Chapter 17
Blake “How old were you?” Blake asked. “Five,” she replied, toeing off her shoes in the entryway as Blake shut the door behind them. “Seems like you should’ve been old enough to know better,” he said, wondering when the hell he’d become the kind of guy who liked hearing childhood stories. He usually didn’t give a shit about preschool antics, but with Izzy, he could listen all day. You told me ‘bout your past, thinking your future was me - the lyric came at him out of nowhere. “Maybe Scotty was a little shit - did you ever think of that?” she asked, her nose crinkled as she pretended to be pissed. “Did anyone?” He watched her pull the ponytail out of her hair, then dig in all ten fingers to shake it out. Those little mannerisms were somehow something to him all of a sudden. He wanted to learn every single one. He crossed his arms and said said, “But you said he cried every time he saw you coming.” “Are you going to talk about Scotty the Shit all day, who probably deserved my bites, or are you going to show me how to work your fancy showerhead? I only used the jetty tub when I watched the cats.” He grabbed her hand, linked his fingers through hers and pulled her toward the master bathroom. “You know,” she said as he flipped on the bathroom light, “It’d probably be best for the planet if we just showered at the same time.” “I do love the planet,” he said, opening the glass door and turning on the water. “I knew it,” she said, leaning down to pull off her socks. “But I think you just want to see me naked.” She straightened and shook her head. “That’s a mighty big ego you have, sir.” “I think you want to see my mighty big--” “Shhh.” She covered his mouth with her hand, giggling. “Don’t say it.” “Say what?” he said from behind her palm, feigning innocence even though they were both remembering the night before. The things she’d said. The things he’d said. She leveled a look of warning at him before dropping her hand. “What?” He squinted and said, “You can’t say it now? Because I seem to recall that pretty mouth saying some filthy things in my bedroom.” Her eyes sparkled with humor, with challenge as she stepped out of her shorts and pulled off his t-shirt, then stripped down to nothing. “I’d rather use my mouth for other things. You coming?” She walked around him and stepped into the shower. He just stood there, frozen, looking at naked Izzy as she turned away from the shower stream, so the water was hitting her back, and she leaned her head all the way back to get her hair wet. Because she hated getting her face wet. You told me ‘bout your past, thinking your future was me. He was naked in a second and stepping into the shower, his hands reaching for her waist to pull her close. She grabbed the back of his head, pulling him down to her level and kissing the hell out of him. The hunger of it, the want, nearly buckled his knees as he squeezed her waist and tried keeping up with her. Hot water poured over them as warmth pulsed through his veins. This…this he could do forever. He reached around her to grab the body wash, not breaking contact with her mouth as he squeezed out liquid soap and started lathering her back. His hands traveled all over her slick skin, back-to-front, head-to-toe. He was a junkie for her responses. A sigh was great at first, but then he needed a moan. When his hands made her moan, his adrenaline spiked and he could barely breathe from the burning need to hear her scream. And when his mouth delivered that sound, he finally felt like he had his fix. Until she slid down his body, her fingers scraping down his thighs, and she proceeded to make him lose the capacity to think at all.
Izzy “Seriously? You really think Patrick Mahomes is the guy?” “Not only can the guy pass and scramble, look at how he just creates things on the field. Makes stuff happen. This goes way beyond his quarterback rating. Just look what he did last week,” Blake said, cracking open a peanut shell. “It’s a no-brainer.” “Last week is last week, this week is this week,” she said, tugging on the bottom of the Beastie Boys T-shirt she’d stolen from Blake’s closet and had been wearing all day. After all, they’d fought for her right to party, and she wanted to pay them respect for that. It was getting chilly and she was going to need to put on pants soon, but the game had just started and she was too comfy to go all the way to the bedroom. “Wow.” Blake gave her a look and tossed an empty shell in her direction. “SO profound.” “Profundity is my forte.” “Profundity isn’t even a word.” “Googling, dipshit.” Izzy laughed and opened Google, intent on proving him wrong. They were each sitting on opposite ends of her couch - because she’d forced him to scoot over as punishment for calling her fantasy football team weaksauce - but then The Darkling had ruined everything by settling on his lap so he couldn’t come back to her. She loved what a closet cat lover he was. “Boom - profundity,” she said, reading the definition aloud, but he just shook his head and tossed more peanuts in her direction. After the shower at his place, he’d brought her home so she could feed the cat and, well, go home. But instead of saying goodbye, she’d invited him in to watch football and they’d been doing that the entire day. Sunday Night Football was just about to start, and Izzy was bummed that the weekend was coming to an end. It’d been so perfect it was terrifying. “I need a soda,” she said, getting up. “Want something?” His dark eyes were all over her, a smile