by Lili Valente
My eyes go wide. “You didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t.” He laughs. “But I thought about it. He’s too old for you.”
“He’s thirty-nine.” My lips curve as I cock my head, studying his profile. “And since when are you the jealous type?”
“Since I spent six years waiting to make things right with you,” he says, surprising me all over again. “Like I said in the letter, I’m sorry I was an ass the last time we were here. And I’m sorry I severed ties so completely. At the time, it seemed like the best decision, but in hindsight I realize how hard it must have been for you to lose the last link to your past.”
I stand up straighter. “It’s fine. More than fine. You subsidized my entire life for years, for God’s sake. If anyone owes someone an apology it’s me.”
“What in the world would you need to apologize for?”
I bring my fingers to the edge of my mask, grateful for the help concealing my expression. “I thought Aaron was the one sending me money. If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have accepted so much help. At least not without a few hundred thank-yous and a promise to pay back every penny. Which I will, by the way. As soon as I can. With interest.”
He makes a sound somewhere between a cough and a snort. “You will not. I don’t need your money, Ivy. I already have more than I know what to do with.”
“But I need to pay you back,” I insist, fully aware that Edward has the kind of fortune that not even a compulsive gambler can burn through in a generation.
And Edward has never been a gambler. He’s careful and thoughtful, the kind of person who thinks ten steps ahead and twenty years down the road. By twenty-three he had already doubled his family’s net worth, and since then he’s opened a chain of wildly successful night clubs and a few luxury hotels.
Hell, the tickets to this ball probably cost more than I make in a year, but that’s not the point.
“When I thought it was coming from the money Gram intended for me, I could accept it,” I continue. “I thought it was coming from family and—”
“I am family.” He cuts me off, his words sending regret rushing through my chest.
There was a time when Edward was like family to me. He was the kinder, funnier big-brother figure I’d crushed on all through high school, spending the long weekends when he visited our house daydreaming about what it would be like to have him take me behind the pool house and kiss me until I was breathless.
And then, my junior year of college, he had. And for six beautiful months it had felt like all my silly, romantic fantasies were coming true.
But all it had taken was one long weekend to lose it all—my family, my faith, my boyfriend, and all my stupid dreams.
“No, Edward,” I say, gently but firmly. “You’re not family. You’re not even my friend. Not anymore. We haven’t been in touch for years. You may have been having me followed, but that doesn’t mean you know me. And I don’t know you.” I force a smile. “But that’s okay. I don’t have to know you to have a good time tonight.”
He sighs. “Ivy, I—”
“I’m prepared to give you my submission,” I continue, needing to get the words out before it’s too late. “But that’s the only thing on the table. Please don’t forget that.”
A muscle in his jaw leaps, but there’s no time for him to respond.
We’re at the front of the line. It’s time to leave reality at the gate and step into another world.
CHAPTER FIVE
Edward
The part of me that’s determined to prove that the connection between us is as strong as ever wants to bypass the gardens, drag Ivy up to the elegant old building on the hill, find our room, and fuck her until she’s too weak with pleasure to shut me out. She confessed that no one has ever made her feel the way I make her feel. My gut tells me all it would take is an hour or two alone in the dark to tear down the wall she’s built between us.
And there are so many ways I want to have her.
I want Ivy on top of me, grinding on my cock as I suck and bite and tease her nipples with my tongue. I want her from behind with my hand in her hair and my balls slapping against her thighs. I want her up against a wall, her breath coming sharp and fast because I’m fucking her so hard she can barely breathe, so hard that when she comes her orgasm will whip through her like a tornado, shattering her defenses.
And then I want to make love to her slowly, to take my time worshipping her body, showing her how grateful I am for every beat of her heart.
But if we go that route, we might never make it out to play, and the Venus Ball comes but once a year. I can’t pass up the chance to top Ivy, and—glutton for punishment that I am—I like that she’s not going to make it easy for me.
I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and the world at my feet. I could have sat back, propped up my shoes, and let the abundance flow in without the slightest bit of effort. Instead, I work five days a week and the occasional weekend, slowly building my family’s fortune into an empire. I prefer to earn my rewards the old-fashioned way, with balls-to-the-wall hard work.
So instead of starting up the hill, I guide Ivy down the garden path toward the lily pond and the Japanese bridge leading to the sculpture garden. Since the day I decided to send this invitation, I’ve been daydreaming about Ivy intertwined with one of my favorite statues, and I’m past ready to make fantasy a reality.
“What do you know about Athena?” I ask, setting a slow, deliberate pace. The night is still young, and the games usually start slow. But two hours from now, the entire garden will echo with the sounds of people letting go of their inhibitions.
“I know she was born from Zeus’s forehead after he swallowed her mother.” Ivy lifts her skirt, climbing the steps of the sharply arched bridge. “She was the goddess of wisdom and war, an expert strategist, and had a bad habit of helping shore up the patriarchy, siding with the boys’ club even when her father was being a huge fucking dick.”
