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I reach between her thighs, and there’s no resistance. She parts for me eagerly. I give her pretty pussy a lesson on who makes her wet, and then I remove my fingers from her as she’s about to finish. She’s breathing hard, and she’s looking at me like she wants to murder me for taking away her pleasure.
I’d fuck her, but my son’s about to win his fourth championship, and I don’t want to miss a beat. My cock hates me for it, but we’ll survive.
“Fine!” she mutters. “Five tears.”
“Five measly tears?” I add, “Is that all Mr. Winters is worth to you?”
Ivy’s hand tries to sneak its way between her thighs, but I stop her. She’s fully awake now, but I work out, and I beat people up for a living. She doesn’t stand a chance against me. If the mood strikes me, I can do monstrous things, but my therapist is special. She doesn’t get that treatment. That’s reserved for traitors and bitches.
The national anthem plays. I know they’ll show my son’s face. He’s the star of the franchise. He helped Indianapolis become a massive player in his conference. Tonight, this bores me. It’s always the same procedure. I turn to my shiny newobject. “Five tears aren’t enough.”
She flares her nostrils at me. “Can I make myself some coffee?”
“Tell me how many tears I missed, and you can make yourself all the coffee you need.”
Ivy contemplates for a moment. “I cried for a couple of minutes when I woke up. I didn’t drive to work because I couldn’t see clearly from all the tears in my eyes. I walked all the way to the Queen I hospital. I dried my tears before I arrived because I didn’t want to have to explain myself. I went through the motions at work. I saw six patients. Then I had my first break. I shed some tears there. The rest of the day was quiet until my final patient came in, and I broke down in front of him. That was the last time I cried. Adding it all together, you missed a gallon of tears.”
By the end of her monologue, Ivy’s out of breath. She’s glancing at me with her needy eyes. I shouldn’t pity her. She’s just a fuck that might align all the stars together for my son’s fourth ring. But I can’t resist her doe eyes.
I pull her close to me, and she wraps her arms around me like the needy doe that she is. I say, “For every tear you shed, I’ll reward you. Keep crying for me like a good needy doe.”
“How much is enough?” she asks, her voice a bittersweet tremble.
“It’s never enough.” I pick her up, and I take us to her tiny kitchen. “Make your coffee. Be quick.”
She sobers up, pacing around her kitchen in record time. I keep my eyes on her and on the television. On any other day, I’d watch this game with the family. They’re all assembled in the palace, throwing a private party out of my son’s fifth chance at a ring. The babies are sleeping in their strollers while the grownups make bets on who will top the scoreboard.My son, of course.
“I’m ready,” Ivy announces. She holds two steaming cups of coffee. There’s a little stain of coffee on her shirt now. I let her lead the way back to the couch. We’ve missed the tip-off, and the ball’s in the other team’s hands.
“That’s for you,” she says once we take our seats. She hands me one of the cups with black coffee. “I didn’t know if you drank it with milk or sugar. I can—”
“I don’t drink coffee,” I tell her. She places the cup on the coffee table, and she starts sipping on her own. She gulps it down like it’s water, and I don’t like it. “I’m a tea person. It’s better for my vocal cords since I yell at people all day.”
She blushes into her cup, and I hear a faint giggle.
“Take off your shirt. It’s dirty,” I tell her casually. I keep an eye on the score. It’s nothing my son hasn’t been able to salvage, yet the finals are always nerve-wracking.
She takes a sip of her coffee, savoring the taste with her eyes shut. She fucking moans at this cup like it’s the most pleasurable thing she’s ever experienced. I want to smash it. She says, “I’ll freeze.”
“As yourowner, I won’t allow you to freeze.” She sighs. The coffee addiction seeps through as she gulps down some more of her hot drink. Once her coffee cup’s on the table, she meets my eyes. I should be watching the screen. My son’s about to dunk on the other team’s big guy. My gaze is fixated on my new favoriteobject. She teases me with her sinful white shirt. She grinds on nothing, working her hips while every inch she removes of her shirt reveals more of her skin.
“Better?” she asks, dropping the shirt on the floor.
I nod, taking in the sight. I can’t think of anything other than how much I’d like to fuck her, knowing that all her friends are in their homes. I want them to hear her screams while they get ready for work.
Unlike me, her eyes wander toward the screen. I study her naked body next to me. I’ve seen more of her in two days than I’ve seen in five years of therapy. She held back all those years. She kept her needy little secrets.
“What happened?” Ivy gasps, pointing at the screen. I force myself to stop staring at her, and I scan the scene. One of the players suffered an injury, and they’re removing him from the court.
“Come here,” I tell her, inviting her to get comfortable with me. She can sit on my face for all I care. Suddenly, the game has lost its importance. I’ve been missing out all these years.
Ivy shifts, her breasts bouncing with her swift movements. She climbs over me, setting up pillows next to me. At one point, her wet pussy meets my thigh, and she rubs herself against me. I’m distracted, hard, and horny. I don’t look at the game once. By the end of it, she’s got her head on pillows, her ass on my crotch, and her long legs spread across me.
She glances at me with her doe eyes, batting her eyelashes like a needy good girl.
“The game. We have to focus on it,” I tell her, but I’m dying to convince myself.
“Hm.” She nods with a wicked smirk.
