4
Ivy
I should not be into this. My blackmailing boss who forced me into going out with him and then forced me back to his apartment and covered me in chocolate, probably ruining my outfit, is now kissing me. I mean, this is all kinds of wrong, and I should be kneeing him in the balls to get him off of me.
But I’m not. I’m actually kissing him back.
I have no idea what I’m doing, seeing as how I’ve never kissed a guy before, but I’m doing my best, and he seems to be enjoying himself.
What am I thinking? Why am I even worried about whether he’s enjoying himself? After all he put me through to get me here, I shouldn’t give two flying fucks whether he’s enjoying himself. I mean, the guy’s a total douchebag, right? If he’d asked me to cook him a steak, I would have cooked it for him well-well done and told him to suck it up and eat it. So why do I care if he’s critiquing my kissing abilities?
God, my head is spinning.
He was right though when he told me he’d seen me checking him out at the studio before. I thought I’d been more discrete than that, but I guess not.
I can taste the chocolate on his lips and on his tongue as he forces it between mine. I always thought something like this would be disgusting, but it’s actually kind of sweet (in more ways than one), and the way he came at me in the kitchen was flirty and boyish and not at all what I was expecting given his behavior up until now.
There’s also that solid, insanely hard bulge that I can feel pressing against my lower stomach as he grinds against me.
Is that his…?
But there’s no point in asking myself that question; I already know the answer. I’d seen that too when we were standing outside 4Pine, a thick lump in his pants signaling his arousal. And in the kitchen too when he was standing across from me with the bottle of shell in his hands.
All this for me? Despite my dad’s no-dating rule in high school, I never really got that much attention from the guys. Sure, I may be from Connecticut, but I’m not one of those families—you know, the ones with money and trust funds and brothers who look like the Winklevoss Twins from The Social Network?
I just didn’t fit in. All the other girls were out playing tennis or field hockey or lacrosse, and I was buying weird clothes and trying to start my own Instagram page on cool fashion, but I just never quite fit in in the right way. And my family was just never quite good enough for me to be in with the right crowd, so I was always on the outside. I guess that’s how Sara and I became friends. She never judged me, and I never judged her.
“You taste so sweet,” Mike whispers, his lips still pressed against mine, snapping me back to reality. I have absolutely no idea what to say in response. I’m treading water here, so all I do is just try and make a cute face back at him. It seems to work. He runs a hand up my stomach and under the hem of my shirt, causing me to go tense. His touch is so gentle and nice but so new, and I don’t have any idea how to react. “It’s okay, sweetie. Just relax.”
I do my best to take his advice and take a deep breath, which seems to help, but I’m still on the verge of panic.
“Mike…” I start to say, but he is already getting to his feet. He takes me by the wrists and lifts me up with him.
“Come on.” He smiles. “You’re all sticky.”
I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what I’m even going to say, so I just close it again and follow him as he leads me out of the living room and down an elegant wood-paneled hallway to a bathroom that looks like something out of an architecture magazine.
He pulls me inside and over to an enormous walk-in shower, then lets go of my hand.
“Take it off,” he tells me, his eyes fixed on me. I’ve never felt such excitement and trepidation in my entire life.
“What?”
“You’re all sticky and covered in chocolate, Ivy.” He smiles. “Take your clothes off and I’ll help you shower.”
I want to give him some sass. You’ll help me? But I don’t. I can’t. I just feel my hands move to the buttons on my blouse, then slowly undo them as Mike watches. There’s chocolate all over my fingers, but I’m not even thinking of that as I slip out of the shirt and let it fall to my feet. I leave my bra on and move to my pants.