I laugh, not surprised that Ivy knows her Greek goddesses. She was raised in an evangelical household, but the girl read everything she could get her hands on. At sixteen, she’d been one of the most well-read people I’d ever met. By the time she was twenty, she was a fascinating mix of innocence and self-taught genius, a clever girl with a sharp mind and the beginnings of the foul mouth she’s clearly continued to cultivate since then.
“Zeus was a huge fucking dick,” I agree. I stop at the top of the bridge, gazing out across the grounds and the moon rising above the trees. “I never liked him.”
“Me, either. He was way too rapey,” Ivy agrees, making me laugh. “What? He was.”
“I know, I just…” I let my words drift off as I turn back to her. She’s stunning in the moonlight, her pale skin as flawless as any of the statues in the sculpture garden.
“But that wasn’t your point, was it?” She adjusts the lapel of my tux, smoothing it flat. It’s an affectionate touch, one that gives me hope this won’t be my only night with the stunning woman she’s become.
“Not really, but it’s relevant.” I take her hand. “I was thinking about the story of Athena and Medusa. Do you know it?”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t realize they had a story. This is the same Medusa who had the hair made of snakes, right?”
“The same.” I twine my fingers through hers. “But that wasn’t always true. Before she was a monster, Medusa was a priestess in service to Athena. A beautiful girl, so heartbreakingly lovely that she spent most of her time hiding out in the shrine, doing her best to avoid various rapey individuals.”
Ivy shakes her head. “Those Greek ladies couldn’t catch a break, could they?”
“Sadly, no. But Medusa did her best. She was very devout and determined to remain a virgin, one of the prerequisites for serving Athena.”
Ivy huffs. “I would have chosen Aphrodite. Or Bacchus, the god of wine.” She glances past me at the garden, where the only movement comes from a breeze blowing through the limbs o
f a willow tree.
One of the best parts of the Venus Ball is the sheer size of the venue. The Castle of Sin—formerly the Abbey of Mount Pleasant, a monastery that became a secret erotic retreat for the wealthy in the early seventies—is surrounded by sixty acres of gardens, and I know all the best places to hide. If we’re lucky, Ivy and I won’t set eyes on anyone but each other until we make our way to the main building later tonight.
“There is wine at this shindig, isn’t there?” Ivy asks. “I hope this isn’t one of those parties where they make you smuggle in your own flask, because I left my hollowed-out-Bible with the whiskey hidden inside at home.”
“Your father would be scandalized.”
“Why do you think I picked a Bible instead of The Complete Works of Shakespeare?”
I return her wicked grin. “There’s an open bar inside the castle and another in the courtyard outside. But we won’t be drinking until later. I want your submission straight up, princess, without anything to cloud your mind except how much you want me.”
She studies me from the corner of her eye. “I get that. But I can handle my liquor now, Edward. I’m not a kid who gets dizzy from a glass of champagne. I can down two happy-hour margaritas and a beer at the pub and still stay awake for the entire cab ride home.”
“Very badass.”
She wrinkles her nose, sending her mask rising higher on her face. “I am very badass. And I’m going to prove it to you. But first I want to hear the rest of the story. What happened to Medusa? How did she go from beautiful young priestess to hideous monster?”
I nod. “Right. So one day Poseidon, the god of the ocean, was swimming by the shrine and got an eyeful of Medusa while she was gathering flowers outside. Instantly, he knew he had to have her. He tried to seduce her away from the holy life, begging her to abandon her vows and become his lover, but she refused. Finally, he got tired of asking and decided to take what he wanted. He hid in the shrine, waiting until Medusa was alone at the altar, then he emerged from the shadows and raped her on sacred ground.”
Ivy’s jaw drops. “Bastard!”
“And it gets worse, unfortunately,” I confess. “Instead of taking vengeance on behalf of her priestess, Athena blamed Medusa for defiling her temple, insisting the girl should have done a better job of hiding her beauty. She flew into a rage and cast a spell, transforming Medusa into a monster so hideous that one glance at her turned men to stone.”
Ivy’s breath rushes out and genuine sadness flickers in her eyes. “What utter bullshit. Why don’t women stand up for each other, Edward? Why do they keep making excuses for men and blaming the victim?”
“It’s just a story, Prescott,” I say gently, even as I curse myself for forgetting that there is a more tender than average heart beneath Ivy’s tough-girl act.
“It’s not just a story. It’s terrible, and women defending women hasn’t come nearly far enough in the past twenty-five centuries. Sisters need to stick up for each other.”
“Or we could, as a society, take steps to discourage assault. Better to prevent the crime in the first place, don’t you think?”
“Well, of course,” she says, rolling her eyes as we start back across the bridge, “but like that’s going to happen anytime soon. Have you been following the news lately? Rapists get off with a slap on the wrist all the time, but most people couldn’t care less.”
I frown. “I care.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “But you’re not normal, Edward. You never have been.”
It’s clear she means the words as a compliment, but they still send anger flashing through my chest. “Well, I should be. And as soon as I get home, I’m writing a check to a charity that fights violence against women. A big check.”
“That’s nice of you, but…” She sighs, pulling away from me at the base of the bridge. “But I’m afraid I’m missing your point. Why tell such a sad story, Mulligan? Are you trying to kill the mood?”
