“Why?” I stroke her hair, not forcing her to look at me but wanting to comfort her because I can see she’s having one of her inner struggles again.
“I just . . . This is so hard.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Ivy, you can tell me anything. I hope you’ve figured out that I’m a communicator. Don’t shut me out—that drives me crazy. Whatever’s on your mind, just spit it out and we’ll deal with it.”
She takes a deep breath. “I’m just . . . worried. I’ve only been with one man, and you’re a lot more . . . experienced than he was. Or is. I can tell you are, just by the way you touch and kiss. And my body . . . I’ve had two kids . . .”
I don’t tell her that my first lover was a twenty two year old fitness model, and I was just sixteen when we hooked up. Erika was my best friend Finn’s older sister, and I spent a lot of time at their house. Yeah, it was wrong on more levels than I can count, but I learned a lot about what women want, how to make them crazy, how to go slow when the time is right, and how to pound the shit out of them when they want it hard. Erika brought me out of my shell, gave me some much-needed self-confidence, and treated my body like her personal playground. There was no love there, but we liked each other and had a lot of fun. I have zero regrets.
Putting my hands on the sides of her face, I gently lift her up so I can look into her eyes. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m already attracted to you like fucking crazy, and I’m not a shallow person. I’m interested in a lot more than looks, but just for the record, I think you’re beautiful and sexy and adorable. I’ve jerked off about a hundred times thinking about you.”
“Lukas!” The look of utter shock on her face is priceless.
“Hey, you need to know these things so you believe what I’m telling you.” I take her hand in mine and bring it between our bodies, pressing her palm against my rock hard cock. “Feel that? The cock doesn’t lie, baby. That’s all from you.”
Her eyes go wide like silver dollars. “Holy shit . . .” she says under her breath, pulling her hand away, all flustered.
“I want you to touch me, but only when you’re ready. I might push you a little, but that’s only because I want you. Anything that happens between us will be at your pace, okay?” She nods and swallows. “You say stop, I’ll stop. Always. And you should know, I’m a little bit sick with wanting someone that hasn’t had a ton of experience, but I also don’t want to date a kid or someone immature. So . . . You. Are. Perfect.”
She shakes her head at me and grins. “You’re too good to be real. There’s gotta be something wrong with you . . .”
“Trust me. There is a lot wrong with me, Ivy. I have a jealous streak. I’ve battled depression for most of my life. I lived in a dumpster for three months. I believe in things most people don’t. I’m an outcast. I don’t love much, but when I do, I love hard and fierce.”
She hangs on every word, her grip tightening around my arms.
“I want to know what fierce feels like,” she whispers, her eyes looking up at me innocently through her long dark lashes.
I pull her body closer to mine, holding her tight against me so she can feel me again. “I have a feeling you will, doll.”
She goes up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. “I want one more thing on my tattoo,” she says, moving out from under my arm and heading back for the chair.
Frowning, I follow her. “Okay, tell me.”
“I want a little x and an o, to remind me of you, because you give the best hugs and kisses.”
I wasn’t expecting her to say that. I was thinking she was going to want another butterfly, or maybe another little flower, but I never imagined she’d want something that was special for us. “Are you sure?” I ask her.
She nods enthusiastically. “Definitely. I’ll let you pick the where.”