Becket Jones has a way of making me experience a lot of firsts.

He’s the first man to incite that feeling within me—like he’s the magnet and I’m the polarized metal. Every single ounce of my body gravitates to him. I’m compelled to get to know this man on more than a surface level, overwhelmed with a yearning to be near him, and bombarded with a longing to comfort him when he’s not feeling well.

He makes me wish I didn’t have a past that haunts me and so many secrets. He makes me wish I wasn’t so…afraid.

The look on his face when he opened the door to find me standing there and the way his eyes lit up a split second before the corners crinkled with grateful appreciation spoke volumes. But it was his kiss that truly said it all.

His kiss left me feeling off-kilter, causing my stomach to lurch with nervousness and uncertainty. Even though I’ve avoided all forms of emotional attachment with men—aside from Leif, who’s more of a brother—I know the signs.

I’m sinking further, falling under his magical spell. He’s trying to revive something I’ve been convinced died long ago.

My heart.

Now that I’ve ensured he’s eaten the dinner I brought, and I’ve replaced his ice pack with a fresh, cold one, I busy myself cleaning up and disposing of the takeout containers. And that’s when it happens.

Becket’s relaxed on one end of the massive sectional while he watches some highlights on SportsCenter, one arm propped up on pillows, the large cloth sleeve housing the ice pack fastened around his shoulder. His eyelids look heavy, and I don’t want to wear out my welcome. It’s a Tuesday night after all.

“Stop fidgeting and get over here.”

Startled, I part my lips to protest, but he’s quicker. “Ivy.” His gaze flickers over to me. “Come here, please.”

With caution, I approach him and gingerly take a seat on the opposite side of his injured shoulder. He catches me by surprise when he raises his good arm without so much as a glance my way. I slide closer, careful not to jar him with my movements, and settle against him. He curls his arm around me and exhales.

“I’ve been waiting for this since you got here.” His softly spoken words rumble in his chest beneath my ear. “Do you have an early meeting tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Can you stay?” There’s an underlying hint of vulnerability and hopefulness in his words, which pierces my already cracked and compromised armor.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He tightens his arm’s hold on me, hugging me closer to him in response. The thump of his heart beats in a steady cadence beneath my ear, and it serves as another reminder that things have shifted between us.

I ease away from his embrace to face him. He turns, silently questioning me, but I can’t answer. At least, not verbally. Instead, I show him.

His gaze is searching, his eyes flicking over my features. I shift to rest my knees on the leather couch and swing one across his lap to straddle him, bracing my hands on the leather on either side of him.

He parts his lips, and I press the tip of my index finger to them. With a tiny shake of my head, I lean forward and whisper, “No words.” I drag my lips softly over his. “Please.”

An imperceptible nod from him is all I need. I press my lips to his, and he allows me to control the kiss, the gentle way I sip at his lips. His free hand moves to my hip and the fingers tighten, clenching the fabric of my simple cotton shorts. His cock hardens beneath me in reaction to my touch.

When his lips part a fraction beneath mine, it allows me to sweep my tongue inside to taste him. And this is when he breaks.

He releases his hold on my hip to delve his fingers into my hair, and our kiss turns hotter, wetter, and more passionate. Our tongues clash and spar seductively, and he uses his hold on my hair to tip my head and deepen our kiss.

His skin is hot beneath my hands, his pectorals firm, and when I lightly drag my nails over his nipples, a slight shudder wracks his body. I rock my hips, his prodding hardness spurring an ache and a surge of wetness between my thighs. Our lips part, and his heavy-lidded gaze locks on me with unbanked heat. With my index finger, I trace a path down the center of his chest, over the defined curve of his abdominals, and pause just below his belly button. The fine dark hair that disappears into the waistband of his shorts entrances me.

Still holding his gaze, I nudge his legs apart and slide down to kneel between them. I tuck my fingers beneath the top of his shorts and start to lower the fabric when he grasps my wrist, drawing me to a stop.

“Ivy.” He pauses for a beat, his forehead wrinkling in worry. “I didn’t ask you to stay the night for this.”

“I know,” I reply softly. “I want to.” I tug his waistband lower, down over the flared head of his cock.

I’m about to do what I’ve never done before. I’ve never gone down on a man without any ulterior motive of getting my own pleasure in return. Without the intention of having control over the situation. This moment is vastly different because I want this. I want to help him, to get his mind off the pain. I want to love a part of his body with my mouth even if I can’t do so with the long-forgotten organ in my chest.

I hold his gaze and lower my mouth to tongue the slit of his cock and lap up the drop of moisture from the tip. I dart it along the veiny ridges before trailing it along the underside of his shaft, reveling in his sharp intake of breath. His thighs spread farther, providing me more access, and the fist that settles beside his thigh clenches tightly.

