The Friend Zone
Page 70
“Gray…”
“No, Ivy. Don’t blow this off,” he whispers. “You have to know. I get hotter from just kissing you than any sex I’ve had before.” As if to prove this, his lips find mine. His kiss is a slow, seeking exploration that has my insides melting and his breath quickening.
Our lips meld and part, and he gives my lower lip a sexy little lick. “So hot. So perfect.”
In one smooth roll, he moves over me, his arms bracketing my shoulders, and then he’s entering me, all hard, heavy cock and steady intent. The action is so unexpected, so good, that I gasp, my legs spreading wider to take more of him.
“Yeah,” he says. “Like that.”
He grunts when he pushes, as if he has to work hard at fitting his thick cock into me. My body tightens at that delicious feeling of him stretching me, filling me. Going just a bit deeper each time.
In the diffused light, he is golden, his blue eyes burning bright.
Gray’s lips coast over mine. “This, Mac. Doing this with you is the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking done. Because it’s you. You get me so worked up I want to pump my dick into you. Over and over.” A shudder runs through his body, his skin prickling. “It’s the best feeling in the world. I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to go back there, to that cold-ass place where nothing really matters.”
On a sob, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and draw him close until his sweat-slick chest rubs against mine. Gray burrows his face into the curve of my neck and groans as he fucks me.
God, the way he moves, using his whole body to thrust, an undulating, hard rhythm that’s just a bit dirty, as if my body is his to use. And yet tender as if he’s worshiping me.
He’s right; it is the best feeling in the world. My hips rise to meet his, my hands sliding to the hard swells of his ass that flex with every thrust.
“That’s it, honey.” He groans. “That’s it. Move that sweet little ass and fuck me back. God, that’s good.” He’s panting now, sweat making his skin glisten. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
He goes deeper, hitting a spot that makes me lose my mind. I lose track of how long he fucks me. There’s only pleasure and Gray and yearning for more. Always more. And when I come, he lets go, his pace hard and desperate. He follows me with a long, low groan that vibrates his chest.
I hold him, my lips pressed against his sweaty brow. He thinks he’s distracted me from learning what he secretly yearns for. But I know what it is now, and I’m going to give it to him. As much as I can.
Twenty-Three
Ivy
Gray and I spend every moment we can together. Which isn’t really any different than our normal routine, only now our moments involve bouts of hot, sweaty sex. And it isn’t nearly enough for either of us. Gray’s classes are done for the semester, but intense workouts and training regimens to prepare for the playoffs take up most of his time.
“I swear to God, my quads and hamstrings feel like they’ve been torn from my bones,” Gray tells me over the phone as I make chicken salad. I stare down at the chicken breast I’ve been pulling meat from and, with a grimace, toss it aside.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be partaking in any shenanigans until you can catch a break,” I say. Reluctantly, because I pretty much want Gray all the time.
He makes a rude noise that nearly vibrates my phone. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that, Mac,” he drawls. “Otherwise my fragile feelings might get hurt.”
I scoff at that. “Don’t worry, Cupcake, I’m basically thinking about your cock in my mouth right now.”
Gray makes a strangled sound. “Jesus, Ivy. You can’t be saying that when you know I’m stuck watching footage and studying plays for the rest of the day. Are you trying to kill me? You’re lucky I’m soaking in an ice bath right now.”
“Gray! You shouldn’t be on the phone while in a bath. I’m hanging up right now.”
He laughs. “Okay, okay. Geesh. I’ll hang up, but tell me one thing first.”
“I’m not having phone sex with you. Again.”
“You loved it. But not the question. Have you talked to your parents about not wanting to return to London?”
I frown down at the counter. Gray is right to bug me. I’ve been avoiding telling them. Mainly because I’m a total coward, but the guilt is getting to me. Hell, I need to tell them about Gray, as well. One thing at a time, though, and letting them know about Gray isn’t the news I dread.
“Fuck it,” I tell Gray. “I’ll tell them today. After I hang up with you.”
“Honey,” Gray murmurs. “It will be all right.”
A breath gusts out of me. “I just don’t want to disappoint them.”
The sound of water sloshing fills my ear, then Gray’s voice, low and soothing. “Ivy Mac, you couldn’t be a disappointment if you tried.”
“Gray…” My hand slides along the cool counter, and I’m wishing it was his skin I stroked. “You’re really sweet sometimes, you know?”
“That’s just my thick and creamy frosting. Tell them. And call me afterward, okay?”
* * *
Fi is home, an increasingly rare occurrence. But I take advantage, tracking her down in her room. Where mine is an oasis of whites, hers is a dark nest of plums and pinks. It’s disturbingly womblike and features an excess of satin fabric hanging from windows, her wrought-iron canopy—because we both have a thing for canopies—and even skirting her chairs.
