Page 49 of Recovering Ivy

Most of the men I’d been in combat with had learned how to compartmentalize. They learned to place different tragedies, different memories, different emotions into boxes and lock them away, never to revisit them. I couldn’t. I didn’t get to indulge in forgetting. I had people’s lives in my hands. I couldn’t ever forget the mistakes I had made, or the lives that had been lost because of me.

“Because you feel responsible?”

“Because I am responsible. Every part of a mission comes back to me.”

“Isn’t that a little egotistical? You can’t control everything.”

“There is no ego in combat. And I have to be in control, of everything, at all times. If I’m not, people get hurt, my men die. I don’t get to pretend it was fate, or bad timing, or bad intel. Every black mark on my soul is because I failed. I failed my men, I failed the mission, I failed my country. Every scar and mark I wear serves as a reminder that I’m inadequate.” I paused, needing a moment after my admission. “You’ve seen my scars, Ivy. Plain as day you can see my failures etched across my skin. I’ve never tried to hide them from you. My hands are dirty; I’ve taken lives and will not stop. It’s a part of my job; it’s a part of who I am. I’ll try my hardest not to bring it home to you, but I can’t promise you I’ll succeed. I may be a dick most of the time, but I’m not a liar and I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean by bring it home.”

I was fucking this up. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I sounded like a love-sick teenager whose balls hadn’t dropped yet. I didn’t do hearts and flowers and puppy dogs. I didn’t know how to explain to her what I wanted. I wasn’t this man, the type that stumbled over his words.

Fuck.

Spit it out, Lewis.

“I’ve never done this,” I admitted.

“Done what?”

“This. You and me. Us. What we’ve been doing. I don’t allow people into my world. I’ve never had breakfast with a woman. I’ve never spent multiple nights with a woman. I’ve never talked to a woman about anything remotely personal. We fuck, she leaves, or I leave, but one of us always goes. I don’t even offer coffee in the morning. It gives the wrong impression. It invites conversation, conversation I don’t want to have.”

“Ouch.”

“That’s me, Ivy. I’m a prick. I live by strict rules. Those rules are in place to protect myself and others.”

“So you want me to leave?” Her expression had changed from confused to hurt. I was still fucking this up.

“No. I want you to stay.” I needed a drink. No, not a drink, I needed a new set of balls apparently, since I’d lost mine somewhere. “I’m fucking this up. I tried to keep my distance, but I can’t. I cannot for the life of me get you out of my head. It started the morning I woke up and you’d snuck out. I was pissed at you, pissed I didn’t know your last name to track you down, pissed at the universe for giving me something so damn sweet then yanking it away. I couldn’t stop thinking about you; I still can’t. You can be in the next room and I hate it. I want you next to me. What I’m saying is, whether you like it or not, I’m not letting you go.”

“Do I have a say?” She smiled.

“No. You’re mine. I’ve never been so sure of something in my life.”

“Well… if I don’t have a choice…”

“You have a choice. But not a say.”

“That makes no sense, Zane.”

“Sure it does. I get the say, and you get the choice of how difficult you’re going to be before you come around to my way of thinking.”

“I’m not sure I like how bossy you are,” she huffed.

“You’ll learn to love it,” I assured her.

“Don’t think I will. You may want to reconsider everything you said. I don’t take kindly to being pushed around.”

I sat on the couch next to her, unwrapped her arms from around her legs, and pulled her over me until she was straddling my lap. She muttered her annoyance but made no attempt to pull away. When she was settled where I wanted her, I brought both my hands to her face and held her gaze.

“I will never push you around. I may be bossy, but I am not an abusive prick. You will learn to love me being in control because it means you’ll be free to be anything you want to be, secure in the knowledge I will keep you safe. I will never ask something of you to be a dick or for some fucked up power trip. I want nothing more than you to be happy and safe. I can’t control everything, but what I can, I do. I can’t explain to you why I need it, but I do. As Jasmin says, I get cranky when I’m not in absolute control.”

“Do I get to decide what we have for dinner or will you control that, too?” she sassed.

“Now you’re being a brat and brats get spankings.” Ivy’s eyes flared, and I was pleased she was turned on by the idea. My need for control certainly extended to the bedroom. Lucky for her, she thoroughly enjoyed me in charge. “You like the idea of me bending you over my knee and pinkening your beautiful ass?”

“I shouldn’t, but I do.”