I grip his heavy straining erection in my hand and slide my mouth down over him, and he makes a rough sound in the back of his throat when I create suction with my mouth. I slide up and down his length, taking him as deeply as I can before I release him and look up. His heavy-lidded gaze centers on me, and I speak, each syllable, each movement of my lips brushing against his tip. “How’s your shoulder?”

A corner of his lips hitches upward. “What shoulder?”

I slide back down his length, slick from my mouth, and work him in and out of my mouth in steady strokes. He rolls his hips, and the powerful muscles in his thighs grow more rigid beneath my palms.

“Ivy.” His voice is gravelly, but I don’t release him from my mouth. “You need to stop.” He pinches his eyes closed when I create a stronger suction.

There’s no chance of me stopping. He opens his eyes, and there’s a tinge of wildness to them. He delves a hand into my hair, tangling his fingers in it. The stronger my suction, the steadier I stroke him with my mouth, the more guttural his moans become. His carnal reaction intensifies when I shift my hand to cup his sack and run a finger along the seam.

“God…Ivy.” He breathes out my name, a myriad of emotions embedded in these two words. “Fuck.” He thrusts into my mouth, pulsing his release, and I swallow every bit. Once the shudders wracking his body ease, I gently slide my lips off him.

His eyes are still closed, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths, and I carefully pull his shorts back up to cover him. The hand gripping my upper arm brings my attention back to his face.

“Come here.”

With care, I rise with the intention of returning to the spot beside him but am caught off guard by the swift tug, which results in me on his lap.

He quirks an eyebrow. “You know I can’t let you get away with that.”

“What do you mean?”

He slides a hand to my cheek and cradles my face, his thumb skimming my cheekbone. He searches my features for a beat before his mouth curves upward in a predatory smile and it sets my entire body ablaze.

Becket dips his head and dusts a light kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Tell me something.” He places another kiss on the opposite corner. “Did you like doing that just now?” His voice dips even lower to a huskier, more seductive timbre. “Did it turn you on?”

I hold his gaze as my voice contains a hint of breathlessness. “If you’re asking if I’m wet for you, I think you should check for yourself.” This is the normal Ivy Hayes, challenging the man and acting in a seductive manner.

What’s new is the fact I feel off-kilter and nervous. I’ve never physically ached for someone’s touch before.

Until now.

He lowers his hand from my face, skimming it down my shoulder before grazing over the top of one breast. I can’t resist instinctively arching into his touch, and he pauses a millisecond, cupping the weight of it in his hand before descending once again. When he reaches my hip, he veers toward my center, to the apex of my thighs, and easily slides beneath the soft fabric of my shorts.

I gasp at the sensation of his fingers gliding over the front of my panties and give in to the urge to move against his touch as if to spur him on further.

His lips part when he notices how damp my thong is, and his eyes darken with lust. “Is this for me?” He slides his fingers beneath the edge of my panties to gently trace the crease of my entrance. “Did you like having me in your mouth?”

I arch and rock my hips, aching for him to slide his fingers deep inside me and assuage this ache. “Yes,” I breathe out and spread my legs wider upon his lap, granting him more access.

He lowers his head to trail kisses along my jawline, and when he speaks, his warm breath sends shivers coursing down my spine. “I plan to put my mouth on you.” He presses a kiss alongside the column of my neck. “And make you come just as hard as you made me.”

My breath hitches in my throat at his words. “But your shoulder,” I protest weakly. God, I’m terrible. He’s hurting, yet my baser needs are screaming for release, for him to relieve this aching pressure between my thighs.

He nudges aside the collar of my shirt and dusts a gentle kiss at my collarbone before his tongue darts out to taste my skin. “I don’t care about my damn shoulder right now.” One of his fingers dips inside, just barely, and I gasp and bury my face in his neck. “I want to touch you, Ivy.” He presses his finger deeper, and I whimper softly. “Do you want this?”

“Yes,” I whisper against his hot skin. “God, yes.”

Another finger dips inside me, and I arch into his touch, writhing on his lap.

“You want my touch?” His voice is a low growl but turns to something more…intimate and almost vulnerable. “You want me?”

I draw back to look at him, to see if I can decipher exactly what it is he’s asking of me, but I get lost in the look in his eyes. They devour me; his heated gaze centers on me with an unnerving intensity.

I answer with unabashed honesty. “Yes.” I want you so much it scares me. Please don’t hurt me.

He brings his face closer while holding my gaze and whispers intoxicating words that make my inner muscles clench. “I need you”—he toys with my bottom lip, gently drawing it between his teeth before releasing it—“naked.” He draws away slightly, and that smirk I’ve come to know peeks out. “Then”—his eyes sparkle mischievously—“I want to taste you on my lips.”

