Page 90 of Mr. Romantic (Mister 2)

“Can this wait until…” I check the dash clock and calculate how much time I’ll need with Ivy. I don’t want to rush it, so I say, “Early AM? I got you a ride. Be at the helipad in Middletown and I’ll send it back for you.”

“It’s your money, Delaney. Not mine. So if you want to finish whatever it is you’re doing while I charge you by the half hour, be my guest.”

“Your way with words makes me miss you, Pax. Makes me wonder why the fuck I haven’t talked to you in years.”

But the call ends.

“Who was that?” Ivy asks again. “Someone else is coming?”

“We’ll be done by then. I won’t let him come until we’re done.”

“So he’s going to see me there? Nolan—”

“Ivy,” I say in a low growl. “Shut. Up.”

She’s stunned silent. Which was the whole point of starting the fantasy early.

“Paxton Vance does not give one fuck about you, take my word on that. So whether he sees you there or not, he won’t care. He’s coming with information I need. But if you think I’m not in control of this night, say stop now and I’ll put your ass in a cab and send you home.”

When I look over at Ivy her mouth is hanging open like she’s about to say something. But then she closes it.

“Good girl,” I mutter, pulling the car up to the helipad. “Now keep your mouth shut until I tell you to open it for my cock.”

I don’t look at her this time. Just exit the car and slam the door. Waving to the crew, who wave back. I walk around to Ivy’s side, open her door, grab her arm, and yank her out.

Still, she says nothing.

I almost sigh, that’s how fucking spectacular this night is going to be if she plays along. I look back at the crew, who have all disappeared, just as I ordered them to, and drag her over to the helicopter, out of their sight, even if they do disobey orders

Ivy stumbles once, then twice, but I don’t turn back, just pull the door open and point. “Get the fuck in and keep quiet. If you scream, no one will hear. But I will, and it will really piss me off.”

Ivy is conflicted. Her chest is rising and falling so fast, I think she might pass out.

“Ivy,” I bark, leaning down into her ear as I grab her hair and yank. I slip a hand between her legs and begin to rub small circles over her clit through her panties. “You’re lucky you didn’t wear a bra. That makes me happy. But your resistance doesn’t. So get the fuck in the helicopter and I won’t hurt you.”

She stares at her feet for a moment and then, in the smallest voice I could possibly imagine, she says, “No.”

I push her face first onto the helicopter seat, holding her head down as I pull her dress up to give me a good look at her ass. I smack it. Hard.

Ivy gasps, then tries to get up, but my hand pushes down harder on the side of her head as my other hand gets busy between her legs. “You can’t wait to come, can you, Ivy? You dirty fucking whore. Do you want me to make you come right here? In the middle of the airport? Or do you want to get in like a good girl?”

She’s panting now. Her breathing is seriously disturbing. “I’ll get in,” she says.

I ease up on her head, pull her dress down, and point to the seat. She climbs in, which is not easy in those stiletto shoes I sent her in the fantasy box. But she manages and before she can even look at me, I grab the handcuffs hanging on the door and fasten them to her wrists. There’s a long chain attached to them, with a clip on the other end, which I secure under the seat, pulling it tight, so she has to lean over.

Then I close her door and walk over to my side, get in, and power up the engine. “I hope you don’t get motion-sick, Miss Rockwell. Because if you do”—I look at her and find her wide eyes filled with fear—“I’ll make you lick it up before you get out.”

The rotors above pick up speed and then the deafening roar of the blades fills the cockpit, making any more talking useless.

Good. I’m glad.

She needs this time to get herself together. Because as soon as we get out on Martha’s Vineyard, she will have a choice to make.

Stop.

Or keep going.

Chapter Thirty-Six - Ivy