by Paige North
His nostrils flared and his hand roamed down her side, finally landing on her zipper. He slowly, slowly unzipped her pants as her hips arched into him, and he revealed her tiny panties.
“I knew it,” he murmured, as he felt her panties, exploring with his fingertips. “You’re soaking wet.” His nostrils flared. “I can smell you.”
She could smell it, too. The scent of her own desperate sex, her need of him revealed, and there was no hiding it.
“Fuck you,” she said.
“Don’t beg,” he told her, as his fingers rubbed her mound over her panties.
She cried out and her hips lurched toward his hand. “Fuck me,” she said, finally.
“You don’t deserve to be fucked,” he told her.
“Then let me suck you off again,” she replied. “I’ll take it all, I promise. You can come in my mouth. Please. Please.” Her hips rotated again and again, as if to encourage him.
She could feel and see the bulge in his pants and knew he was excited too.
“I don’t know why I allow you to continually defy me,” he rasped. “It will not do.”
“Punish me, then,” she said.
“What?”
“I said, punish me. Spank me. Fuck me. Anything. Anything.” Her chest rose and fell.
He stared down at her for a long time, but then his hands released her and he moved away and back into his own seat. Cullen didn’t speak a word as he began driving out of the lot.
Ivy sat up, still breathing heavily and now more confused than ever, which was saying something, considering the day she’d had.
As she zipped her pants and straightened her clothing, Cullen got on the main road and seemed to be heading towards her apartment.
“Why did you stop?” she said.
He didn’t reply for a long time. Finally, he said, “You don’t ask the questions around here.” His voice was flat, emotionless.
She gave him a sidelong glance. “So that’s it?”
“That’s it,” he replied, shifting gears and staring straight ahead.
She nodded, accepting yet another hurtful blow. Her body ached for him. Everything inside her had needed this, but he’d taken it away.
“Fine,” she whispered.
The rest of the car ride was silent, and each was lost in their own thoughts. He pulled up in front of her apartment. She could see the large cardboard box from the French boutique—containing the clothes he’d bought for her—waiting on the stoop.
Cullen cleared his throat. “I never intended to do any of this to you,” he said, just before she got out.
Ivy turned and looked at him. His eyes were terribly pained, and for the first time, Ivy truly saw that Cullen Sharpe was far more wounded and damaged than she was.
Whatever she was being put through was nothing compared to what life must be like inside his head. She felt a wave of compassion for this mysterious man who seemed to have it all, but actually had less than nothing.
Her hand went out and touched his cheek softly. “I forgive you,” she said, smiling.
Cullen seemed to flinch at this unexpected maneuver.
Before he could react to the unrequested touch, Ivy had turned away from him again and opened the car door.
“Ivy,” she heard him call out, but then she was getting out of the car and running…running away as fast as she could.
Because in that moment, she hated Cullen Sharpe, hated him with every piece of her soul.
But she also loved him.
She loved him and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
Alone in her apartment, Ivy took a long shower and tried to decompress. When she got out, she put on a simple nightgown that was comforting in its softness. And then she ate a very light meal of toast and jelly, while watching mindless TV.
After that, she got in bed and called the one person she could think of who might make her feel slightly better.
“Hello?” her mother answered, and Ivy nearly burst into tears at the sound of the woman’s voice.
“Hi, Mommy,” she said, smiling as she cradled the phone to her ear.
“I haven’t heard from you in ages,” her mother said. “Is everything all right?”
Ivy sighed. “Not really. I started a new job and it’s horrible.”
“Oh no. Why?”
“It’s complicated,” she said, thinking there was no way in hell she could tell her overprotective mother even 1/100th of what had happened. “But there’s a guy, my boss, and he’s very difficult to work with.”
“Difficult in what way?”
Ivy picked at her lower lip. “He’s very demanding.”
“Is he mean to you?”
“Sometimes.” She thought about it. “And then other times he can be so kind, and protective, and…well…sort of amazing.”
“This is your boss,” her mother said slowly, as if it wasn’t quite adding up. “Well,” the older woman sighed, “the real world is a harsh place, honey. I never wanted you to have to be exposed to all of the craziness, but I knew someday you’d have to deal with it.”
“But maybe I can’t deal with it,” Ivy said. “What if I’m just not cut out for any of it?”
Her mother chuckled. “Oh, sweetie. I doubt that very much.”
“But Mom, I’m not doing good. I’m doing, like, terrible.”
“I still remember the time you took your first piano lesson,” her mother said. “You were this soft, tiny little thing sitting at that bench and your teacher was this crabby woman. Misses Cleary, remember?”
“Oh, do I,” Ivy laughed. Miss Cleary had been notoriously evil and frightening—tales of her fearsome temper had spread across the county. But many of her pupils had become professional musicians and gotten into all the top schools.
Ivy’s mother went on. “After your second and third lessons with Miss Cleary, you came home crying, telling me how mean she was and how you could never learn piano. You were inconsolable.”
