He laughs. “You more of a results girl?”
“Honor is a privilege. I haven’t always had it.”
He nods with understanding. “Sharp observation.”
“Via The Handmaid’s Tale. Most of my observations are. But it works well with men. Most haven’t read it,” I say. “Even with the show so popular.”
He chuckles. “Interesting.” It’s knowing again. Over my head again. Some secret. Some circle that doesn’t involve me.
But I don’t mind. I’m the same with Addie.
I’m glad Ian has family members who love him. Who know him. Who fly across the Atlantic early for him.
I don’t know why Ty is here.
But he is here. And he has stories to tell. So I ask for one that will embarrass Ian.
He goes off. Spins the tale of a school dance where Ian was caught making out in the closet.
He didn’t mind, of course, but their mother practically locked him up for the next year. She lectured him about safe sex nonstop. Said she’d kill him if he made her a grandmother before she turned forty-five.
Then another. His first breakup. The mixtape he made to try to win her back. The truly horrible Phil Collins song he sang as he moped around the flat.
The bachelor party where he got ‘so pissed he couldn’t walk straight’ and started offering details about his sex life. Far too many for Ty’s taste.
Who wants to know their brother’s predilection for rope?
Besides, who hasn’t tied up their partner once or twice? It’s nothing to brag about. Any good fuck is game for anything.
Of course, he doesn’t want to embarrass me by bringing up Ian’s tastes.
Even though it’s obvious I’m ready to pounce. Maybe he’s been in the States too long if he’s forgetting his manners.
But there’s no reason to play coy either.
Everyone knows Ian’s MO So everyone knows exactly what we’re doing.
And how badly both of us want to do it all night.
Dinner is perfect. Fresh pasta. Sweet basil. Soft tomatoes. Lemon and garlic and oregano.
Flavors melting together in a delicious mix of sweet and savory, strong and subtle, soft and firm.
Ty pours stiff drinks. I match his pace for a few rounds. Until the room spins and my head blurs.
Ian scoops me into his arms. Carries me—actually carries me—to the bed. Lays me on my back. Brings a glass of water.
He helps me out of my dress carefully. But he doesn’t slide his hand between my legs. Or tie my wrists together. Or order me onto my knees.
He pulls a t-shirt over my head. One of his.
It smells like him. The same soap. That scent that’s uniquely Ian.
He leans over the bed. Brushes my hair behind my ear. Presses his lips to my forehead.
I reach for him. Pull him into a deep, slow kiss. “Do you have to go?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to fuck you if I stay.”
“I want you to,” I say.
“I know.”
“So…” My nerves are fuzzy. Far away. “Why not?”
“You’re drunk.”
“I wanted you to when I was sober.”
“I know. I want you to be sober. I want you to remember every second. Not a haze of pain and pleasure.” He leans down. Kisses me again. “I’ll be a few hours with Ty. Call me if you need anything.”
“Will you fuck me tonight?”
He chuckles. “In the morning.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Let’s see if you’re hungover first, vixen.”
“If I’m not?”
“Then yes. It’s a promise.” He squeezes my hand. “Get some rest.”
“Will you leave?”
“Now?”
“After you fuck me? Will that be it?” The words spill from my lips. Stupid gin erasing my inhibitions. “Will you be tired of me. Like with the other women?”
“No.”
“You promise?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“It’s happened before. But… that isn’t how I feel about you, Eve. There are too many things I want to learn about you. Too many things I want to teach you.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“It sounds like a promise.”
His voice softens. “Get some rest, vixen. You’ll feel better.”
“I feel fine.”
“Then get up. Shower. Watch TV. But no swimming alone.”
“I’m a strong swimmer.”
“I don’t care. You’re pissed. You’re not swimming alone.” His voice drops to a firm tone. Worried. Angry even. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“Never. It would break my heart.” He kisses me one more time.
Then he leaves.
He presses the door into the frame softly. His footsteps move down the stairs.
It means something.
Maybe it means everything.
But I can’t put the pieces together at the moment. He’s right. I’m drunk. Everything is a blur of pain and pleasure.
God, what a way to describe existence.
One big blur of pain and pleasure.
All this desire. For everything he’s willing to give me. And everything he isn’t willing to give too.
Chapter Forty-Three
Ian
“Jesus, Ian, did you at least wait until her eighteenth birthday?” Ty shakes his head. He laughs sounds like you. “I thought I was the depraved pervert.”
“Based on what?”
He chuckles fair enough. Motions to the cocktail glasses on the table. Another round?
Was I this bad when Laura left?