Bedding his Innocent Mistress

by Clare Connelly

  “What the hell is he thinking? You don’t send flowers to your ex, do you?” Ivy wailed, nausea rising inside of her at this very physical reminder of just what day she’d woken up into.

  “Hell, no! Not unless your psychotic. He’s engaged, for Chrissake. I wonder what his fiancé would say if she knew?”

  Ivy stared at the flowers in total misery.

  “Right,” Lisette seemed to spring into action. “Stay there. I’m coming to pick you up. You tell that assistant of yours that you need an afternoon to yourself.”

  Ivy shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve got a meeting at four.”

  “Skip it.”

  “I can’t,” Ivy groaned. But the thought of seeing Lisette, one of the few people who truly had been there for Ivy through thick and through thin, was light at the end of the tunnel. “Afterwards?”

  “Meet at our usual as soon as you can. I’ll grab a table. Don’t be late.”

  “Oh, I won’t be,” Ivy promised, disconnecting the call.

  At four o’clock, after an impossibly hectic afternoon, Ivy stepped into the meeting room. She had intended to deposit the bunch on Tahlia’s desk, but she literally hadn’t had a moment.

  And now, she had one thing to get through before she could see Lisette and drown her sorrows in a big bowl of cocktails.

  She pushed into the meeting room, ready to go through the weekly distribution figures. She was prepared for that.

  But she wasn’t prepared for Rafe to be there, too.

  She stared at him, bewildered, wondering absent-mindedly if the day had any more surprises for her.

  “Pretend I’m not here,” he addressed the group. “I’m simply getting a feel for operations.”

  Easier said than done.

  Ivy pushed on, her mind numb, her heart hurting in a way it hadn’t for weeks. She rushed through the presentation, grateful when she reached the end. She closed without looking at Rafe, packed her folder, then scooted towards the door before anyone else.

  Rafe caught her just outside her office.

  “Hey,” a low growl, a commanding voice to stop. She didn’t obey him. She could feel tears stinging at her eyes and one kind word from him would make them fall.

  She didn’t want anyone else to witness her breakdown.

  He followed her into the office, and shut the door. “Hey,” he repeated.

  She turned to face him, her expression confused, her eyes enormous and wet.

  “What is it?” He crossed to her, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her to his chest. “What’s happened?”

  “I …” She shook her head. “I… nothing.” She sniffed back her tears and straightened, pushing away from him. Get a grip. She’d be with Lisette soon and could give vent to the full force of her emotions.

  “Ivy,” he murmured, “You’re upset.”

  “I know that,” she snapped.

  “Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  His frown was a gash across his face. He pressed his hands to his hips, staring at her with frustration and then turned his head away. A muscle jerked in his cheek as he saw the flowers.

  “They’re nice,” he said slowly, but she could see his mind working. “A secret admirer?”

  She shook her head slowly.

  He looked at her and then strode to the arrangement. She’d dropped the card back on top earlier, and it was easy for him to read the text.

  “From him?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  Rafe’s eyes met hers, probing, reading, understanding. “I see.”

  “I doubt that. I don’t even see and he’s my ex.”

  “Believe me, Ivy, there’s only one reason a man sends flowers to a woman he used to be with. He’s trying to get in your head. He wants to think you’re still into him.”

  “Why?” She whispered. “He’s involved with someone else.”

  Rafe tried not to let it bother him that she didn’t say the same for herself. After all, this was just casual. It didn’t mean anything. That was her stipulation and it hadn’t been a problem for him. “Some men are just twisted.” He looked at her stricken face and felt a welling of emotion.

  Anger. Fury. Frustration. Impatience.

  None of them sat well at his feet.

  “Come with me.”

  She shook her head, wiping her cheeks clear of any remaining tear-tracks.

  “I can’t. I have to meet Lisette.”

  His frown was just a flicker on his face. “Where?”

  “A pub in Hammersmith.”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “No,” she shook her head, her eyes huge.