Ivy smiled wider, remembering how upset she’d been. “That was because Miss Cleary called me ‘little lazybones’ when I messed up one of my first pieces. I was beside myself.”
“You almost had me convinced to let you quit taking lessons,” her mother said. “But then when I was about to make the phone call to inform her you were quitting, you stopped me. And you said, ‘Mom, I want to keep trying.’ Remember?”
Ivy felt the tears leaking from her eyes and she nodded. “Yeah.”
Her mother was emotional now as well. “So, even though it physically hurt me to know you were going to face that old demon of a teacher, I let you keep going for piano lessons with her. And little by little, you got better. And you worked tirelessly. And you improved more. Finally, one day about a year later, Miss Cleary met with me in person, and told me you were one of the most talented, hardest working and fearless pianists she’d ever had the pleasure to instruct.”
Ivy laughed. “She’s still probably mad that I never attended Julliard.”
“I’m certain she is,” Ivy’s mother chuckled. “But the point is, you have that strength, honey. You always had it.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Ivy sniffled. “I needed to hear that.”
A few moments later they got off the phone, but Ivy wasn’t able to fall asleep right away. She lay in bed, her thoughts going round and round, until she finally drifted off.
Ivy startled awake sometime later, feeling disoriented.
Had she been having a bad dream? She didn’t really know. Her bedroom was dark and shadowy and her heart was beating hard in her ribcage as she sat up.
There was a loud buzz from her nightstand and she glanced over, seeing a text come through on her cell phone. Ivy picked the phone up and saw a text message shining brightly on her screen.
I’m outside.
It was from an unknown number.
She blinked, suddenly feeling awake as a surge of adrenaline rushed through her system.
Outside? Who was outside?
Ivy g
ot out of bed, shivering, and went to the bedroom window, looking out onto the street in front of her building.
Cullen Sharpe was standing there, bathed in darkness, but the nearby streetlight revealed just enough of him for her to know it was Cullen and not some strange man.
A wave of relief hit her as she realized it was Cullen. Of course, she knew she couldn’t trust Cullen, but somehow she did despite herself.
What’s he doing here?
She opened her window and craned her head outside as the cool air blew against her face. “Cullen?” she called out.
He looked up at her. “Buzz me in,” he said.
She shook her head. “I can’t do that—“
“Buzz me in, Ivy.” He walked up the steps and disappeared from view under the overhang of the building.
“Fuck,” Ivy whispered, closing her window.
She didn’t have time to change or put on makeup, nothing. Nor did she have time to gather her wits.
There were so many reasons why she knew it was a bad idea to open her door to Cullen Sharpe right now.
So many reasons, and yet not one of them seemed powerful enough to truly stop her from letting him into her home.
Ivy padded out of her room and into the hallway. By the front door to her apartment was her intercom and she hit the button to buzz him through the main entrance to the building.
She unlocked the deadbolt and waited next to it. Moments later, she heard his steady footsteps coming up the stairs and then he was knocking.
Here we go.
Ivy took a deep breath and opened the door.
Cullen stepped inside. He was wearing baggy workout pants, sneakers, a t-shirt and a light jacket. He looked much more casual than she was used to.
“I woke you,” he said. It was a statement, not an apology.
“Yeah,” she admitted, folding her arms self-consciously over her chest. She was, after all, wearing nothing but a flimsy white nightie.
Cullen shut the door behind him and looked at her soberly. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he said.
She licked her lips. “What about me?”
“About what you said earlier today. When you accused me of being a hypocrite who never tells you anything. It’s true what you said.” He ran a hand through his hair as if he was distraught. “I’m a hypocrite. And I’ve treated you badly.”
A thrill went through her chest. “Cullen,” she said. “You don’t have to do this.”
He made eye contact again, and his cold blue eyes were smoldering. “It might look as though I have the perfect life,” he went on. “A successful neurosurgeon who starts a drug company that sets the world on fire with a highly marketable drug and more on the way. Fame, millions of dollars, women throwing themselves at my feet. Acclaim, awards, the respect of my peers. Everything most people want, right?”
“Right,” she murmured, although she knew only too well just how far from that ideal Cullen Sharpe was in reality. After all, he had colleagues saying that he might have murdered one of his former patients, and an FBI agent claiming that the U.S. government considered him an enemy.
That didn’t sound like something to be envious of.
Cullen’s eyes suddenly bored into hers, and for a split second, she thought—Oh my God, he knows. Somehow, he found out that I know what he’s been accused of.
But then Cullen spoke. “None of my current success means anything. I’m trapped in the past, Ivy.”
“How do you mean?”
He shook his head. “I can’t expect you to understand.” His head dropped and he stared at the floor. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”
Cullen started to turn away, and Ivy knew that perhaps the wisest thing to do would be just to let him leave her apartment. After all, the deeper she became embroiled in his life, the more problems it caused her, and the more dangerous she potentially became to him.
But she simply couldn’t bear to let him go.
As he turned, she reached out and grabbed his hand. “Cullen, don’t leave,” she said, her voice trembling a little.
