” Connor asked as I stood back up.
“Anyone who can give me a story.” I sighed, and he tipped my chin up to meet his eyes.
“Shelby still riding you?”
I nodded. “One month left. None of my previous articles have been enough to earn me the permanent employee badge.”
“You’ll land it,” he said. “I have no doubt. You’re a brilliant reporter.”
I couldn’t contain my smile. “We’ll see.” My shoulders dropped. “I don’t want to earn it by scooping a scandal, you know?”
He nodded, and Hannah bolted out of the room, noticing we were done talking about Tristan Barber and had moved on to boring adult things. “Wouldn’t it be easier?” He asked, and I widened my gaze at him. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I didn’t mean forever. I only meant one story. One to secure your position. Then you could choose your future stories without Shelby breathing down your neck.”
I shook my head. “She’ll still be my editor. And I want to prove to her that I can relay celebrity stories without having to conform to the masses. Cheating and lying and all the he said she said BS.” I shrugged. “Of course, if it gets down to it, I may have to. This job is all I’ve ever wanted.”
Connor cocked a brow at me.
Another flush dusted my skin. “Well,” I said, my hand on his strong, broad chest. “Until recently.”
“That so?” he smirked down at me, his hand sliding behind my back to grip my ass. “Mmm,” he moaned. “The things I could do to you in this dress.”
My legs weakened with his words, heat swarming between my thighs. Good God the man could make me limp from words alone.
“Come with me,” I whispered, and his eyes flew wide.
“Here?” He asked, a tease in his voice. “Right this second?”
I laughed, lightly smacking his chest. “I meant to the event,” I said. “Throw on a suit and come with me.”
He wetted his lips, the battle clear in his eyes before he shook his head. “As much as I’d love to trail that ass all night, I’ll have to let Zach be your date.” His eyes narrowed as he said my photographer’s name, and I knew that the night at Club Thirty-Five had put a rift between the two that would never heal. He took a step away from me like he needed the distance to solidify his decline to my invitation. “I promised Hannah a date. We’re going to do it up big with dinner and ice cream and then the bookstore.”
My heart expanded so much I couldn’t breathe.
This man.
“I’m properly jealous,” I said.
“You?” he shook his head. “I’m hoping that Jack Ryan guy doesn’t try and steal you away.”
I laughed. “He’s married,” I said.
“Like that matters in Hollywood.”
“To some people it does.”
“Not with the way you look in that dress.”
“Have to blend in to get the goods,” I said, crossing the distance he’d put between us. “And besides,” I continued. “A spy has nothing on a Shark.”
“Better remember that.”
“I can still smell you from this morning, Connor,” I teased. “How could I forget?”
A low growl rumbled from his chest. “When is the event over?”
“Past midnight. If I get an invite to the after party.”
He groaned. I had yet to stay the night while Hannah was here, and I wouldn’t until we’d discussed it properly. Now wasn’t the time.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, though, right?” I asked.
“Count on it.”
“Oh, I will,” I said, planting him with a kiss quick enough to leave us both wanting more. Then I clicked out of the room, hating how much I wanted to blow off the award event and stay with Connor all night.
Crazy.
He was making me absolutely crazy.
Three hours and one generous autograph from Tristan Barber later, I walked into the Plaza where the awards after-party was being held. The grand ballroom had been transformed into what could’ve been Seattle’s newest and hottest nightclub. Muted lights, red satiny tables, and impeccable beats created the perfect atmosphere for all the celebs who were still riding the adrenaline highs for the ceremony. Some danced, others drank the top shelf liquor offered on trays throughout the throngs of people, while others tucked into the cozy tables and swapped stories.
Luckily, I’d landed a few invites to the after-party, and Zach had been more than ready to follow me. He knew I hadn’t gotten anything juicy enough at the actual ceremony—Jessica Laughlin falling up the stairs was hardly a headline—and the rest of the celebs had been in interview mode. The long red carpet ushered them to wear their best outfits and faces and keep their answers accordingly. Not that I minded the general positive buzz that had surrounded them, but it wasn’t enough. And Shelby had told me as much before assigning me to this event.
