“Are you okay with this?” she asks, her voice shy but smooth.

I grin at her and then close my eyes. I’m so turned on by this side of her, but I don’t want to ask whether she’s done anything like this before, because I might not like the answer.

My cock is so hard against the fabric of my jeans that I decide the “have you ever” question will definitely have to wait. I tug the shirt the rest of the way off and capture her hips. “Yes, I am,” I tell her as I roll us over so she lies beneath me. I’m just not okay with giving up control. I reach into my pocket and pull out the elastic candy necklace. “I got you something,” I murmur to her. But instead of putting it over her head where it would sit snugly around her beautiful neck, I pull her wrists to me. She stares at me with a glimmer in her eye and I know she’s fine with this. After all, she started it and it’s a tame, harmless first attempt at something I’ve never thought about doing until now.

She draws a line with her tongue from my mouth to my ear. “Go ahead,” she whispers in a sexy, ragged voice. “But I can’t use my hands if you do,” she adds.

I smile at her as I wrap the elastic in a figure eight around her wrists and then stand up, kicking off my boots, and taking my pants off in record time. Hovering over her, I remove her remaining clothes—everything except her lacey black thong. Then I slowly pull her arms over her head and pin them there. With my other hand I slide my fingertips down her bare stomach to the edge of her panties. Creeping along their edge, I feel her wetness and quickly slide my hand inside them to cup her pussy.

She gasps. “I want you inside me.”

I answer against her skin as I lap my tongue over the peaks of her hard nipples. “I want that too.” My lips move farther down the swells of her breast. “Keep your hands pressed together,” I groan as my lips move toward her taut stomach and I let go of them.

“Xander, I want you inside me,” she moans.

“I know, Ivy. Soon. But first I want to devour you until you can’t stand another minute.”

My tongue dances around the lace of her panties and I peek up at her. She’s staring at me with her hands where they’re supposed to be. Her sexy, hooded eyes make me throb even more. “I’m so hard right now,” I whisper as my tongue continues down over the lace. Her hands start to move. “Keep your hands together over your head.”

“Xander!” she screams out when my hands tug so hard on her underwear that the crotch rips apart.

I laugh against the wetness of her pussy as she pushes herself toward me. With my mouth, my lips, my tongue, I can’t get enough—she tastes so good. “I’ve wanted your sweet pussy in my mouth, around me, on me . . . all day. I’m going to feast on you.”

She giggles and I’m sure she must turn red. Talking dirty to her is something I know she likes. But as I slide my finger inside her and circle her walls, she stops laughing and I can feel her muscles tighten—she feels so good. I circle her clit over and over, licking her and stroking her at the same time. I want to devour her, every inch of her . . . lick her all up and then do it again and again. The way her body reacts to my touch, the need between us—it’s raw and real and I never want it to end. But I settle on savoring her—slowly bringing her to the brink and pulling back to do it all over again.

When she starts to tremble, she digs her heels into the bed and I know she’s climaxing—that puts a huge grin on my face. I run my tongue up her body all the way to her lips, and she attacks my mouth greedily. She twists the necklace off her wrists and tangles her fingers in my hair. “I want to suck on you,” she says, letting her fingers slide down my back, pressing into my skin.

Rolling over onto my back, I bring her with me. I catch both her wrists and try to make my voice sound serious. “You let your hands free.”

She bites down on her lip. “I want to suck you. Please,” she says in that same sexy, raspy voice.

Her look melts my insides. “Fuck,” I growl, lifting my ass off the bed, offering my hard cock to her. Her warm lips are on my neck, my chest, my stomach. Her hand wraps around my base and her lips lick around my tip. Fuck. I might lose it before she even starts—I have got to get the horny teenage boy under control. Her tongue licks down my shaft before her mouth wraps around me. That feels so unbelievable. I throw my head back and brace my hand on her head. A low groan steals past my mouth and I can feel her lips move in an upward curl.

