by JA Huss
Her tied hands are immediately pushing, pressing on my lower stomach, desperate to make me step back. I watch her fingers carefully, but she is either too busy dealing with being choked by my cock, or she likes it.
I pump a few times and then lean over her body and play with her pussy. Ivy gasps for air during this reprieve, and then she moans.
“I told you,” I say. “I told you you’d like it. You won’t be able to help yourself, Ivy.”
I push another finger inside her, pumping her with the same rhythm she’s sucking me. I want to eat her out so bad, but that comes later. So I push my hips into her head instead. Her hands reach for my balls. I have a moment of worry that she will grab those fuckers and never let go, but she doesn’t. She cups them between her palms. Gently.
Yes. Finally.
I pull my cock out of her mouth and my fingers out of her pussy at the same time. The little moan tells me all I need to know. She’s ready. I bend down and kiss her upside-down mouth, my tongue sweeping over hers. She kisses me back, her fingertips gripping my hair.
“You like it, don’t you?”
She doesn’t answer.
But she doesn’t have to. I am back on the bed, pushing her legs open, my giant cock positioned and ready when she opens her eyes and stares into mine.
“What?” I lean down, her breasts pressing against my chest, and take her head in my hands as my cock slips inside her. “What?” I ask again. She’s so fucking wet, there is no groan of pain. Just her back bucking up, her heavy panting coming out loud, and then her eyes close again.
I begin moving inside her. Slowly. And each movement she makes matches mine. Her knees come up to my shoulders, giving me even more access. She whimpers as I push deeper, her fisted hands pressing on my chest, but only because I know she can’t help it.
Her head falls back over the side of the bed again, exposing her throat. Her lips press together like she wants to say, “Mmmmm,” but her mind is blown and sounds do not exist.
I kiss her as I fuck her. I mumble everything she needs to hear in her mouth.
“Fuck yes,” I say, unable to take my eyes off her face. I pump my hips hard, making her little mouth open, a squeal escaping into my mouth. “You like it, don’t you?”
“Mmm,” she says this time.
“Yeah,” I say. “Fuck yeah, you like it hard, Ivy? You want me to pound my dick into you until you come?”
Her mouth opens but no words come out. I thrust and slip a finger inside. She sucks on it for a moment, but the intensity of what the other parts of me are doing make it impossible for her to keep it up.
So I just kiss her as we fuck. Over and over and over. Until I know she’s so close, all I have to do is talk her into it.
“You dirty whore,” I whisper. She moans back in response. “You sweet, filthy, dirty slut. Goddamn it, Ivy. Come or I swear to God, I’ll keep you here forever. I’ll never stop until you come.”
Her whole body seizes up. Perfectly still. I thrust so hard, her hands come up and almost knock me out. I grab her hair and pump my hips. Her nearly helpless hands, not so helpless anymore as she digs her nails into my shoulder. All I can see is her reluctant passion and her exposed throat as she arches her body and explodes.
I switch gears, slowing down so she can moan out her release. I kiss her mouth so I can capture those sounds, just keep kissing her mouth until she stills. And then I pull out and come all over her tits.
We lie there, sucking in air like we’ve never tasted anything as good as oxygen. Spent, and tired, and satisfied. I flop back on the bed, tugging her body into me. She tucks her bound hands into my chest when I swing a leg over her thigh and hold her down. Mine. She’s fucking mine and this seals the deal.
I stare out the window as her breathing evens out. The blackness out there, just like the blackness in here. And then Ivy sighs and presses her head into my neck, ready for sleep.
“How many times?” I ask.
“What?” she mumbles.
“How many times did you think I’d really rape you tonight?”
“Not now—”
“Answer me,” I urge softly. “I want to know if you thought this was real or not. I want to know how deep that trust went. I want to know if you thought I’d really do that.”
“Nolan—” she whimpers, opening her eyes.
