by Melissa Blue
“Aye, you do, but later.”
She turned her gaze away, her face heating from embarrassment. She pressed her cheek into the cool leather cushions. He saw too much, parts of her not even Ivy knew existed. She'd thought after their—her—first time she wouldn't feel cold fingers of vulnerability squeezing her insides. Not that she believed they'd be on equal footing...hell, she didn't know what to think or how to process how he could make her feel.
He tutted and pulled her back up against him. “Don't look ashamed for liking it.”
She could have accused him of being soft if not for the fact he was slipping a finger between her slit. He balled a hand in her hair again, exposing her neck to his mouth.
“We're going to discover everything you like, remember?” His breath tickled the crook of her neck and she could only moan.
She was so wet. The tip of his finger felt slippery as he coaxed her clit to swell under his touch.
“Knowing what you like will turn me on.” He lowered his voice. “Who knows? I'll smack your arse red and you'll love it. You might even drip with come from the pleasure.”
She gasped at the erotic words, image. This time as heat engulfed her it wasn't from embarrassment but that hungry lust he fed.
“You can sit on my face and let me eat you. Every time I taste your come, I'll give your arse a nice little smack. Not for punishment. Never to say you're bad, but because you're a lass who tastes so sweet when she comes. And I love it when you soak my tongue.”
Her moans came out choppy. He whispered against her skin, “So be a good lass and come on my fingers.”
“Yes,” she cried out. Her legs trembled and then her stomach clenched as the first wave of her orgasm wrenched through her.
“Aye,” he said, his tone filled with praise. “I want you dripping.”
He held her, murmuring one dirty thing after another until he bent her over the couch again. And when he laid two harsh smacks against her ass cheeks she moaned. The seconds ticked by as the sound of ripping foil filled the air. It was a relief when he slammed his cock into her. She needed to be fucked and hard. Thoughts that would have never crossed her mind, but he'd promised to corrupt her. Not a single regret because already her pussy was squeezing tight around him.
“Aye, lass. Milk me hard.”
She pressed her face into the couch cushions and just moaned. He was buried so deep and his cock was so hard. When he found a bruising rhythm his balls slapped against her clit.
Ivy lost sense of time, could only keep track of every sensation. Soft, wet, hard. The leather warmed to her skin but her breasts rubbed against the material as he pounded into her. His fingers dug into her hips when she arched her back into his. The sounds they made were raw and base. Her heart banged and she stilled as the second orgasm slammed into her.
“Don't stop,” she begged, her voice muffled.
His rhythm broke at her plea and then he shouted, shuddering against her. “Fuck,” he muttered.
He used both hands to slap her ass and that was all she needed to fall over that jagged cliff of pleasure. Oblivion took her, but she heard Marcus whispering to her. She felt his hands closing around her to lift her from her sprawled position on the couch. He was soaked with sweat, but Ivy didn't care as she curled into his embrace. She crooked her face into the hollow of his neck while he took them to his room. His pulse hammered against her lips.
Marcus sat on the edge of the bed and settled her onto his lap. And then he laughed. “I'm about to pass out. You should crawl on the bed before I drop you on the floor.”
That was so unexpected she laughed too. “Just fall backward.”
“Aye,” he huffed out but took her with him when he flopped onto the bed. “Sweet Mary Joseph.”
Her legs were tangled in his right arm, her ass rested on his abs and her head was almost in his armpit and still she didn't move. He was the most comfortable thing she'd ever sprawled on.
“Let's never do soft again,” she said.
“Aye.” He shifted until she was on the bed, his face toward hers. His gaze lowered to her neck. “Aye, you're right. Chocolate diamonds would have been better.”
She shook her head, tired. “Just chocolate.” She could see him about to argue. “Fifty bucks. That's your limit on any gift you feel the need to get me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Aye, right.”
“That doesn't sound like an agreement.”
“Because it's not. Sleep.”
Giving up on this point, at least at the moment, she cuddled under him. “Better,” he said and then added, “I thought you had work.”
