Enough was enough. Ivy couldn’t stop thinking about Cole. She couldn’t get him out of her mind, looking forward to every text or call, every second she got to spend with him.

The chemistry between them hadn’t faded in the weeks since the ball. Nothing in this relationship—because that’s what it was now, an official relationship—had adhered to her expectations. He should’ve gotten tired of her by now. She should’ve driven him away because she was too busy with Whisper Line or studying for school or shadowing at the hospital. And yet here they were, together, obsessed with each other, having the best sex Ivy had ever enjoyed in her life.

But it went beyond that, she had to admit to herself. Their relationship was less about the sex—though that was still a very important part—and more about the instinctual connection they shared. Ivy simply felt a need to be around him, an urge she couldn’t explain. He made her feel good, he made her feel important and worthy, and no one had ever done that before.

She had to tell him before this went any further.

The question of what she did for money hadn’t come up. She figured he assumed it had something to do with medicine, and since she was at the hospital a lot, shadowing personnel in her free time, that probably satisfied that nugget of curiosity he might have had about her.

Ivy couldn’t live with that omission of truth, not if she really wanted to have something with Cole.

And with Cole, she was all in.

Her phone buzzed. A text message.

Ivy’s heart leapt to her throat. She’d told Whisper Line she wasn’t available tonight. If it was some guy wanting her to call him daddy, Ivy would…

It was Cole. “Are you sure you don’t need me to pick up anything?”

She breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like her request with Whisper Line had, for once, gone through.

“All you need to bring is yourself,” she typed out, sending it to him. He was so kind and thoughtful. That was the third time he’d asked her about bringing something for the homemade meal she was making tonight. He’d wanted to contribute in some way, but she’d told him it was her treat.

“Not even dessert?” he texted.

“Don’t you dare,” she wrote back. “I’ve already made something.”

“I’m on my way,” he replied. “If you think of anything you’ve forgotten, let me know and I’ll swing by a bodega or something. Whatever you need.”

“I just need you,” she sent, smiling fondly.

That’s what tonight was about. Ivy was planning on cooking a delicious dinner, sitting Cole down, and breaking it to him as gently as she could manage that he was dating a phone sex operator. Hopefully, her good cooking would help cushion that blow.

She hissed in dismay as she sprung toward the oven, whipping open the door and retrieving the pan inside it. Good cooking was only good if it wasn’t burned, and she’d almost managed to blacken her garlic-roasted Brussels sprouts. Ivy quickly flipped them into a serving bowl to get them away from the hot pan. She comforted herself with the idea that they’d simply be crispier now.

Ivy had gone all out, preparing a three-course meal for the two of them. She and Cole had been going out to eat these past few weeks, but she’d decided to make a fancy one at home this time. She’d even sprung for a tablecloth to toss over her slightly battered kitchen table. A pair of candles completed the illusion that her apartment was capable of hosting a romantic dinner.

To start, she’d whipped up some bruschetta. The main course was steak with the crispy Brussels sprouts as a side. And dessert was a cherry cobbler recipe she’d begged off her mom. It always reminded her of being a child, of summers that tasted like cherries, and she was happy she could share it with Cole now.

Just like she was going to share her experience with Whisper Line.

Ivy had to fight down a rising tide of anxiety. In a few minutes, Cole would be here, and they would be discussing her line of work. What would he think about it? The best-case scenario was that he’d admire her. He might think it was hot. Maybe he’d even propose to fool around while she texted clients about it.

But the worst-case scenario, which Ivy had to mull over, was that he wouldn’t be able to accept it. That he would walk away from her and from the relationship they’d been working to build because he couldn’t deal with what she did for money. That he’d somehow find the number for her parents’ landline and regale them with stories about how she was affording medical school.

Though that last part was a bit of a stretch. She sincerely doubted Cole would go to such lengths, but that was what imagining worst-case scenarios was for. So she could prepare herself for absolutely everything to go to shit and then be pleasantly surprised when it didn’t.

Ivy was just removing the steaks from the heat, calculating their level of doneness, when the knock came on her door.

“Coming!” she called over her shoulder, making sure the oven was off. She lit the pair of candles on the table and wished she’d had enough time to run to the bathroom and check her reflection in the mirror. She was sure she’d smudged her makeup at some point hovering over the hot stove, poking her head into the steam billowing from the oven. She wouldn’t make Cole wait, though. Not for something as silly as raccoon eyes… God, she hoped it wasn’t raccoon eyes.

Ivy swiped her thumbs beneath her eyes before opening the door. His smile and his handsome face instantly banished all of her nerves. She grinned at Cole before noticing the shopping bag he had clutched in one hand.

