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I have vague memories of his whispered words of praise. Of soft touches, of his gentle removal of the ropes, done as reverently as when he tied them on.
He wraps me up in my coat, holding me close.
I am lost in his heated caramel gaze, so spent I can’t speak.
“Home?”
I nod.
I remember him taking me to the car. To his place, to his shower, to his bed.
When he wraps me in his arms, nestling me close to his chest, I drift off to sleep with one final thought settling into my lust-fogged brain.
Goddammit, I really might be in love with him.
All over again.
THIRTY
mercer
If I’d askedher to, last night Ivy would have performed stone-cold naked. She’d have fucked me, let me take her ass in front of all those people.
For some reason, I ordered the body stocking at the last minute. It didn’t leave much to the imagination, but the fewer eyes on her actually naked the better.
Which is weird for me since I’m fine with voyeurism.
Last night, I wasn’t. Last night, she handed me all her vulnerabilities.
Ivy trusts me enough for that.
No one asked her to go to that level, no one asked her to go so deep, but she did. And that will make everything so much easier. I’m so goddamn close, I can taste it.
I should feel good about it. Not like utter fucking shit. But it’s the latter like a weight in my bones.
Maybe it’s because there’s more to her than I first thought. Maybe she’s growing on me in a way. I’m obsessed with her, I know that. But obsessed in that I can’t get enough. That the deeper into her I get, the more I want.
She should still be sleeping, and I have things to do, away from the fucking triplex.
My jacket’s in my hand when her voice stops me.
“She used to call me Chicken.”
“Who did?” I stop, not turning.
“Cara.”
She’s not visiting any family. Her father’s job’s taken him to Qatar, and Cara hasn’t left the country. I have to come clean about what really happened to her. “Well, I’m sure she’ll turn up.”
“I keep calling and texting, but she hasn’t responded.” Ivy lets out a sigh. “I just pray she’s okay.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Then, because I can’t tell her the truth, I toss a quick glance over my shoulder.
“Chicken?”
A small smile turns up Ivy’s mouth. “Chicken Little. Scaredy Cat. Cute. Take your pick. I over-worry. According to her, I don’t go out because I’m scared, and I’m cute when I could be hot. Her words.”