I recapture her hand, giving it an apologetic squeeze. “Not even a little bit. Killing the mood is the last thing I want to do.” I tug her around the next curve in the path, into a tunnel of arched tree limbs lit by flickering torches. “I told you because I wanted you to know why the place I’m taking you is so special to me.”
Halfway down the path, I make a sharp turn between two urns into an even darker tunnel formed by carefully manicured holly bushes. This path is nearly pitch black, lit by nothing but the moonlight visible at the other end of the shadowed passage.
Ivy hesitates, gripping my hand tighter. “What place?”
“Come with me. See for yourself.” I step into the darkness and she follows, putting her trust in me the way I hoped she would.
But I have to be more careful from here on out. I don’t want to do anything to put a damper on her first time at the ball. I want her to remember tonight as one of the sexiest, most fulfilling nights of her life. I want her to be eager to return with me next year, and the year after, until we’ve explored every secret corner of the estate and I’ve shown her just how enchanting this place can be.
A few moments later, we step out of the dark, emerging into the sculpture garden, where pale marble statues stand watch over the courtyard like guardians made of moonlight and bone.
Ivy’s breath catches. “Oh, Edward, it’s…” She shakes her head, sending her curls drifting around her shoulders. “It’s completely beautiful. I love it.”
“And there’s more. Come see my favorite.” We move past a pair of horses with hooves raised toward the sky then a statue of Apollo lying on a bed of leaves. Ten more steps and we’re around a pair of lovers entwined in an erotic embrace and a fountain where a nymph poses with water streaming down her bare breasts.
We reach the private corner where Medusa waits, backed close to a wall covered with flowering vines, and I turn to watch Ivy’s reaction. In the dim light, her eyes are shadowed, but the soft gasp as her fingers move to her lips assures me that she finds Medusa every bit as stunning as I do.
“You like?” I ask.
“She’s perfect,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.
“She is,” I agree. “Like you.”
“Edward…” My name is a warning. One I choose to ignore.
Instead, I lean in, pressing a kiss to her throat before whispering against her skin, “Leave the mask on, princess, but everything else comes off. I’m ready to see what’s mine.”
CHAPTER SIX
Ivy
What’s his…
I could be his again. The invitation is clear in every glance and every touch, in the reverent way Edward’s fingers skim across my skin and the affection in his voice as he says, “Now, Ivy. Take the dress and shoes off. I won’t ask nicely again.”
“Yes, sir.” I hold his gaze as I reach for the straps of my dress and slide them slowly off my shoulders.
The heavy beaded fabric slides past my breasts easily, baring my skin to the cool air. The breeze whispers across my tight nipples, building the web of longing already knitting low in my body. I want Edward as desperately as I did outside the castle walls, but things are different now.
Now I’ve remembered how easy it is to talk to him, how clever and kind he is, and how he sees the world in a way no one else I’ve known ever has.
The Medusa statue is the perfect example.
Any other man would see a statue of a pretty woman with snakes coming out of her head and move on. But Edward saw the defiance in her expression and the knife in her hand. He saw the way the snakes writhe wildly around her haunted face, as if crying out in sympathy for this woman who was attacked by a god, betrayed by her goddess, and brought low through no fault of her own. The statue is a beautiful and heartbreaking call for justice, for innocence to be preserved, loyalty to be rewarded, and goodness to triumph over evil.
It’s beautiful.
As beautiful as the mind of this man standing in front of me, his dark eyes devouring me, leaving no doubt that as far as he’s concerned
, I, too, am a work of art.
As I urge the dress over my hips, wiggling slightly to ease the tighter fabric at the waist over the swell of my bottom, the bars around my heart begin to melt. It isn’t smart, it isn’t safe, but damn it, he’s Edward, and I can’t seem to help falling for him all over again.
“You’re stunning,” he says softly. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
I shiver as I step out of my gold sandals and stand barefoot on the small white gravel that carpets the courtyard. “Tell me how to please you, sir.”
“Sit on the statue’s pedestal.” He reaches up, loosening his bow tie before shrugging out of his tuxedo coat.
I walk the three steps to the base of the statue and sit down, sucking in a breath as my warm ass meets cold marble.
“Chilly?” Edward tosses his tie to the ground.
“Yes, sir.” My chest rises and falls faster as he strips off his shirt, revealing a thicker, harder version of the muscled chest I remember. “But I have a feeling you’re going to warm me up.”
“Not just warm you up, princess,” he says, stepping closer. “I’m going to make you burn.”
Before I can respond, he’s knelt in front of me, curled his fingers around my neck, and pulled me in for a long, bruising kiss, crushing the fabric of our masks between our faces. I moan as I open for him, welcoming the assault of his lips, teeth, and tongue. He kisses me so hard I can feel our bones rubbing together beneath our lips, but I don’t care if my mouth will be bruised tomorrow. This is the kind of kiss I need right now, the kind that assures me that there’s no point in resisting.
No matter how many walls I build or how strong the bars around my heart, Edward will break them, bend them, destroy them. Because I am his. I always have been and I always will be.
“Spread your legs,” he demands, his breath hot against my lips. I obey, parting my thighs to make room for him in between.