“I do in about three hours.”
“Also what I thought.” He placed a kiss on her brow. “I'll wake you up if need be.”
“Thanks.”
Her sister was wrong about one thing. Arguing with him in any room apparently could lead to sex. She had to keep that in mind but he was pulling her into him so they were skin to skin.
He tensed and then relaxed. “Keep the necklace, lass,” he said. “I can't do anything with it.”
Her instincts screamed to take the gift. She wanted the bauble. It felt so right on her neck after their coupling. It wasn't about buying her forgiveness. They weren't forever though, and diamonds were. The next man in her life, who could possibly be the one, one—how would she explain such an extravagant piece of jewelry? How could she kiss the next man, love him while wearing diamonds she'd worn naked? Worn when she was spanked for the first time?
“Aye, right,” he said, reading her answer without Ivy having to speak a word. “Sleep,” he said again.
She closed her eyes after he did. It was nice. It was soft. Something he'd promised he wouldn't be with her today. She started to think he couldn't be anything else with her even when he tried. Something to worry about for later.
A few hours later, Marcus lifted his hand to ring his cousin's doorbell when a chorus of yips sounded on the other side. The historical home sat on the corner of a picturesque neighborhood. It was beautiful and grand—nothing like he imagined Ian would settle down in. Then again he'd never thought his cousin would get married. Before those sour thoughts could churn in his brain, the door opened and he was attacked by a ball of fur.
His shins took the brunt of the onslaught. The mutt slobbered on the knees of his jeans and pawed happily at him. The shade of sable, it had white around its nose and paws.
Jocelyn admonished. “Lexxie, get down.”
The dog plopped her arse on his shoe and yipped at Jocelyn, the sound filled with annoyance.
She sighed deeply. “She never listens to me. I even took her to dog training.”
“How'd that go?”
“She slept through it and then they kicked us out.” His cousin's wife grinned at him. Joy shone bright in her brown eyes. It made her brown skin glow. “Come in.”
Amused, Marcus let out a short whistle that brought Lexxie to attention. He patted his thigh twice and the mutt followed him into the home.
“Yeah. She listens to Tristan, too. Heifer.”
“Ian?”
“In the kitchen. He wanted to cook dinner tonight.”
“Ian?” he asked again, incredulous.
She laughed. “He's pretty good.
She closed the door behind him then led the way through their home. Pictures decorated tabletops and walls. Ian and her. Her and another woman who looked like her. Each one marked a different event in their shared lives and it didn't matter about the historical significance of the original archway or the fireplace that had been rebuilt with exacting standards, this was a home. So far from his.
Marcus stuffed his hands into his pockets, answering the chattering questions she threw at him with a warm smile. He liked her, had since he met her at Callan's wedding. They entered the kitchen. Ian's back was to them as he watched over the food on the stove.
“Lexxie loves Marcus more than you. She obeyed him without having to be bribed with food first.”
“Bollocks,” his cousin said without turning. Ian's dark hair was unruly. One look at Jocelyn's smile and Marcus could guess why. But his cousin said to the dog, “Isn't that right, baby girl?”
Lexxie abandoned him to sprawl across Ian's feet. Marcus shook his head. “Give her time. She'll learn soon enough you picked up all your tricks from me.”
Ian glanced back. “You always were a braggart.”
Jocelyn snorted. “You go chat with your cousin, I'll finish.”
His cousin wasn't shy and the way he kissed his wife proved it. His dark hair fell into her face but she didn't complain, only lifted her chin to meet his mouth. Marcus looked away from the intimacy, feeling a rush of heat in his face. A second of murmuring and finally they broke apart.
Ian grinned at him. “You're blushing. How cute.”
“I was worried about spit in the food.”
His cousin tossed him a beer and gestured to the dining room. “Tristan might stop by later with Keri,” Ian said after they settled into the chairs.
“Is that what you guys do now? Have family dinners?”
