DITCHED

by RC Boldt

  His tone is casual, and though there’s a bite to his words, an underlying hint of uncertainty is laced in it.

  This man who’s posed in his boxer briefs for well-known ad campaigns. This man who’s been the face for sports drink ads, whose face is on buses and in television ads.

  I’m the person who’s given him a reason to feel uncertain.

  He’s not completely off base in asking me this. If I were in his position, I’d do the same. If I were about to take the next step with someone adamantly opposed to relationships and any potential emotional entanglements, I’d be decidedly wary.

  There’s a sudden tightness in my chest, but I’m powerless at holding back the words itching to break free.

  From somewhere in the deep, dark depths of my inner being, my soul, the words spill past my lips. “Yes.” I draw in a deep, fortifying breath. “I want more.” I glide my hand to the center of his chest, settling my palm over his tattoo, and his hot skin sears my palm. “I want more, Becket.”

  His gaze turns molten before his head descends, and his mouth claims mine in a feverish kiss. He shoves my dress down past my hips, allowing it to drop at my feet, and I’m left completely bare.

  I’ve been naked before, but this…this is infinitely different. When he draws away to run his eyes over me slowly, it feels as though he can see right into my soul.

  As though he can see past all my defenses.

  His eyes clash with mine, and something within the depths of his gaze compels me to act. It draws me to reach for him and pull him closer, to kiss him as if my life depends on it.

  He groans beneath my lips. His abdominals ripple beneath my touch, and his prodding hardness juts against my stomach. A surge of wetness gathers between my thighs, increasing my ache for him, to feel his hard cock deep inside me.

  He dips his head to draw a nipple into his mouth, and he suckles me hard. I clutch at his hair and finger the strands while I push my breast to his mouth, aching for more of his torturous touch. I’m pinned to the door by his heavy, muscled body and reach for his hard flesh. When I grasp him in my palm and wrap my fingers around his length, he pulses and thrusts into my touch. I run the pad of my thumb over the head of his cock, gathering the moisture there, and bring it to my lips to suck it off.

  His eyes track my movements, turning hotter, practically incinerating me. Releasing my nipple, he raises his head and grasps my hands, restraining me against the door.

  “You’re mine.” His words resonate through me, reverberating to my core.

  To my soul.

  “Say it.” His expression is fierce, his voice raspy. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine.”

  I swallow hard past the lump in my throat and wonder how I’m going to acquiesce. I can’t possibly tell him that. I’ve never—

  “I’m yours.”

  The words tumble past my lips before I realize it, and I’m certain surprise is etched across my features. I barely have time to register the magnitude of what I’ve said because Becket’s lips crash down on mine in a devouring kiss that feeds my soul while simultaneously sending my heart into a frantic frenzy.

  When he lifts me, I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist, and he presses the head of his cock to my core.

  Breaking our kiss, he presses his forehead against mine while his hot, minty breath washes against my lips as he speaks. “I’m a damn wuss. I hate the idea of moving away from you, but I need a condom from my pants.”

  “I’m clean.” Who am I? I silently question, just as I add, “And I’m on the pill.”

  He leans back, his eyes searching mine. “Are you sure?”

  I’ve never been so sure about anything before in my life.

  “Yes.”

  If I know one thing for certain, it’s that Becket is the first and only man I’ve wanted inside me with such a fervent need. With an aching desperation.

  He moves his hips and notches the head at my entrance. “Ivy?” He poses this simple question to me, silently asking me if I’m sure. And I know without a shadow of a doubt that if I were to change my mind, this man would respect me—would respect my decision—regardless of how much discomfort it might cause him.

  “Yes.”

  That’s all I say. Nothing more is needed because, although he may only hear me say yes to having sex with him with no barrier between us, that’s not all this is.

  A small part of my subconscious realizes this is more.

  I’m simply not ready to fully recognize it quite yet.

  He presses into me, his flared tip sliding inside, spreading me. I gasp at the delicious stretch. Once he eases inside fully, he allows me to adjust before he begins to thrust in languid, madness-inducing motions. One hand cradles the back of my head, and he rocks his hips, his other hand maintaining a firm hold on my waist.