“No, Ivy. Don’t blow this off,” he whispers. “You have to know. I get hotter from just kissing you than any sex I’ve had before.” As if to prove this, his lips find mine. His kiss is a slow, seeking exploration that has my insides melting and his breath quickening.
Our lips meld and part, and he gives my lower lip a sexy little lick. “So hot. So perfect.”
In one smooth roll, he moves over me, his arms bracketing my shoulders, and then he’s entering me, all hard, heavy cock and steady intent. The action is so unexpected, so good, that I gasp, my legs spreading wider to take more of him.
“Yeah,” he says. “Like that.”
He grunts when he pushes, as if he has to work hard at fitting his thick cock into me. My body tightens at that delicious feeling of him stretching me, filling me. Going just a bit deeper each time.
In the diffused light, he is golden, his blue eyes burning bright.
Gray’s lips coast over mine. “This, Mac. Doing this with you is the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking done. Because it’s you. You get me so worked up I want to pump my dick into you. Over and over.” A shudder runs through his body, his skin prickling. “It’s the best feeling in the world. I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to go back there, to that cold-ass place where nothing really matters.”
On a sob, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and draw him close until his sweat-slick chest rubs against mine. Gray burrows his face into the curve of my neck and groans as he fucks me.
God, the way he moves, using his whole body to thrust, an undulating, hard rhythm that’s just a bit dirty, as if my body is his to use. And yet tender as if he’s worshiping me.
He’s right; it is the best feeling in the world. My hips rise to meet his, my hands sliding to the hard swells of his ass that flex with every thrust.
“That’s it, honey.” He groans. “That’s it. Move that sweet little ass and fuck me back. God, that’s good.” He’s panting now, sweat making his skin glisten. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
He goes deeper, hitting a spot that makes me lose my mind. I lose track of how long he fucks me. There’s only pleasure and Gray and yearning for more. Always more. And when I come, he lets go, his pace hard and desperate. He follows me with a long, low groan that vibrates his chest.
I hold him, my lips pressed against his sweaty brow. He thinks he’s distracted me from learning what he secretly yearns for. But I know what it is now, and I’m going to give it to him. As much as I can.
Twenty-Three
Ivy
Gray and I spend every moment we can together. Which isn’t really any different than our normal routine, only now our moments involve bouts of hot, sweaty sex. And it isn’t nearly enough for either of us. Gray’s classes are done for the semester, but intense workouts and training regimens to prepare for the playoffs take up most of his time.
“I swear to God, my quads and hamstrings feel like they’ve been torn from my bones,” Gray tells me over the phone as I make chicken salad. I stare down at the chicken breast I’ve been pulling meat from and, with a grimace, toss it aside.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be partaking in any shenanigans until you can catch a break,” I say. Reluctantly, because I pretty much want Gray all the time.
He makes a rude noise that nearly vibrates my phone. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that, Mac,” he drawls. “Otherwise my fragile feelings might get hurt.”
I scoff at that. “Don’t worry, Cupcake, I’m basically thinking about your cock in my mouth right now.”
Gray makes a strangled sound. “Jesus, Ivy. You can’t be saying that when you know I’m stuck watching footage and studying plays for the rest of the day. Are you trying to kill me? You’re lucky I’m soaking in an ice bath right now.”
“Gray! You shouldn’t be on the phone while in a bath. I’m hanging up right now.”
He laughs. “Okay, okay. Geesh. I’ll hang up, but tell me one thing first.”
“I’m not having phone sex with you. Again.”
“You loved it. But not the question. Have you talked to your parents about not wanting to return to London?”
I frown down at the counter. Gray is right to bug me. I’ve been avoiding telling them. Mainly because I’m a total coward, but the guilt is getting to me. Hell, I need to tell them about Gray, as well. One thing at a time, though, and letting them know about Gray isn’t the news I dread.
“Fuck it,” I tell Gray. “I’ll tell them today. After I hang up with you.”
“Honey,” Gray murmurs. “It will be all right.”
A breath gusts out of me. “I just don’t want to disappoint them.”
The sound of water sloshing fills my ear, then Gray’s voice, low and soothing. “Ivy Mac, you couldn’t be a disappointment if you tried.”
“Gray…” My hand slides along the cool counter, and I’m wishing it was his skin I stroked. “You’re really sweet sometimes, you know?”
“That’s just my thick and creamy frosting. Tell them. And call me afterward, okay?”
* * *
Fi is home, an increasingly rare occurrence. But I take advantage, tracking her down in her room. Where mine is an oasis of whites, hers is a dark nest of plums and pinks. It’s disturbingly womblike and features an excess of satin fabric hanging from windows, her wrought-iron canopy—because we both have a thing for canopies—and even skirting her chairs.
