Cole would never get enough of Ivy. Never understand why the taste of her mouth, the softness of her skin, were so addictive to him. He covered her body with his against the sofa, the frenzy of his hips making the furniture slam again and again into the wall.

Some slow, quiet part of his brain began to worry about damage and security deposits, and he made himself care enough to withdraw completely from her body, sit on the couch, and pull her into his lap, her legs spread against his waist. And then he resumed thrusting, changing the direction and angle of the thrust, the couch only banging a little bit, now.

“I’ll fix it,” he promised her. “Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” He didn’t know the first thing about drywall repair, but he could learn. It was an easy thing, easier than stopping the motion of his hips, his fingers gripping her waist. He couldn’t take his hands off her. All he had to do was lean forward a little and he could bury his face in her perfect breasts, bouncing around him.

She’d pitched a small protest about dinner getting cold, but he honestly couldn’t help himself. If they really were in the honeymoon phase of their relationship, just like Ivy had told Curtis Prime a few weeks ago at the military ball, Cole never wanted to leave it. The sex was hot and blistering. He needed it every single time he saw her, and according to the way Ivy mewled and rocked in his lap, so did she.

Dinner could wait. It was just food. This was so much more important.

Ivy looked down at him with half-lidded eyes, her hair in disarray, and he knew he could simply survive on that for as long as he had to.

That was how good she looked to him, riding him. He was thrusting upward, sure, and helping her to lift her hips, to impale herself and free herself on his cock time and time again, but she was the one really in control. The one setting the pace. Because once she found her rhythm, and once she let herself build up to it, it was her orgasm that would send him crashing and careening to completion. It never failed, and it had become something of a ritual. No matter how turned on Cole was, or how close he was to coming, he never orgasmed before Ivy did.

Her coming was just too sweet to miss.

He loved the way she bit her bottom lip sometimes, trying to hold back the deep, long moans as pleasure found her. The way her cheeks would get rosy at that secret, intense unfurling inside of her. And Cole got the most out of knowing that he helped her get there. That her completion was his. It drove him right over the edge, and it was worth having at least a modicum of control over his own passions.

Of course, there were little things he could do. Little tricks he’d picked up along the way to push her further faster.

He employed one of those tricks now, working his hand in between them, parting Ivy’s lips so that every time she sank downward, she stimulated her clit on his thumb. He didn’t even have to work at it, knew exactly how to slot his digit in to make it good for her. It was a testament to just how much they had learned about each other’s bodies in the short time they’d known each other. And it was knowledge he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

Ivy was tossing her head back, crying out, throaty, her inner walls squeezing him. It was all Cole could do to hang on, to ride out her climax and roll into his, unable to keep from groaning in between his gritted teeth, every single one of his muscles going limp as his entire body seeped into afterglow.

“You are impossible,” Ivy told him, kissing his sweaty forehead.

“Just happy,” he said, eyes closed.

“We’re going to have to take a shower before dinner, now,” she pointed out. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Starved.” He kissed each of her breasts before finally regaining the strength to look at her. She was always so beautiful after she came. It was a sight he would never get tired of. “I could even take a second helping in the shower.”

“At that rate, we’ll never eat.”

It was nice, just being inside of her. Comforting, even. And even with Ivy’s teasing about dinner, and with the delicious-smelling food waiting for them on the table, neither of them made a move to separate.

It was getting harder and harder to do, spending time away from her. Cole wished there was some kind of rulebook on how soon was too soon to ask somebody to move in together. His head told him it was too soon. He suspected Jason would, too, if he offered his opinion. But Cole’s heart said something different in the way it leapt every time he saw Ivy. And in the way it fell every time they were apart again.

A vibration cut into their shared mellowness, and Ivy sighed. “I think that’s my phone.”

“Leave it.”

She kissed him again, light and playful, before gently extricating herself. Instead of getting her phone, though, she simply flopped down on the couch cushion beside him. “I don’t even feel like taking a shower.”

“So don’t.”

She snorted. “I’m sticky. So are you.”

“It’s just us. I don’t care if you don’t.”

Her phone buzzed again, and she darted a glance over there. “Huh.”

“Do you need to get that?”

“No.” But she pressed her lips together when it buzzed again, interrupting their quiet moment of contentment. Another buzz. And then another.

“Who in the hell’s so insistent on getting your attention?” he asked.

She laughed gently, laying her arm on his. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get around to answering them eventually. Probably just my parents.”

But that damn phone wouldn’t stop. Cole counted the number of new vibrations, the two of them still trying to catch their breaths, drifting down from their afterglow. Three new messages. Then five. Eight.

“Are your parents having an emergency?” he asked. “Do you want me to go get you your phone?”

“No, no,” Ivy said quickly. “Seriously. Don’t worry about it. I’ll switch it to silent. Just stay here with me.”

He would’ve, and he wanted to. But that damn phone was so offensively loud. It was hard to think about anything else, to enjoy the warm cocoon of pleasure he should’ve been dwelling in. Because who needed Ivy more than he needed her right now, in this moment?

“That thing’s buzzing so regularly I bet I could use it to make you come again,” he said, laughing, as he pushed himself up off the couch. He staggered a little. That orgasm had taken more out of him than he’d suspected. “Want to try?”

“Cole, just leave the phone. I’ll turn it off.”

“I think it’ll be fun.” He reached the phone just as Ivy rocketed off the couch, her face a mask of panic, reaching out to him. That puzzled him—what was she so worried about? It buzzed again as he held it, and when he looked down, Cole’s mouth dropped open.

Because that particular text message was simply the latest in a long string of filthy sexts from multiple numbers.

Ivy snatched the phone from him. “I told you to forget about it, Cole.”

“I should’ve listened,” he said quietly, feeling like his heart was breaking. “Or, I don’t know, maybe this is for the best. Because we don’t have to do this anymore. I can walk away before we get any deeper.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” she said, clutching the phone to her chest.

“Those aren’t a ton of sexts from people who aren’t me?”

She bit her lip. “I mean, they are, but there’s a good explanation.”

“If you hadn’t wanted to make what we’re doing official, you could’ve said.” Cole just felt really, really tired. Exhausted. Like if he went back to his apartment and fell into his bed, he might not wake up for days. “Why’d you tell me yes?”

“Because I wanted to be with you,” she said. “I still do. If you’d just stop and let me explain.”

Cole hadn’t even realized he was doing up his jeans, buckling his belt, until Ivy said so. It was the same kind of automatic response his body had done on missions. Getting him out of bad situations even if his mind wasn’t altogether there. It was a self-sustaining autopilot, and it was trying to evacuate him from Ivy’s apartment.

“I think it would be best,” he began carefully, “if I left right now.” Because he didn’t fully understand what was happening, and he didn’t think he wanted to. Not with his heart in danger of fragmenting into far too many irretrievable pieces. He didn’t think he could handle it.

“Please,” she said, and he flinched away from that bullet. He couldn’t stand the begging. He wanted to beg her not to do this to him.

Instead, he finished pulling on his clothes, each piece of fabric a shield keeping her out and him in, and walked out the door.