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Why hadn’t I just taken her? If it had been any other girl, I would have. In fact, I remembered having the distinct thought after leaving Ronald on that rooftop that I wanted to drink and I wanted to fuck. Instead, I’d ended up treating this girl with kid gloves, like I thought she might break if I so much as breathed on her in the wrong way.
What had Ivy Gilligan been doing down an alleyway in central London at two a.m.?
Had she really just been out for a bit of fun? If so, she’d failed drastically. She just didn’t seem the type.
Her torn dress was still in the wastepaper basket in my sister’s room.
I stared down at it, battling with myself not to fish it out again, and lost. I stooped down and plucked it out. The torn strap hung down, and the memory of her perfect breast hanging out of the front of the dress, exposed for all to see, flashed into my head.
What would she have done if I’d ducked my head and latched my mouth on to her nipple and sucked it, hard? I imagined her trying to push me off, while I only sucked harder, wearing her down until she eventually folded against me and gave in.
Blood rushed to my cock, filling and swelling my length. I brought her dress to my nose and inhaled deeply. I didn’t think she’d been wearing any perfume, and yet I could still smell her on the cloth. Fuck. I was getting harder. Was she ever likely to ask for the dress back? I highly doubted it. Not only was it torn and would probably remind her of what had happened last night, but she didn’t have any way of getting in touch, other than coming directly here. She’d lost her phone—or more accurately, it had been stolen—and so it wasn’t as though we’d switched numbers.
I needed to focus on the name I’d been given last night, to pass it around and see if anyone else recognised it, but I couldn’t seem to tear my thoughts away from the girl who’d been in my penthouse. Though she’d only been here for a matter of hours, her presence had permeated the whole place, her scent in the air, so now she was no longer here, it felt even emptier than before.
I held her dress at my nose once more and breathed her in. I pictured the spot that would have been right above her pussy. Could I pick up on the musky tang of her? I wished she’d left her knickers in the rubbish. I’d have kept them under my pillow and pulled them out whenever I wanted to get off.
My cock was painfully hard now, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to do anything else until I’d dealt with my erection. I slipped my hand down the front of my sweatpants and curled my fingers around the hot, hard length. I edged my hips forwards, my cock pushing through the tunnel of my hand.
I swiped my thumb over my slit, rubbing the slick moisture across the smooth head, enjoying the sensation.
Needing more space, I edged my sweatpants and boxers down my hips, freeing my cock. I wrapped the silky material of Ivy’s dress around the head, liking that I was getting my precum on it. I toyed with the idea of sending it back to her, of letting her know what I’d done. What would her reaction be? Disgust, I was sure, maybe mixed with a bit of shame? But I didn’t care about that because it would also make her think of me. She’d picture my hand around my erection and be fully aware I’d been thinking of her while I’d been masturbating.
I released myself for long enough to spit in my palm and then grabbed my dick again, giving myself a satisfying squeeze. I nudged the head against the silky material, picturing it as Ivy’s cunt. What would her pussy be like? How experienced was she? Would she be fully shaved or waxed? Would she be as tight as I liked to imagine? I’d love to have those curvy thighs around my face while I covered her pussy with my mouth and plunged my tongue inside her.
I’d seen the flicker across her face when I’d told her how well she was doing when I’d been cleaning her up. She’d liked it. I wondered how often she was praised for something she did, growing up in that household? Did the Gilligans have high expectations of their only daughter? Was nothing she ever did good enough?
I worked my dick harder and faster, my arse muscles clenched, my thighs taut. In my other hand, I clutched her dirty, torn dress, thrusting into it as though it was Ivy herself I was fucking. Fuck. I should have taken her while she was here. Shoved her down on her knees and had her suck my cock. She was a Gilligan, and I should hate her. I could have taken that rage out on her pretty little mouth and sent her home to her family ruined, as a message of just what I was capable of when you fucked with the Wynters. But I doubted she was responsible for anything either her father or brothers had done, and the crazy thing was that I didn’t want her to think badly of me.
I wanted Ivy Gilligan to like me.
Heat and tension built inside me, my blood rushing through my veins. I could only hear the thud of my pulse and my heavy breaths. My head was filled with an image of Ivy that I’d never seen in real life, of her lying on her back, her hands on those plump tits, her thighs spread for me. Fuck.
I came in a rush of adrenaline, my hips jerking into her dress, spilling myself onto the material. My orgasm slowly faded, and I caught my breath, my heart rate decelerating.
The dress was wet with my cum, and I balled it up in my fist. I should probably toss it back in the bin, but I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. Instead, I carried it into my room and pushed it between the mattress and the base.
Now I had that out of my system, I took a quick shower and dressed.
I had to take what I’d learned to the other half of our business. I hated sharing things with the Cornells, but it was what my father had wanted, and while he’d had issues with them as well, he’d done what was right for both the family and the business. There was no denying we were stronger together. I believed that was why the Gilligans had been forced to take such extreme steps as setting the bomb.
Taking the elevator down to the private parking garage under the building, I debated on whether I should take my father’s black Range Rover or my motorbike. I was doing what I could to ensure people took me seriously, and the car was definitely more grown-up, but the bike got me through the city faster and was a lot more fun.
Fuck it. I was taking the bike.
The roar of the engine turned heads as I left the hotel parking garage, though no one would know my identity due to the helmet jammed down over my skull. I rode skilfully, weaving through traffic, smirking at the irritated glances I received from car drivers who weren’t going anywhere.
In less than half an hour, I reached Tam Cornell’s Greenwich house—and my sister’s place, too, since they were married now—and stopped outside the gate. I leaned in to press the buzzer, fully aware they had cameras and speakers out here. After the attack at the warehouse, none of us were taking any chances.
Whoever was on the other side of the camera clearly knew who I was, as a second later, the electric gates slid open. I got the bike going again, riding more slowly this time to where both Hallie and Tam’s four-by-fours were parked outside, sliding the bike neatly between them. I climbed off, dragged the helmet off my head, and hung it on the handlebar. I raked my fingers through my hair, as of yet unused to how short it now was. I missed it being longer, but this was all part of growing up, of having arseholes like Tam taking me seriously.
The front door opened, and my sister appeared in the doorway. She was huge, but I would never say that out loud, at least I wouldn’t unless I wanted her to smack me around the back of the head. I might be heading up the Wynter Syndicate now, but she would always be my big sister.
Bigsister.
I’d have to remember to avoid calling her that, too.
“This is an unexpected visit,” she said, taking a step towards me. “To what do we owe the honour?”