I sweep her sweat-soaked hair aside and tuck it behind her ear. Her make-up is smeared all over her face. Dried saliva on the line of her jaw. There’s a red blotch where I slapped her that last time. “Tell me, Ivy. I need to know.”
And I do need to know. Because I can’t… I can’t be with someone who thinks I’d really hurt them. I can’t outrun this reputation. I can’t outrun the past. What that fucking girl turned me into. I can’t go back, I can’t change it, I can’t even change me. Because there’s nothing to change.
“There’s nothing to change, Ivy.”
She squints her eyes at me. She has no idea what I’m talking about.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I say. I don’t even know where this is coming from. It just pisses me off so bad. “I drew something. People draw things. People make slasher movies and never get accused of the shit they said I did. People write books, and poems, and songs and never get accused of being the fictional person in their art. But I did. Why?”
Ivy’s bound hands come up to my cheeks. She spreads her hands apart as far as she can and places her palms on either side of my jaw. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask. My voice is loud enough to echo off the high ceilings. “For letting that lying bitch change my whole life? For all the fucked-up things they said about me? Still say about me? I sat in that interrogation room, Ivy. For hours. And I had to listen to them say the vilest things about me. My lawyers were there, so they heard it too. And I couldn’t say a word. Not one word. Just shut the fuck up, Nolan. That’s all I kept telling myself in that room. Every time I turned on the TV there I was. The police weren’t allowed to release the details of the evidence. The judge blocked it after my lawyers filed a motion for a gag order. But they hinted, Ivy. They hinted that I was one sick motherfucker.”
“I’m sorry,” Ivy says again. “I knew you would stop if I told you to. I had just the right amount of fear and uncertainty—”
“I am one sick motherfucker.” I shake my head and roll off of her.
I’m crossing the room, reaching for the lock on the door when Ivy says, “Don’t walk away, Nolan. Don’t walk out, not now.”
“Do you know why I do this?” I say, not even able to look at her.
“Tell me,” Ivy says.
“No,” I say, turning to look at her in the bed. “I’m asking you to tell me why. Why the fuck do I do this?”
She sits up on the bed and swings her legs over the side. Her hands are still bound. Her wrists are red and raw from the yellow rope. “Fuck,” I say, walking back to her and reaching for them. I begin unwinding the yellow rope, trying my best not to look her in the eyes.
“I agreed to it.”
“Why?” I ask, looking at her. “Why the fuck did you agree to it?”
“It was exciting.”
I can’t breathe.
“But that’s not why you do it, is it?”
I can only shrug. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I don’t know why, after all that shit that happened to me, why the fuck I’d be fixated on this stupid fucking fantasy.”
“Maybe you’re just trying to prove something to yourself, Nolan. Prove that you’d never have done something like that.”
“It was just a drawing. A spur-of-the-moment drawing. Would I like to do a gang bang one day?” I laugh. “Maybe back then. Maybe that’s just something twenty-year-old guys think about? We think a lot of fucked-up shit when we’re twenty. But no. I didn’t really want to do it. It was just… a fantasy. A drawing. And the next thing I know I’m on TV. I’m being pulled in for interrogation. And my friends are looking at me like I’m guilty. And I’m looking
at them like they’re guilty. And I still don’t fucking know, Ivy. What the fuck they did to her that night that made her lie about me.”
“Maybe she lied about all of you?”
“But why?”
“I don’t know, Nolan.” Ivy is pouting her lips at me. Sad. I’ve made her sad.
“Do you have any idea how badly she fucked me up? She ruined my fucking life. And you know what?”
Ivy stands up and put her arms around my waist, pushing herself into my chest. Her body is chilled and I reach for a robe on a nearby chair. The robe I was going to wrap her in once the play was over. I place it over her shoulders and Ivy presses her cheek into my hot skin.
“What?” she asks. “Tell me.”
“I hate myself for bringing you here. For asking you to do this with me. I fucking hate myself. Every time I find something good, I break it. And now look, I did this to you and I hate myself for it. That stupid lying bitch did this to me. She turned me into this fucked-up piece of shit. She made me become Mr. Romantic. Why? Why did I let her ruin my life?”
