For a moment, I watch my reflection. Watch as I draw circles around my clit.
It's so strange. I've never thought about how I looked. Never found thrill in masturbation.
Sure, I enjoy it. But I've never considered it sexy, really.
More… effective.
Right now, with Ian's breath in my ears—
"Fuck." My eyelids flutter closed. My breath hitches.
I work those steady circles. No teasing. No toying. No drawing it out.
Exactly the pressure I need. Exactly the spot I need it.
Steady circles.
Winding me tighter and tighter.
My breaths run together. Turn to groans.
His name falls off my lips.
I'm so close. Too close.
"Watch," he orders.
My eyes blink open. Go straight to my reflection. The flush of my cheeks. The heave of my chest. The squeeze of my toes.
Slow circles.
Again and again.
"Come for me, vixen," he demands.
It pushes me over the edge. With the next brush of my fingers, the tension winds to a finger pitch. Impossibly taut. About to snap.
Then it does.
It unravels. Taking me with it. Sending a wave of pleasure through my body.
It knocks me onto my back.
My sex pulses.
My eyes close.
My fingers dig into my thighs.
His name falls from my lips again. Like he's here. Like he's watching. Like this is for him.
No. It is for him.
He is here. Listening, but still here.
He waits until my breath steadies. "Good girl."
Fuck. I'm ready to go again. But I don't want my hand. "I want you."
"Soon."
"You promise?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Soon." He lets out a soft laugh.
My shoulders fall. But my sex keeps whining. "Tonight?"
"I can't tonight. I'll call tomorrow."
"You'll call…"
"To listen to you fuck yourself."
"Oh."
"Unless that's a problem."
No. Except that… I want him here. I want his body pressed against mine. I want his lips on my lips.
Not just because I want to fuck him.
For all the other reasons too.
"I could come over. So you can watch properly." My breath catches in my throat. I'm at the edge again, only it's a different one. I want his yes, his approval, his need.
"Tomorrow night," he says. "Seven. I'll send instructions."
Relief spreads through my limbs like wildfire.
I'm too far gone.
But I don't care.
I need to take whatever he's offering. Everything he's offering.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ian
She's perfect. Too perfect.
She talks literature at dinner. Why The Hunger Games is unappreciated in the "war is hell genre." Do I have insights, as a former member of the military? It doesn't have the realism of All's Quiet on the Western Front or The Things They Carried, sure, but it's every bit as intimate.
Or has she been as dismissive of great literature as critics are of The Hunger Games?
The way her eyes light up when she speaks—
The curiosity in them as she listens—
She listens with her entire body. Like my words are the most interesting thing in the entire world. Like she can't imagine a subject that fascinates her more.
It's been a long time since I've read All's Quiet on the Western Front or The Things They Carried. I can't admit I only picked up The Hunger Games trilogy after she discussed it on her site.
I can't match her wit, intellect, insight.
But I can share mine.
The series doesn't skimp on the brutality of war. It's horrible, yes, but not quite as grounded as the other books. Maybe that's what's great about it. How fantastical it is. That makes it easier to absorb.
She teases me about my third chance to impress her with a perfect dinner. Groans over the seared sea bass I order for her. Then chocolate mousse, Vietnamese black tea, hours of conversation.
After, I take her back to my apartment. Order her to undress. Watch her eyes go wide as she looks to the mirror. Watches herself come on my hand.
She's gorgeous, open, sexy as hell.
Offering her body to me.
Offering herself to me.
She melts into me, completely spent, completely at my mercy.
I bring her to the bed, help her into the sheets, hold her close.
She falls asleep in my arms.
Wakes with those same curious grey-green eyes.
"Hey." She rolls onto her back. Looks up at me with all the trust in the world. "You broke your promise."
"You were too tempting."
She beams. "Oh." Looks up at me, taking in my workout attire. "Not a suit."
"Hard to believe?"
She nods. "Almost like I'm dreaming." She gives me a long, slow once-over. Like I'm the one who exists for her viewing pleasure. "You look good. Of course. It's not fair."
"And this?" I motion to the sheet covering her soft body. "This is fair?"
She nods mm-hmm. Sits up, pulling the sheet with her.
Completely perfect.
Grabbing the key to my heart and burying it somewhere deep inside her.
It doesn't matter how much I focus on her soft curves or her sweet mouth—
I want more than her body.
I want her everything.
Want it enough to risk shattering the only steadiness I have left.
"Go back to bed." I brush a hair behind her ear. "It's early."
"Will you be here when I get up?"
"I'll make you breakfast."
She smiles. Bites her lip. "Okay." She sinks into the mattress. Completely at peace. Exactly where she wants to be.
It warms something inside me. Some place that's been cold for a long, long time.
I don't have a choice.
I can run or deny it, but it won't change the facts.
No matter what I do, I'm falling for her.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Eve
After a long, lazy morning, we watch Austin Powers on the couch.
I leave just before lunch. To meet with Addie. So I won't dissolve into a being of pure need.
It helps, but not enough.
I'm brimming with need. So much I'm overflowing.
I post on Original Sin. I make a playlist. I write a fucking poem.
I barely sleep.
Then he texts me a request and I do dissolve. Tiny pieces of bliss blowing in the wind.
Ian: I can knock off work early. Wednesday. Take you to the Hamptons that evening. So we have a few days alone.
Eve: A few days alone?
Ian: So I can fuck you senseless.
How can I say no to that?
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ian
"You're not serious." Eve's eyes go wide as she steps out of the limo. She fixes on the helicopter. Then on me. "Even for you."
"Even for me?"
"It's too showy. Even for you." She shakes her head, but she does nothing to hide her smile.