  “Yes.” He reached down and squeezed her hand. “Now.”

  He pulled her out of the office, and then, as an afterthought, returned to grab the flowers. He carried them easily, while holding on to her hand, until they reached the lift. He put them on the ground beside the doors, his expression fulminating.

  “They are beautiful flowers.” Her eyes slid to his. “They’re my favourite.”

  He nodded, but said nothing. He wasn’t sure he could speak without unleashing a tirade of curses and that wasn’t really something he wanted to throw at Ivy.

  The lift arrived almost instantly, spiriting them down to street level.

  His limousine was waiting through the doors. He had three cars he seemed to swap between interchangeably. The Bugatti, a Range Rover and this stretch limo.

  He waved the driver aside and held the door open for Ivy himself; she slid in, taking up a seat in the corner. The short ride in the lift had done wonders to compose her frayed nerves. Or maybe it was being around Rafe.

  He took the seat opposite and pressed a button.

  Just like in a movie, or her imagination, a dark screen lifted between the driver and them.

  Ivy turned her attention to him, a lightly mocking look on her features that was completely undone by the rabbiting of her heart. “Privacy?”

  “Yes.” And, as the car started to move in London traffic, he knelt on the floor in front of her and began to push her dress upwards, until his fingers reached the elastic of her underwear. He pulled at it, his eyes locked to hers, daring her to stop him. To say something. But she could only watch as the lace thong came down, and finally, fell to the floor.

  “What are you doing?” She asked, the words thick.

  “You wanted me to wipe him from your mind, right?”

  She nodded, her eyes enormous as they met his.

  “Ever been made love to in a limo?”

  She shook her head.

  “Great. So that’s what this date will be from now on.”

  She shook her head. “That’s crazy.” Her throat was dry, her tongue thick.

  “Yeah?” He moved to the seat beside her, pushing his pants down as he went. He pulled at her hips, moving her to straddle him, she crawled over him, and the flowers felt like a distant memory. How could she think of them when he was between her legs?

  “I have a better idea,” she muttered thickly.

  “It had better involve me being inside you,” he ground out darkly.

  She laughed, and climbed off him with true regret. The wet heat between her legs needed him. But she needed something else. She needed to betray Steve. To send him a silent ‘stuff you’. She crouched down in the limousine, braced between his legs, and her hands wrapped around his length.

  “Ivy,” a warning sound. A noise of deep pleasure warring with disbelief.

  “I want to make you come.”

  “You’re practically doing that already,” he said darkly.

  “Not yet…” And she wrapped her mouth around his length, moaning as he thrust into her and he hit the back of her throat. Her tongue licked his length, savouring his taste and scent, and she moved up and down his shaft as her hands lifted to his shirt and pulled at it wildly. A button popped and she laughed.

  He didn’t.

  His husk of indrawn breath was intense; had he even noticed?


  His expression was white; he was close. She could taste him on the tip of his cock and she wanted more. She wanted to own him. To show him that she was sexy and unpredictable. His hands came to her shoulders and he was pushing her away but she didn’t move. She moved her hands to his rear and dug her nails into the muscle of his arse, holding him where she needed him. She felt him begin to throb but he moved his hands lower and pushed her backwards, unsettling her so that she fell a little. And before she could right herself, he’d torn the top off a foil packet, unfurled it on his length and reached for her at the same time she’d scrambled up onto his lap and taken him deep inside of her.

  He swore into her ear and his hands in her hair were rough and demanding, pulling at her so that he could kiss her neck, his stubble like sandpaper. She groaned, her heels digging into the leather seat, her hips moving as she thrust down on his length again and again and he laughed, a throaty sound of surprise.

  “Slow down, querida. Let’s not make this the first time I don’t get a woman to orgasm.”

  She laughed, and shook her head. “I don’t care. This feels so good.” But he shook his head and pushed at her dress, bringing his mouth to her breasts, sucking one deep as he rolled slowly, changing their rhythm so that it was a slow, torturous invasion and wave after wave of promised pleasure began to roll through her. She moaned, a husk of sound from deep in her throat.