“You're invited and you can bring your bonnie lass.”
“What?” Then he thought about Tristan. The man couldn't keep a secret if he tried. “He's so annoying, I swear.”
“Aye, and he's right more often than not. Makes it worse, the fucker.” Ian popped the cap from the beer. “What's her name?”
“Ivy, as I'm sure he told you.”
“I need to get some details from you so I can at least act like I don't know.”
Aye. He missed this. “You don't need to know anything about her. She's my neighbor.”
“A neighbor who makes you breakfast? Never had anything like that.” Ian drained more of his beer, but his blue eyes were sharp. “Have you asked her out on a date? It's...neighborly as they say.”
If he chucked his beer at his cousin, it would be wrong. “Uncle Douglass will expect more babies. Given your current situation of being married and childless.”
“I'm remembering now, you were always a knob, too.”
And that set the tone for the rest of the night. They traded insults. In between Ian and Jocelyn touched, smiled at each other and looked blissfully happy even when they bickered over the dog. The sense of being a third wheel worsened when Keri and Tristan dropped in.
Marcus didn't belong though they tried to make him feel welcomed. Nothing they said would work. He sat there the entire time thinking of Ivy. She was with her sister, likely going over everything they'd done and how he had no plans to have this kind of...bliss with her.
She deserved more, better, but he was a selfish bastard. He wasn't ready to let her go.
Thankfully a Bain Corp. rep phoned. The man, Ted, wanted to meet to iron out some points of contention. Marcus took that as a sign to leave. His family could have their bliss. He had work to do.
8
“Get dressed in something comfortable,” Marcus said to Ivy two days later.
He'd done exactly as she'd asked and disappeared when her sister came by and had stayed gone for much longer than she'd expected. Yes, she'd thought they'd needed breathing space. That time apart felt necessary, especially after her sister spent the night giving Ivy a laundry list of warnings about sex-only relationships.
Ivy hadn't counted on how much she'd miss him, but he'd come home. She'd texted him about a repair. Took him less than five minutes to show up ready to “help.” In short, he'd come by to plaster a hole in her wall and stayed to grope her.
Since heavy petting tended to turn into sex, she flopped onto her back on the bed and glanced at him. Marcus had already slipped into his underwear and jeans but had yet to zip them up. His boxer-briefs rode low enough she could see where his treasure trail ended.
Heat rushed to her face and the aches of their lovemaking faded to a dull throb. She so did not want to get dressed. “Why am I putting on clothes?”
His stomach muscles flexed. When she finally reached his gaze he had his CEO face—unreadable. “Because I haven't seen you in a few days since your sister came to visit. And tomorrow I'll be gone for four days, if not longer.”
Tension replaced the warmth. Work. It was a subject they managed to avoid. She didn't want to know which company was courting him this week and he wouldn't provide the details for it either. That understanding was both implicit and stated. “But why are we going somewhere?”
He plucked his shirt from the edge of the bed. “I've been cooped up in my house or yours for a week. I need fresh air that has nothing to do with work. And I'd like for you to go with me.”
He said the words way too calmly. She grabbed the sheet to cover herself and sit up. Ivy hadn't asked where he'd gone, but he'd offered the details between kisses. He'd seen his cousins—a family dinner that included wives and a dog before work called him away. Like she'd said, he'd been kissing her at the time so maybe she'd missed something about the visit. “That...sounds suspiciously like a date.”
He shrugged at the accusation. “Does it? I like to think it's two people going to a certain location together.”
Now that...sounded suspiciously like bullshit. What had happened at the family dinner? Tristan hadn't appeared shocked to see her in Marcus's home, but she'd caught his disapproving frown when Marcus turned down her comfort. Family peer pressure was a hell of a thing, but he didn't do what he didn't want to do.
But he wanted to take her out for a date, why not just say so?
“Will we be eating?”
“If you're hungry.”
She slipped her tongue between her teeth for a moment and bit down gently as she considered his expression. He was dead serious. “Will there be PDA?”
