Jake (California Dreamy) - By Rian Kelley Page 0,33

would be heavenly having him inside her. She lapped at his head with her tongue and his hand tightened in her hair. She swirled around the tip, paused over the ridge, tasted earth and salt and something that was totally Jake and nothing she had ever had on her tongue before. His hand applied pressure, still gentle, still in control, but clearly needing her now to take him fully in her mouth.

She did. For one hot moment she drew him in, her lips clasped around his cock, her tongue swirled over the head, and she sucked. A small tug, but too much for him. His body jerked in response. It was a small, involuntary movement and Ivy’s head smacked against the steering wheel.

Jake swore, smoothed a shaking palm over the crown of her head, and lifted her away.

“Not now.”

“No,” Ivy agreed. She shifted so that she was sitting upright, though her hand lingered at his thighs.

“I’ll be good,” she promised. He was, after all, driving a motor vehicle.

He nodded, swallowed and tried to clear his throat.

“Your response does a lot for me, too,” she confided.

“I understand.” His voice was raspy.

“I need to know you want me as much as I want you.”

“More. Don’t ever doubt it.”

She shrugged and the movement drew her fingers down the length of his erection. Jake’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. His face grew more taut.

“Sorry,” she said and shifted her hand to the seat. “It’s just that you’re always so in control. It bothers me.”

“I need to be, Ivy. “ He took her hand and placed it on his leg, above his knee but no

further into tempting territory. Then he spread his palm over her hand and joined their fingers. “You’ve pushed me closer to the edge than anyone else, ever. Does that count for anything?”

She nodded. She supposed that would have to be enough. Jake was a Lieutenant in the Marine’s. His every action and reaction was disciplined. They had to be. It was a life-saving skill and deeply ingrained in him. But she was still a little disappointed that he would never be swept away with her.

He slowed the truck and pulled into a space at the end of the street running parallel to hers. He cut the engine and clasped her hand.

“Come on,” he urged, slipping out the driver’s door and pulling her along behind him.

Ivy’s legs still felt rubbery. Her knees weak. She tightened her grip around his hand and snuggled into his side as the breeze off the Pacific wrapped around them. The palm fronds overhead clattered. The masts on the Hobie Cats, which were pulled up on the sand below them, creaked as they tilted in the wind. Across the Bay, the sweeping trail of lights on the Ingraham Street Bridge was diffused by the rising fog. Tonight, the moon was a small quarter slice dangling among a handful of stars. And this was her view. She fell asleep every night, lulled by the lapping water and woke every morning to a golden landscape. You couldn’t beat that.

“Right here,” Ivy whispered into the hushed night.

Her studio apartment was one of three on the upper floor of a two story home. She had a corner unit and paid an extra seventy-five dollars a month for the better lighting and view. It was worth every penny.

Ivy led Jake to a stone staircase at the back of the property. It curved upwards to an

outdoor patio she shared with her neighbors. There were potted plants, a gas barbecue, and a few cocktail tables with stools around them.

Jake released her hand as she ascended before him, but did not completely disconnect with her. She felt his fingers on her back, at the hem of her sweatshirt. When she got to the door and rummaged through her purse for her keys, his fingers slipped lower, dipped into the back pocket of her shorts and tugged her toward him. Her bottom came to rest in the cradle of his thighs. He was still hard, but not quite as impressive as earlier.

She managed to slip the key in the lock, even with the dim lighting and her heart skipping a few beats as it knocked against her chest.

His mouth found that spot below her ear and his whispered roughly, “Two minutes.”

Chapter Eleven

Ivy’s bed was the focal point of the small room. It was full-sized and draped in soft cotton linens. There was no couch, only a nightstand and a wall unit that held a large screen