  “I love having you in my mouth,” she said softly.

  He swore. “Yeah, that’s going to help.” A sarcastic comment that made her laugh again. Something warm filled her heart. She kissed him then, gently, on the lips, but he took control of that, too, his kiss a retaliation; a possession. She whimpered as his tongue lashed hers and his mouth pressed down against her lips, and then he thrust deep inside of her and she fell apart. It came up on her shockingly fast. She exploded with intensity, crying out again and again as an orgasm fogged through her. He rolled her hips with his hands, moving her when she succumbed to the completion of her orgasm.

  He grabbed her face with both his hands and thrust into her again. Her sensations were just subsiding, throbbing through her body, when another intense crescendo began to build and she tossed her head back. But he cupped her face and lifted her. “Look at me,” he demanded, holding her steady as he thrust hard into her. “I want you to look at me. I want you to look at the man that does this to your body. And accept that I’m the only man who can make you feel like this. Okay?”

  The heat of his possession filled her like a flame. She groaned, her eyes drifting shut, but he spoke huskily. “Look at me,” he said again.

  And she did.

  She watched him, her eyes showing how lost she was, how afraid, and his reassuring her, because he was lost too.

  *

  Between Rafe in the limo and Lisette buying Ivy cocktails all evening, Steve was a distant dot in the back of her mind by the time she finally got home that night. Somewhat clouded by the last mojito, still smelling Rafe in her hair, tasting him on her lips, she pulled her phone out of her bag and stared at it with a silly smile on her lips.

  So that was pretty amazing.

  It had been. Why pretend she hadn’t been blown away by the whole making love in the back of a glamorous stretch limo thing? It wasn’t a declaration of love. She wasn’t an idiot. Nothing had changed between them; she wanted what she wanted and Rafe was giving it to her. That was all.

  Just what I was thinking. Are you coming over tonight?

  Alarm bells sounded and a renewed determination fired through her. She loved being with Rafe, but she’d never get to the point where she saw so much of him that she forgot how to operate without him. Once bitten, twice shy.

  Not tonight. I’ll dream of you though. She sent the text, hoping it was suitably softened.

  There was no reply.

  Once she’d showered, and flung herself into bed, Ivy checked her phone once more.

  Nothing.

  No reply.

  With a fit of pique, she wrote, Do I only get a response when you think sex is in the offing?

  She sent it, not questioning the wisdom of the snarky message.

  You’re annoyed I didn’t reply?

  She glared at the phone. Well, it’s a bit rude…

  I didn’t think your message needed an answer. You answered my question.

  She frowned. Uh oh. Was she being needy? Misreading him?

  She began to type out a pithy reply, then deleted it and wrote something snappy, then deleted that. She fell asleep with the phone in hand, message unsent. A fact she was incredibly grateful for the next morning.

  Feeling less than fresh, Ivy showered and dressed for work, had two weak cups of tea and prepared to face the day. It was a chilly morning, brusque with an ice-cold wind. She kept her head bent as she made her way to the tube, grateful to find her way onto one that wasn’t super busy.

  She had a heap to do, and it wasn’t until Tahlia knocked on her door a little before lunch that she even realised the time.

  “Delivery,” Tahlia called with a grin. “You’ve certainly caught someone’s attention.”

  And Ivy froze as her assistant strode into the office and placed a bunch of flowers down on Ivy’s desk.

  “Who are they from?”

  “I don’t know. Do you think I read your cards?”

  Ivy flicked her a glance and shook her head. “Thank you.” She waited until Tahlia had left and then fumbled the card out. What the hell was Steve playing at? How dare he send her more flowers?

  Lunch. 1pm. The Broken Fish. PS it’s Rafe.

  She thought of the beautiful gastro pub with a smile playing on her lips.