“You're going with me.”
That meant yes and probably something that would get them kicked out of wherever they decided to go. “Where?”
His expression, his stance remained relaxed as though asking her out on a date was an every day occurrence—no big deal. “I have a place in mind I think you'll like.”
Two days away from her and he'd thought of a place he wanted to take her. Soft, romantic. “This is a date.”
He braced his hands on the bed and kissed the tip of her nose. “An agreed upon—”
“A date,” she said then laughed when he narrowed his eyes. “What do you have against the label?”
The question just fell out of her mouth. Too late to take it back. The warmth of his thoughtfulness had taken over and all of her sister's warnings had faded into the background.
God, what would his answer be? They weren't a couple and they'd never be a traditional couple, but he'd say it in his blunt way that would rip out any stars she might have in her eyes. He wanted to get out of the house. He also didn't want to go out alone. She should stop reading more into the simple invitation. Hell, knowing Marcus he probably wanted to get out the house just so they could have public sex. Since he'd taken her virginity they'd experimented with light bondage, and just how much foreplay it took to make her soak her panties and the bed—the wine didn't count. She tightened her grip on the sheet and waited for his answer.
“I'm not testing you out or wooing you.” His voice was gentle, not harsh at all. “You're either with me or you're not. When you're with me, we'll spend time together. No need for labels.”
Ivy exhaled, hard. There was no way he missed the relieved sound, but he only straightened from the bed to stuff his feet into his work boots.
“So...this isn't you being soft or romantic?” she asked, much more cautious.
“Have I rubbed your feet and asked you about your day?” The sardonic smile was meant to soften the blow of the words.
That wasn't the only way to be soft or romantic. Did he not know or was he that deep in denial? What difference would knowing make? He'd still be a cold, ruthless man beneath the sweet, funny exterior. He hadn't shown her that stark side of him but that didn't mean it didn't exist. She'd sat on the sidelines of life long enough to know when a man told a woman
what he was, the woman should believe him.
Push or let it go?
Ivy relaxed her grip on the sheet. “Are you going wearing that get up?”
Plaster splatters decorated his denims and black shirt. He'd long since washed off the ones on his face, hands and arms though. “Aye.”
He looked like an ad for hammers or steel-toed boots, but if she had to choose she still didn't want the suit and tie either. She wanted the man in between those two opposing images. Or even to know what that Marcus looked like.
“Okay,” she said. “Give me ten minutes. I'll be ready to go.”
He just stared at her with a blank expression then shook his head. “Aye, right. I'll be waiting for you in the living room.”
His flat tone didn't make sense until she came out thirty minutes later. He'd sprawled on her couch, his arm thrown over his eyes as though he'd given up on being upright for the wait.
She laughed. “I don't take that long to get ready.”
His response was to roll from the couch, stretch then grab his keys from the table.
“Nothing to say?” she asked.
“You're wearing a short dress. I'm not saying anything that would compromise my chances of feeling you up in public. Are you ready to go?”
Since the answer was close to honest she didn't push for the full truth. He placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her to his SUV that looked like it had just rolled off the lot. They chatted on the way to the destination—one only he knew until he took a left on Beechwood Drive. She sat up in the passenger seat, excitement spiking her heart rate.
“You're taking me to Beechwood Gardens?”
He kept his gaze on the road but his smile was cocky. “I figured you'd enjoy it and the restaurant told me they'd be willing to provide a picnic.”
“Picnic?”
“Aye.”
She'd gone a million times and she knew they didn't provide that service. “Guess it pays to be rich.”
His smile widened to a grin. “Aye.”
Ivy was practically bouncing in her seat by the time he parked. Once out of the car she took a moment to breathe in. The air was both sweet and pungent. She could pick out the jasmine, the pussy willows and even the crisp scent of the fresh water ponds. When she opened her eyes, her gaze clashed with Marcus's. He'd been watching her with a lazy smile.