on his lips, and she muttered pervert before rolling her eyes and going into the kitchen. Blake walked in when she was closing the refrigerator, and the sight of him, in his socks in her kitchen, made her happy. Incandescently happy. So weird, right? But VP Blake in his stockinged feet was a glorious sight to behold. Sweats, messy hair - man, she wanted it all. “You want a Dr. Pepper?” she asked. “Actually, I should probably take off. Tomorrow is going to be a stressful day at work, so I should be a good boy and get a decent night’s sleep. Y’know, since someone kept me up all night.” She couldn’t stop the disappointment, even though they’d both said over their living room pizza picnic that they needed to stay at their respective apartments with work hovering in the morning. “Yeah - get out,” she said. “I’m done with you anyway.” “Nope.” He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, tightly, lifting her off the ground as he added, “We’re only getting started.” She tried to be cool, but it was impossible not to smile at that because she just freaking adored him. She adored him and wanted everything. So she looked away from his face before he could see her adoration and she changed the subject. “Did you know that when you set me on the table yesterday, I kind of thought you wanted to sex me up? On the butcher block dinette?” His gaze moved over the span of her face, like he was trying to see if she were serious or not, and then he lifted her higher and carried her over to the table. Her heart started racing as he gave her that look, plopped her on the table, pushed her knees apart and stepped closer. “Were you into it, Iz?” His voice got quiet quiet and a little growly as he dragged his mouth along her jawline, as his big hands slowly slid the oversized t-shirt up her hips. He raised his head and asked, “Were you down for some table action?” “Yes,” she sighed, looking straight into his eyes. “I seem to be into everything when it comes to you.” Something in his face changed when she said that. All at once he looked sweet and serious, and he leaned closer and rested his forehead against hers. He swallowed and said, “I know the feeling.” “It’s bizarre, right?” she whispered, raising a hand to his stubbled jaw. He closed his eyes for a half-second, leaning into her touch, and when he opened them, they were bright and hot and intense. “Bizarre and so perfect, Iz, I can’t even.” His mouth found hers as his big hands made quick work of her clothes, and she took care of his pants and the task of wrangling his wallet from his pocket while never breaking contact with that power kiss. She briefly thought front door, because anyone could come in at any time, but things were so intense with Blake that she was willing to risk it. In mere seconds he was right where she needed him, sighing into her mouth as he crashed into her on the kitchen table, and she felt emotional as she locked eyes with him, somehow homesick for him at that very moment even though the moment hadn’t yet passed. He moved, rocking into her, making her wrap her legs around him to hold him closer, squeeze him tighter, to try and lock-up his body the way he’d locked-up her heart. “Fuck,” he hissed, sliding his hands underneath her and changing the angle to where it was no longer physically possible for her eyes to stay open. Or for her to think. He was so good, so in tune with every little thing that she didn’t even know she wanted, that Izzy just dug in her heels - and her nails - and let herself fall into the blissful escape.
Blake Izzy: You awake? Blake smiled as he looked at her message. Yes, he was lying in bed, in the dark, but he was definitely still awake. He texted: We literally hung up the phone four minutes ago. Izzy: Well you fell asleep really fast last night, so… Blake: No, that was you, Princess Snore. Izzy: I don’t snore. Blake: No comment. Izzy: I don’t! Blake pictured her, lying on her stomach, sound asleep beside him. He texted: Isabella Shay, I’m not saying you snore, but if you did, hypothetically, it would be the most adorable sleepy sound ever heard. Like an adorable kitten. With a deviated septum. Izzy: Flipping you off. Blake: Grabbing your finger and doing nasty things with it. Izzy: ABORT MISSION! THIS IS NO WAY TO GET SLEEPY! Blake sat up, grinning like a dipshit, and fluffed his pillow. Texted: Is that why you texted? So you could get sleepy? Izzy: No. I texted you to say that no matter what happens, this weekend was perfect. What the fuck was that? Did she know? He texted: “No matter what happens??” Trust exercise, remember? Izzy: I know, I know. Blake: I’ll be able to share soon, I promise. Izzy: LOL I trust you. I just mean that regardless of any other thing that happens in my life, in the world or in the universe, this weekend will be preserved in my heart as perfection. Well, shit. Blake felt that in the pit of his stomach, in his heart, in his everloving mind, because it was exactly how he felt, too. I love you. He wanted to say it. He wanted to tell her a hundred times that even though it was too soon, he was gone. Head over heels. Out of his mind for her. Fuck, maybe he’d tell her tomorrow, after he talked to Brad and figured things out. I love you, Iz. It’s what he felt in his very core, but instead he texted: I love your profundity, Iz. Izzy: And I love hearing you acknowledge the word profundity. Goodnight, Mr. Chest. He laid back on his pillow, looked out at the city lights, and texted: Goodnight to you, Starbucks Amy.