  Rafe hadn’t sent her lillies. He’d chosen tulips and daffodils. Spring in autumn. And she loved them. She breathed in their sweet fragrance with a sigh, then pulled out her phone. She swapped the camera around and clicked a photo of herself with the flowers in the background.

  Love my flowers, she typed and sent the message before she could question the wisdom of encouraging this kind of sweet gesture.

  Lunch?

  She smiled and nodded. Sounds good.

  Ten or so minutes went by, and then her phone pinged.

  Sorry, are you waiting for a reply on that? I wouldn’t want to offend you.

  She burst out laughing. I’ll cope. See you soon.

  *

  The restaurant was busy. The usual Friday crowd had piled in and she wandered around the bar once before seeing Rafe in a booth, his head bent over a newspaper. She froze, her breath catching in her throat. The sight of him like that, unobserved, was powerful.

  And it did something very strange to her. She felt heat bloom through her at the same time her knees began to shake. Desire manifested in many ways and it was easy for Ivy to believe that it was desire alone that turned her completely to mush.

  She took a step forward, her eyes stuck to him like glue, and perhaps he felt it, because he looked at her suddenly. Right at her. Through her. Digesting her emotions even as she struggled to process them herself.

  “You look amazing,” he murmured as she slid into the seat opposite.

  “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “Hell. Lunch seemed like a good idea but all I want to do now is throw you over my shoulder and drag you to my apartment.”

  “Caveman or serial killer?”

  His laugh made her stomach churn. “The former. And sex-addict, apparently.”

  “I like that.” She crossed her legs beneath the table and the toe of her shoe rubbed against his calf. His eyes narrowed.

  “Hungry?”

  She nodded. “And still just a tiny bit hungover.”

  He lifted a dark brow. “Big night, then?”

  “Lisette. She’s a bad influence.”

  “Uh huh,” he grinned. “I could have told you that from the moment I met her.”

  A waitress bustled over. “What can I get for you?”

  “Ivy?” He prompted.

&nb
sp; “I haven’t even looked.”

  “Two more minutes.”

  “No, no,” Ivy shook her head. “You order. I’ll think fast.”

  And she reached for the menu, swinging it around to face her, so that she could read the options. She chose a chicken pie with mash and gravy – stodge-fest galore –and then turned her attention back to Rafe.

  “I have a proposition for you,” he said, once they were alone.

  “Aren’t we still in the middle of your last proposition?”

  His smile was a flicker of acknowledgement, over so quickly she thought she might have imagined it. “This is a proposition amendment then.”

  “I like it. Do we need to have a quorum to vote?”

  “Would that mean having Lisette weigh in? Because I think she’s on my side.”

  Ivy laughed. “Yeah, me too. So? What is it?”

  “I’m sick of you sneaking out in the middle of the night.”

  Ivy froze. “I don’t ‘sneak out’. Well, I mean, I did. But only once.”

  “Fine. I’m a grown man. You’re a grown woman. It would be normal for you to spend the night when you come to spend the night.”

  “No.” She shook her head firmly and her answer was emphatic. “That’s not going to happen?”

  His expression showed exasperation. “Why not?”

  “Because! That’s not what we are! This is just sex,” she hissed. “Amazing sex! And I really like you. But I’m definitely not looking for a boyfriend.” She said the word as though it would fill her body with cancer; it was risk come to life. It was inconceivable.

  “And you’re not looking for a girlfriend,” she continued. “Right?”

  He nodded, but he was battling a swell of frustration.

  “I don’t have girlfriends,” he said after a moment. “I have lovers. And my lovers stay at my home.”

  A frisson of jealousy barbed inside of her. “How many lovers?”

  He burst out laughing; but not with humour. With errant disbelief. “You would like a catalogue of my sex life?”

  “Just a ballpark number. Give me an idea.”

  “Why?” He prompted incredulously.

  “Because you have a catalogue of my sex life,” she pointed out logically. “So why don’t I get yours?”