  His mouth is at the side of my neck, his teeth gently nipping at my skin, and I’m transfixed at the play of his sinuous muscles in his shoulders and arms as I clutch at his biceps.

  Shoulders… Wait!

  “Becket, stop.” My voice is breathless. “Your shoulder.”

  He lifts his head, and his dark eyes connect with mine. The lust ebbs slightly, giving way to a hint of amusement. “If you think”—he rocks against me—“I can feel anything else aside from this…” Becket widens his stance, utilizing the firm strength of his quad muscles to sink further into me.

  My features must display disapproval because he releases a half laugh, half groan. He wraps his arm around me securely and stalks the few feet to the dining room. Using one foot, he kicks out one of the armless, high-backed chairs and sits down with me on his lap. The positioning drives him even deeper, and I reach out to grip the chair back for added leverage.

  He gazes into my eyes, the specks of gold highlighting the darker brown depths as if he can see into every part of me.

  But he doesn’t know the secrets embedded deep within my soul. Secrets that would hurt him.

  Yet I’m the most selfish individual because I’m dismissing all of them—all of my secrets that could put him in danger—for this. For him. For this moment.

  “Ivy.” The way he murmurs my name is nearly my undoing. His gaze gentles and the affection in it evokes the racing of my heart.

  I fasten my mouth over his and attempt to communicate everything I can’t put into words. Our kiss is wet and all-consuming, our tongues tangling while our bodies move in frantic desperation, striving for our release.

  His fingers tighten their grip on my waist, his hips moving in powerful upward thrusts while simultaneously pulling me down on his hard cock, and I know he’s close. I reach a hand between us to finger my clit, and his heavy-lidded eyes lock on my movements.

  His voice is guttural, hoarse. “You’ve got no idea how damn sexy that is.” Dark eyes briefly flicker up to meet mine, and he slows his thrusts. “Look at how wet you’ve made me.” I follow his line of sight and notice the slick sheen on his cock where our bodies are joined. When he works me over his length, sliding out infinitesimally only to disappear inside me, I can’t restrain a tiny moan while I continue to rub my clit.

  “You’re getting tighter, wetter.” Our eyes lock, our breathing ragged, and I work my finger over my clit faster, his words spurring me on. “God, Ivy.” His head descends to nip gently at my collarbone, and he murmurs against my skin, “You undo me.”

  The sentiment, the emotion-filled words catapult me over the edge. My muscles tighten before my orgasm crests, and my inner muscles clench and unclench around him. His own groans are ragged as he gives two more deep thrusts, and I feel his release flooding me to combine with mine.

  Our chests rise and fall as we remain joined, slumped against one another in the chair. Pressing my cheek against his good shoulder, I dust a feather-light kiss to the side of his throat where his pulse continues to beat rapidly.

  His arms are wrapped around me so securely, and I fantasize about him being able to keep me safe from my demons.

  I just wish I kne
w a way to keep him safe from them, too.

  29

  Becket

  MID-OCTOBER

  “I’ve never been this resentful about away games,” I mutter to Dax while we board the plane that will fly us home from Seattle.

  He gives me a knowing look as he slides into the window seat and I take the aisle. “Because you’ve never been in love before.”

  I toss him a sharp look. “I was engaged to Lindsay.”

  We fasten our seat belts and stow our carry-on bags beneath the seat, and he leans in and lowers his voice. “Compare it. You thought you were in love with Lindsay back then, sure. But did you feel all this”—he waves a hand at me—“when you were with her?”

  Dammit. He’s right. It’s not the same. Sure, I’d had feelings for Lindsay, but looking back, the depth of them pale compared to how I feel about Ivy.

  “Shit.” I blow out a long breath.

  Dax nudges my shoulder. “It’s not like you went into that thing with Lindsay knowing she wasn’t the one.” He shrugs. “But I have to say, things worked out for the best. Even if they were pretty shitty.”

  “You think?” I say drily.

  With a shake of his head, he mutters as he looks out the small window, “She wasn’t good enough for you.”

  I try to get comfortable in the seat and stare down at the cell phone in my grip. “What do you think of Ivy?”

  He swivels his head against the headrest to peer at me. “You asking if I can see her pulling another Lindsay on you? Or are you just asking me what I think of her in general?”