The next minute she’s taking all of me and I close my eyes and just let this feeling that I wish could last forever take over. I try as hard as I can to hang on, but I have to let go and feel what comes next—that feeling that puts me on top of the world, the one that is unlike anything else I’ve ever felt. I start to shudder and release at the very same time my phone on the nightstand starts to ring. I ignore it and continue to ride out the feeling as she swallows everything I have to give. I never let my phone go to voice mail, but today I do. The message light flashes, but my attention is for her right now. “Fuck,” I mutter, pulling her up to me. I kiss her hard, feeling out of breath and completely satisfied.

* * *

The smell of sausage and bacon wafts through the small one-room bungalow. I sit up, immediately blinded by the assault of light from the large picture window with a view of the lake. Rubbing my eyes, I sniff again and the sound of percolating coffee catches my attention. I glance around and see her, not very far away, but still not close enough.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Come here,” I say with a grin.

She walks toward me with a coffee mug in her hand and I accept the cup, but immediately set it on the table beside the bed and pull her down to me.

“Why are you dressed?”

“Did you want me to go the store naked?”

“No, but I’d like you next to me when I wake up.”

“I am now.” She starts to kiss me.

“But you’re not naked.”

She stands up and takes her layers off before sliding in bed next to me. “I am now,” she repeats.

My hands slide down her body. “Morning,” I whisper in her ear, pushing my erection against her stomach.

“Good morning again.” She giggles as her hands follow a similar path to mine.

* * *

An hour later I sip the cold coffee and tie the laces of my boots. “What do you want to do today?”

“Are we staying here?” she asks with a hopeful tone to her voice.

I cross the room as she’s stirring batter in a bowl. “Yes, it’s the Fourth of July, so I thought we would. We don’t have to be back to the bus until tomorrow. Is that okay with you?”

“I’d love to stay here. It’s beautiful.”

I pull her hips to mine. “No, you’re beautiful.”

She blushes, but the crackling of oil has her easing out of my grip way too soon.

On the counter sit a box of pancake mix and a bowl of blueberries. I know I must be wearing the biggest shit-eating grin when I see them. She’s busy taking the bacon from the pan when I open the drawer and grab a black rubber spatula. I hide it in my back pocket and once she’s finished, I scoop her up and set her on the table.

“You know what you haven’t had in a while?” I ask her.

“No,” she says, with more giggles.

I pull the spatula from my pocket and move it back and forth under her ass. “The Aunt Jemima Treatment.”

She laughs some more, and her blue eyes match the color of the water in the lake. “No, no, stop it!”

Channeling my best Bill Murray from Stripes, I ask, “Who’s your friend?”

“You.”

“Who do you love?” I question.

She places her hands on my cheeks and in a moment that takes my breath away she says, “You, you, always.”

We eat breakfast on a blanket out on the grass and then take a walk around the lake. The water looks like a mirror—clear and calm—and we decide to take out the small rowboat that’s tied up to the dock. We stop in the middle of the lake and lie back, absorbing the sun and each other. With my arms stretched behind my head, I can hear fish breaking the surface of the water, and it takes me back to when my grandfather and my father would occasionally take River and me fishing. Those days were good ones—dropping a pole in the water, sitting back, waiting for the fish to bite.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, raising her head off my chest.

I wrap my arms around her and look straight at her. “River. He was so impatient when we would all go fishing. He’d put his pole in the water for about five seconds and then get upset that he hadn’t caught anything.”

“I’ve envied what you have with him and Bell.”

My hand finds hers and I give it a squeeze. “Did you stay close with any of your sisters?”

“No, not really. Not the way you are with your brother and sister.”

I kiss her head. I have no words to respond. I am lucky in that way—in the way that I have a family that will do anything for one another. It’s always been that way. Even when my dad was a drunken mess, even when I caught him in bed with his guitar student and he claimed their relationship had not escalated to sex, we stood together—my brother and I and my sister.

“Ivy, I have some things to explain to you about my family. Things I probably should have told you years ago.”

She sits up and I pull her back to me. I want her close as I tell her about my father’s suicide. I tell her everything, everything except the fact that I’m to blame and what his last words to me were—that he muttered the name of her ex-fiancé before he died. And it’s strange, but in a moment of clarity I suddenly get why River didn’t want to tell Dahlia what he knew about her ex-fiancé—that Ben Covington had cheated on her with our sister, Bell. I get it. Damn it, River. I get it.