“Your life is pretty good, Nolan,” Ivy says. “Even if she did ruin it for a little while, you got back up and made something of yourself.”
“A club owner?” I laugh. “Really? This is all I’ve got to look forward to? I don’t need the money, Ivy. I’ve got money. I’ve got family houses, like this one. More than I need. It’s not about the money. Do you know what I was going to school for?”
Ivy tips her head up and looks at me. “Was it art?”
I laugh. “I guess it’s obvious at this point.”
“And your father?”
“He wanted me to be an artist. He was so pissed off when I didn’t go back. He was so pissed off when I went into business. He cut me out of the will, stopped talking to me. Hoping his grudge would convince me to go back.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Obviously.”
“And you regret it, don’t you? Is that why you bought that land in the desert? To make something beautiful out of the ugliness? I mean, I haven’t seen your clubs, and I’m sure they’re nice. But a resort implies a very different level of clientele. And talk about a challenge. Borrego Springs is not a guaranteed win, is it?”
“I don’t know, really. I’m just…” I look down at Ivy. God, she is so pretty. And sweet. “I’m just looking for something good. The land was cheap. No one wanted it. And I could relate to that, you know? I could relate to the feeling of being… discarded. I don’t want to spend my life thinking about stocking the bar with alcohol, or DJ’s, or all the other shit that goes with running clubs. I want more, Ivy. It might be wrong to want more, but there it is. I want more. I want this resort to work. I need this fucking resort to work.”
Chapter Forty - Ivy
God, he is so broken right now. I don’t like it. I hate it, in fact. He is a good person. “I was a little scared, Nolan. But every time I got to that point, you were there with something reassuring. The pretty picture stuff. The laugh. Kissing me behind the knee. I knew it was a fantasy. Even when I didn’t. I trusted you to just be… so goddamned good at what you do that I let myself believe. I believed in you, Mr. Romantic.”
Nolan shakes his head, but I get a small smile.
“And,” I say, “you’re in luck. Because I told you earlier. I have a great plan for Hundred Palms Resort. I’m here to save you from certain doom.”
“Is that right?” He smiles bigger this time.
“Yes. I have my presentation all geared up and ready—aww, I think I left my purse in your car.” I get a small laugh out of him for that remark and it lifts my spirits. I can’t stand to see him this way. I never once thought about how his past might affect the way he acts now. Not really. I made lots of assumptions. Made lots of accusations, in fact. But it never even entered my mind that he’d be repressing pent-up anger and sadness over what he lost that night. Not just his life, but his sense of self.
“Want me to fly back and get it?” Nolan asks.
“Are we done here tonight?”
“Do you want to be done?”
“Um, no. I can see there’s something going on in the bathroom, Mr. Romantic. I want whatever all that is for.”
Nolan takes my hand and leads me towards the bathroom. There’s soft flickering light making shadows on the walls, and when we enter, the sight takes my breath away.
“You did this?”
“Do you like it?”
I love it. The entire room is filled with candles. And there’s a balcony on the far end, also filled with candles. This is what I saw from outside on the helipad.
“I made that pilot come in here and set it all up before he met us out in back. He was pretty pissed about it.”
“Are we taking a bath?”
Nolan walks over to the tub and checks the water. It’s still steaming. There are pink rose petals floating on top of the water and scattered in between are small ivy leaves.
“God, you really are romantic.”
“Well, I have more plans for this than meets the eye.” He drops his pants and takes off his thoroughly wrinkled dress shirt, throwing it on the ground.
I can’t stop my grin, so I step forward and dip a toe into the water. “It’s hot!” But it feels wonderful after all we did tonight. I step all the way in and the memory of the cold pool water disappears into the thick steam. “Are you coming in?” I ask.
Nolan nods, then gets in behind me and sits down, hissing from the heat. “Sit, Ivy. This is where I make it all better.”