He turned back towards her once more and his eyes were tortured. His face looked as though it might break apart from the strain. “You deserve so much better than me,” he said. “Look at you. You’re beautiful, and intelligent and soft and perfect. I need to protect you but I know I’ll only destroy you, just like…” his voice trailed off.
She knew that beneath the surface, he was hiding terrible secrets. Secrets that could possibly ruin them both.
Let him go, Ivy. Get as far away from him as you can. He’s trying his best to warn you.
Yet nobody had ever looked at her and spoken to her the way Cullen Sharpe did. No man had ever made her feel the way he made her feel.
How could she turn away from this man?
The truth was, she simply couldn’t.
“What can I do?” she asked, squeezing his warm hand.
“The things I keep inside me, I keep for a reason,” he said, his voice halting. “You need to realize that I do it for your protection.”
If only you knew that you can’t protect me from your past. Your past is already haunting me.
“I know,” was all she said.
And then Cullen leaned down and his lips met hers, and his tongue was sliding gently into her mouth, and she was falling into his strong arms.
His hands slid down her arms and to her hips, rustling across the thin material of her nightgown. Her skin broke into gooseflesh and her nipples stiffened as his warm body pressed against her.
Cullen’s lips were so soft and yet they were strong, passionate, speaking more to her than all of his words and explanations could ever hope to say.
His lips said that he needed her, wanted her, desired her like nothing else in the world. His lips said that he trusted her, that he was counting on her not to let him down like the rest of the world had done.
She could feel his emotions radiating off him and seeping into her skin and bones, soaking her in his very essence.
Cullen Sharpe wasn’t easy, he wasn’t normal. He was dangerous and frightening and mysterious. Going deeper with him could put her future in grave danger, because there were larger forces at work that Ivy was powerless against.
But she wasn’t able to turn away from him.
Her body was saying yes, as his mouth worked and worked, his tongue subduing her with its sensuality, and his hands promising even more seductive possibilities.
One hand slid down to her bare thigh and then up, beneath her nightgown, grabbing her ass and squeezing.
He breathed in deeply through his nose and then broke off their kiss, looking into her eyes. “Show me your bedroom,” he said.
“It’s kind of a mess right now. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“I don’t care about that.”
She turned, as his hand slid to her hip and then trailed off, letting her go ahead of him down the hallway.
She could feel Cullen walking behind her, perhaps watching her butt sway as she went. And everything felt dark and quiet and liquid, like she’d been soaked in sex and let loose into a new world.
They made their way into her bedroom. Luckily, the light was still off, so Cullen wouldn’t be able to see the pile of clothes in her closet, the shoes on the floor, the beauty products spread out across the top of her bureau.
She turned and faced him now, as he crossed the threshold and looked at her, his nostrils flaring. “You shouldn’t wear such skimpy clothing. A man can’t be expected to control himself if you show so much of yourself to him.”
Ivy smiled. “I was sleeping, Cullen.”
“You should wear a suit of armor when you sleep.” He grinned a little, but his eyes were hungry, devouring her.
“I’ll wear whatever you want.” Her heart beat a little faster as she said the words.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he murmured, moving closer to her.
She looked down momentarily, and Cullen
put a finger under her chin and raised it, forcing her to make eye contact again. She trembled beneath his intense gaze.
“I just want to make you happy,” she whispered.
He grimaced. “You know that’s not possible.”
“Then whatever comes closest to it,” she offered.
“Lay down on the bed, on your back.” He folded his arms and nodded at her bed.
Ivy went to the bed and then slowly lay down on it. Her nightie rose up, sliding up her bare thighs, revealing much more than she’d normally have been comfortable with.
But tonight, she didn’t care. Everything was falling apart and all she could think of was letting this moment matter.
Letting Cullen Sharpe have his way with her, and forgetting everything else outside her tiny apartment.
Cullen walked forward until he was directly in front of her, and then suddenly knelt down, grabbing her by her legs and getting between them. She gasped, as his hands pushed her nightgown up to her waist, revealing her completely shaven, bare pussy.
“Damn, look at you,” he said softly, his eyes widening slightly as he looked at it. “You look good enough to eat for days.”
Ivy moaned softly, biting her lower lip and allowing her body to remain languid, loose and completely open to whatever he intended to do.
Her center was so wet, so ready for him in every way. She allowed him to run his hands along her calves, up her thighs, grabbing her ass cheeks. Cullen grunted as he leaned down, kissing first her right thigh and then her left.
His lips burned like hot, sultry fire.
She closed her eyes and moaned again as his kisses came more frequently, trailing up and up her thighs, coming ever closer to her shaven mound. He was licking now, licking and kissing as he made his way there.
Ivy writhed, uncontrollably, because he was tormenting her. “Please,” she begged. Her hips thrust up, and she spread herself open for him as she arched her back.
But Cullen stubbornly remained at the uppermost area of her thighs, kissing and licking so close to her wet slit, but staying just out of reach.
Cullen’s hands grabbed her hips, positioning her perfectly for his tongue to minister to her wetness.
“Please, I need to feel you,” she cried out.