“We don’t want the red carpet scene. We want the stuff between and after it. We want you to push boundaries.” Her voice echoed in my head, like a ticking clock that counted down the days until I’d lose my chance because I hadn’t been creative or edgy enough to get them what they needed.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I tucked my clutch under my arm as I weaved through the crowd. The music pulsed from a tricked out DJ booth toward the back of the room, the beats memorizing and sultry in an electric way. I suddenly wished Connor’s hands were on my hips, like when he’d controlled my body as we’d danced in Club Thirty-Five.
Focus.
Right.
I honed my senses, a hunter on the prowl for a good story. There had to be one here. Something headline worthy. Something to take the pressure off. Even if it had to be of the regular variety…I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad. Like Connor had said, it could just be one story to secure my position and then—
No. That would set the tone for every other piece, and I didn’t want to go down that road if I didn’t have to.
You may.
I hated that even my conscious was starting to give up hope that we could stay in this field and not get our hands dirty.
Maybe I should’ve gone for sports, then at least I could follow the Sharks around on the road and get stories hand fed to me.
Too easy.
And I’d always wanted to change the way celebrities were portrayed in the media, athletic and theatrical alike. They were people, too, and more often than not the public forgot that. Expected them to be perfect. Fantastical, almost.
There were a dozen or so people here who had already done something mere humans would do—like trip over their gowns, or have champagne fly from their nose because they laughed at the wrong moment.
Human.
Fallible, but real, and for the most part…good.
And I would show that, one story at a time.
Feeling confident from the mental pep-talk, I headed toward the bar and ordered a tonic and lime—staying sober on the job was the f
irst key to success. Now all I needed was—
“Can I have one of those,” a British accent asked the bartender, and I turned slightly to see a tall, lean, totally recognizable man pointing to my drink. He wore a crisp blue suit, his light brown hair slicked back, his chiseled cheekbones perfect and leading to a smile that was worth more than a million dollars.
“Hello,” he said, and I had to remind myself that my business was celebrities. That I couldn’t and wouldn’t let myself be swept away in shock.
“Hello,” I said, taking the hand he extended and giving it a good shake. I was a strong, confident reporter, not a fangirl. Not a fangirl. Not a—
“I’m—”
“I know who you are,” I practically giggled the words and resisted the urge to smack myself.
I took a steadying breath. There weren’t many actors I lost it over, but this man was one of them. Not only was he a brilliant performer, revolutionizing every role he got his hands on, he was an incredible human being. Donated to charities, flew to countries to help villages in need, and was a huge contributor to a dozen children’s hospitals across the country.
“I apologize,” he said, dropping my hand. “I can’t say the same thing. Would I have seen any of your films?”
I chuckled a little too loudly. “No,” I said. “I’m not talented.” I cringed. “I mean, I’m not an actress.” I straightened in my seat. “Ivy Harris,” I said, finally finding my footing. “Reporter for the Seattle Chronicle.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance,” he said, wrapping his long fingers around the glass the bartender sat in front of him. “Thank you,” he said to her, flashing her a smile that I was shocked didn’t drop her to her knees. The woman seemed wholly unaffected by the A-lister’s charms as she nodded and headed to tend to some patrons at the other end of the bar. “Did you enjoy the event?” He asked, and I smiled.
“Very much,” I said. “Though, if I’m being honest,” I continued. “I’m not sure how you are all standing right now, let alone dancing.”
He chuckled. “It is quite exhausting,” he said, taking a sip from his drink. “Thrilling, too. Such an honor to be recognized, let alone among so many talented peers. I look forward to these,” he said. “Because I so rarely get to see so many of my friends gathered in one place.”
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