I sit and lean back. His strong hands massage my shoulders as I relax and let the heat overtake me. My body is exhausted, but in a very good way. Nolan leans back and I lean with him. He hikes my leg over his, spreading my legs open so he can reach down and begin to stroke me softly. He doesn’t enter me. I’m glad, too. Just strokes lightly so that the familiar throbbing is back between my legs.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “But I can’t let this go to waste.”
“What—Ahhh!”
The hot wax is dripping down my breast. It makes it to the tip of my nipple, then merges with the water and hardens.
“It’s your turn, Ivy. Just relax and enjoy it.”
I close my eyes and let him do whatever he wants. Which, it turns out, is everything I want too. The wax is hot and erotic. His fingers are gentle and perfect. I come three times in the tub. One as he plays with the candles. Once when he sits me on the ledge of the tub and licks my pussy like he’s starving. And once when I suck him off and swallow everything he has to offer.
Later, when we’re clean and tired in all the right ways, aching in all the right places, and relaxed enough to start thinking of sleep, he leads me out of this room and takes me through this maze of a house and into another one.
Fresh sheets on the bed, fresh candles ready to be lit, pink rose petals scattered all over the floor, and the softest silk lingerie.
That seals the deal for me.
I watch him fall asleep, my body tugged up tight against his, like he’s afraid I’ll walk out in the middle of the night.
I’m in love. I might not be the most experienced woman, but I know what I’ll be missing if Mr. Romantic ever gets away.
Everything.
I’ll be missing everything.
Chapter Forty-One - Nolan
The helicopter jolts me from sleep and I’m up and looking for pants before the sound fades. Mysterious. Fuck, I think, searching the other room for my clothes. I forgot all about him.
I pull the pants up and forget the shirt, just hop down the steps to the back of the house. By the time I get to the family room, Pax is coming through the massive double glass doors.
“Thanks for picking up, you asshole,” Pax says. “I thought you were dead or something. I should’ve figured you were getting your dick sucked.”
“Hey.” I point at him. “Ivy is here, so shut the fuck up. And I left my phone in my pants.” Which I fish out right now to prove my point. Pax has ca
lled fifteen times, no voicemail.
“Yeah, well, about Ivy,” Pax says. “This is some fucked-up shit and I’m sorry I have to be the one to break it to you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Everything, man. Your sister—”
“What? What’s Claudette have to do with anything?”
Pax ignores me, just walks over to the bar, reaches under the counter, pulls out a tumbler, then finds the most expensive bottle of Scotch on the top shelf and pours himself at least four fingers. He gulps a healthy dose and then says, “Ahh. I really fucking like working out of this house. You rich assholes have everything here.”
“What? You’ve never even been here before.” But as soon as the words come out of my mouth, I know I’m wrong.
“I do business out of here all the time, dumbass.”
“This is not your house, Mysterious. Where do you get off doing business here?”
“Hey,” Pax says with a shrug. “What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine. That goes for all the other Mister Assholes who dragged me down with them ten years ago. Just think of it as my way of getting even.”
“I didn’t drag you into anything.”
“The hell you didn’t. I know that bitch blew you that night. I saw it. I see everything, Nolan,” he says, tapping his head with his glass. “So fuck off. Your family never uses this house anyway.”
“That’s not the fucking point, Pax. You don’t just use other people’s shit.”
“When your name is Paxton Vance you do. Now, do you want to hear the total fucking shitstorm I just dug up about your sister? Or do you want me to slap down a Benjamin to pay for the drink and swim back to the mainland?”
Somehow when Pax says it, swimming from Martha’s Vineyard to the mainland doesn’t sound ridiculous. I have no doubt in my mind that if I told him to leave, he’d jump off the fucking dock and disappear. Not die, mind you. Just disappear. I have a feeling the Atlantic Ocean couldn’t kill Paxton Vance even if it was trying.
“Just get on with it,” I say, waving my hand in a rolling motion.