“What did I tell you?” she demanded, giving him a mock scowl. “Nothing else is required from you except your presence.”

“I couldn’t come empty-handed,” he said, planting a big kiss on her frown. “I picked up a bottle of wine.”

“I have wine.”

“And now you have more.” He put the bottle he’d brought next to hers on the counter and paused. “I’ll be damned.”

“What’s wrong?”

He moved aside so she could see, pointing and laughing. “We got the same bottles of wine.”

Ivy liked wine, but she couldn’t call herself an expert. She knew reds went with steak, and that’s why she’d gotten this one—a blend of several different kinds of red grape. It had been modestly priced—not too expensive, and not cheap enough that she doubted its quality. And somehow, whether he’d put the same amount of thought into it as she had, Cole had selected the exact same wine.

“Great minds,” she mused.

“I also brought some flowers.” He produced the bouquet from the bag, and Ivy couldn’t help but beam. He didn’t follow directions very well, but he really did make her happy. It was a little ridiculous just how wide her smile was.

“I’ll get a vase,” she said. “They can be our centerpiece.”

“Has anyone ever tried to give you a bouquet of ivy before?” Cole asked.

“Never.” She filled the vase with water and arranged the stems inside it so the blossoms rested naturally. “Why, did you consider it?”

“Maybe.” He grinned at her, loose and easy. “Florist talked me out of it. Said ivy was usually used to bolster a bouquet. Not as the centerpiece. I disagreed with him, but caved in to his expertise.”

“You’re so corny,” Ivy replied. It didn’t stop her from standing on the tips of her toes to kiss his mouth before setting the vase on the table. “There. Now we’re ready to eat.”

“It smells amazing in here.” He slipped his arms around her and pulled her back in close to his torso. He nibbled at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “Good enough to eat.”

“Cole, wait.” She had to laugh at his eagerness, even as she shuddered right down to her bones at the feeling of his lips on her sensitive skin. “You’re skipping several courses, here.”

“All delicious, I’m sure,” he said, still making a leisurely line of kisses down her neck. “But can you blame me for going for the thing I want the most first? I want to save all my appetite for you.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Nor could she ignore the way she’d been gripping his arms, hanging on for dear life, eager for that line of kisses to continue where it would. “Three courses,” she gasped out. He’d just kissed her breast clear through her shirt, massaging her. “Three courses will get cold if we don’t eat them now.”

“That’s what microwaves are for,” he told her, hands lingering over her belly and waist.

She reveled in the attention he lavished on her, leaning back against him, inhaling at the little thrills of pleasure that tingled up and down her spine. He always had this effect on her. It was overwhelming and wonderful in the same breath.

“If dinner tastes bad because of this…”

“Never.”

Cole tilted Ivy’s chin up and kissed her at an angle that had her lapping to compensate, and the discussion was over. Dinner would wait. Food was superfluous to the feast that was his mouth, his tongue partaking in hers.

Their clothes flew off of their own accord, making a pile on the floor. Like so many of their previous trysts, Cole simply made a beeline for the nearest available surface. A sense of self-preservation spared the table with its lit candles. But the bed was too far, especially with the couch right there.

Ivy tipped forward, grabbing the back of the couch with both hands as Cole tweaked her nipples, traversing the shaking muscles of her belly, grazing between her legs as his lips followed the path downward. She couldn’t count the number of times they’d had sex, or even recall every instance. But Ivy suspected that, more often than not, they got their pleasure in less traditional locations. On couches, floors, and billiard tables.

It didn’t matter. As long as she could have him, Ivy didn’t care where it was. He held her like he was afraid she might break, cocooned in his arms, as his head parted her lips and slipped in to her already wet entrance. It was always like that. Always waiting for him. She was always ready, from the moment their mouths met. Her pussy dripped in an instant, helpless response, knowing just what he was capable of.

Cole used a hand to guide himself fully in, and Ivy rested her head on the back of the couch, marveling at the utter fullness he gave her. It surprised her still, to this day, that her body could manage his considerable length. It took her apart and put her back together, and she reveled in it, delighted in just being along for the ride.

“You okay?” he breathed at her, and she nodded quickly, not trusting her voice as desire unspooled deep inside her.

Ivy stopped caring about anything except for his thrusts. How good it felt when he was completely sheathed, his legs flush against her thighs, fitting together perfectly. She suspected she could do this all day, forget about silly things like three-course meals and simply sustain herself off of the chords of pleasure Cole struck within her, the couch bouncing off of the wall with each thrust.