When he leans back, I move to my feet and reach for my shorts. Sliding them down over my hips, I kick them off to the side. Becket’s sharp intake of breath spurs me on, and I rid myself of my panties.

“Oh, Ivy,” he breathes, taking in the sight of my naked lower body. He raises his gaze, fiery heat within them. “Now the rest.”

I hesitate, my hands pausing at the bottom hem. It’s an odd feeling, now with Becket. I’ve been naked with men before, but it’s never been like this.

This—here with him—I feel like I’m baring more than my skin. Like he sees more than simply a naked woman standing before him.

With a deep breath, I remove my shirt and unclasp my bra to free my breasts, dropping the clothing to the floor. I stand before him, my hands at my sides, and swallow hard past the nervous lump in my throat.

“You’re beautiful.”

Nervousness makes me divert his sentiment. “I’m naked, Jones. I’m a sure thing, so no need for the flowery talk.”

He shifts, moving forward, and I don’t miss his slight wince. “You’re beautiful, Ivy,” he repeats. His eyes have taken on a fierce intensity. “Not because you’re bare.”

My heart begins to race, and I’m torn between frantic anxiety and the desire to hear his words. “Then why?”

He tips his head to the side, but his eyes never travel down my bare body. They remain locked with my own eyes.

“Because you’re strong-willed. You’re ambitious. Smart as hell. Funny. Kind…” He trails off, and I wait with bated breath for him to finish. What I don’t expect is for him to surprise me even more. “You have a good heart, Ivy Hayes,” he whispers. “You just don’t want to believe it.”

I don’t realize I’m shaking my head until the sensation of my hair moving over my skin alerts me to this fact. “No, I don’t.”

He nods slowly. “You do. Because you came here to help me.” His fingers encircle my wrist to gently pull me to stand between his legs. “You came here because you care.” He places the pad of his index finger at the base of my throat and slowly trails it down, drawing to a stop at the center of my chest. I swear, my heart beats even faster beneath his finger. Like it recognizes the man who’s left it—left me—so unsettled.

“I won’t hurt you.” He declares this with a soft urgency. “I won’t ever hurt you.”

I reach down, cradling his face in my hands, and take his mouth, partially to shut him up. Even more, I need him—I need his lips on mine. My body takes control, attempting to show him without words exactly what I feel, what I need.

Our kiss is devouring, passionate, wet, and I’m insatiable for his taste. When he tears his lips from mine, I can’t restrain my sound of protest. He shifts to lie back on the couch and directs me to climb over him.

“Come here and let me taste you.”

Almost robotically, I follow his directions and let him guide me to straddle his body, holding my pussy directly over his mouth.

His hot breath washes over my most intimate parts when he murmurs my name. “Ivy.” The way he utters it like a caress is the most beautiful sound I’ve heard.

One strong hand clenches my hip, guiding me as I lower myself to his mouth, to his lips, and the instant I feel his touch, I let out a sharp hiss.

He doesn’t waste any time. His tongue darts between my folds, delving inside me, and I arch, gripping the leather couch. My eyes fall closed at the decadent touch, and I’m unable to resist the slight rocking of my hips as he tastes me intimately. When he reaches for my clit and begins to rub, placing the perfect amount of pressure on it, there’s no resisting my body’s urges. My free hand moves to my left breast, and I toy with my nipple. The vibration of his groan fluttering against my skin tells me he’s watching, and it encourages me. The words spill from my lips before I realize it.

“Becket,” I pant as my hips shift, and I begin riding his tongue. “Feel how wet you make me.” His answering groan vibrates through me, and I tweak my hardened nipple, wishing his mouth was on it. “I want to ride your cock. Want to take you deep.”

He takes my clit between his thumb and forefinger and gives it a little tug, and the nerve endings go wild. Then he shifts, reaching from behind to insert two fingers inside me while his lips latch over my clit. He creates a suction while darting his tongue against the nerve endings, and it sends me plummeting over the edge.

“Becket!” I cry out. My muscles go rigid before tremors overtake my body, and I ride out my orgasm, shamelessly thrusting myself over his fingers and mouth.

Once my trembling subsides, he guides my body down to lie on his, my head on his chest. He runs a gentle hand over my back in soothing motions as I come down from my high.

“Holy shit,” I whisper more to myself than to him. “What the hell was that?” I’ve never experienced anything quite like that before. If this is what it’s like partaking in oral sex with Becket, God only knows what it’ll be like when we finally get to the real deal.

We lie on his couch, my naked body flush against his shorts-clad one, while he continues to soothe me with his caresses. He disarms me to such an extent that the strong pull of sleep begins to drag me under, and Becket mumbles something beneath his breath.

I can’t be entirely certain what he said, but it sounded something like, “That was love, Ivy.”