  A long, slow exhale escapes my lips. “Both.”

  His lips part before he snaps them shut, as if trying to choose his words carefully. “I can’t see her doing a stunt like Lindsay. Not at all.” He raises his eyebrows a fraction and twists his lips thoughtfully. “I think she’s amazing. Anyone who’s an entrepreneur at a young age, and successful at that, gets points in my book.” He hesitates, and I instantly tense, waiting for him to continue. His eyes meet mine, and they appear almost troubled. “But I get the feeling something’s holding her back.”

  I scrub a hand down my face and along my jawline against the bit of scruff that’s grown. “She had a rough childhood from what I understand.” I stare unseeing at the seat in front of me. “Doesn’t talk about it.”

  “Just worry about you, man.” He injects a lighter tone in his voice. “Don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Speaking of hurt…” Dax glances around, likely noting our seatmates are either already dozing or have on headphones or earbuds in, before he whispers, “How’s the shoulder?”

  I wince and whisper back, not wanting to be overheard. “It’s okay, but honestly…” I shake my head and look at my friend. “I really think this is the end of the road for me.”

  His features drop, but there’s also understanding there. We all go into this knowing we’re putting our bodies through the toughest test. We take a beating out there on the field, and the smart guys plan for a future that doesn’t include football.

  “Can you make it through the end of the year at least?” he asks.

  I nod. “As long as I don’t take a bad hit, I think I’ll be good.”

  He raises his eyebrows pointedly. “No BS?”

  “No BS,” I assure him. “It’s not debilitating pain at this point, but I know my body is telling me I can go out on a high note…soon. But if I prolong it…” I finish with a shrug because we both know what I’m not saying.

  The last thing I want is to be forced to finish my NFL career and let down my team. I know my body and its signs, the indications it gives me, by now. I’ve got enough left to help carry my team through the next few months and, God willing, to the Super Bowl.

  We both relax and prepare for the plane to begin taxiing the runway.

  “You know one major difference I’ve noticed about Ivy?” he asks.

  I turn to him in question, and he says, “When she looks at you, it’s clear she sees you and not the NFL player. Unlike Lindsay.”

  The vibration of my cell phone startles me. The caller ID flashes with the name of my manager—who’s basically my assistant extraordinaire, as well.

  “Hey, Chris.” Dax and I exchange a look since Chris rarely calls me. He’s got to be the most organized and thorough manager I’ve ever had, which is why I pay him well. He keeps me on schedule, makes sure there are never conflicts, and helps with Daisy while I’m away.

  More recently, he’s helped control the media’s interest in Ivy much like he did back when Blue moved here and served as a “plus one” to my public appearances.

  My manager’s next words send panic shooting through my body.

  “It’s Daisy. I’m at the vet now.”

  He goes on to explain how he took her to the dog park the other day and now she’s come down with what they’ve diagnosed as kennel cough. “They’re giving her some medication to prevent it from turning into pneumonia.”

  I cover my eyes with my hand. “Thanks, Chris. I should be home”—I glance at the time on my phone—“not long after midnight.”

  “No problem. She’s doing well now, but I wanted to let you know as soon as I had a handle on things and knew I could get a hold of you.”

  “I can’t thank you enough.” And I mean it.

  “She’s in good hands. I’ll call with any updates.”

  I thank Chris again before we end the call. I lean my head back on the seat and let my eyes fall closed.

  “She okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say in an exhale. “They’re treating her for kennel cough, but he says she’s doing better.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  We both fall silent, and Dax closes his eyes, understanding my need to digest everything that’s transpired.

  So many things flit through my mind. Retirement will not only allow me to spend more time with Daisy and be there for her but also with Violet and Emilia. Eventually, Blue’s little one.

  And Ivy, too, I hope.

  I’ll finally be able to utilize my degree in civil engineering, and I’ve already explored a few avenues. The University of North Florida in Jacksonville is expanding exponentially, and the work I’ve contributed to my alma mater, the University of Florida, for their campus expansion certainly couldn’t hurt in getting my foot in the door.

  I just wish I had better insight into what Ivy’s plans are. She’s come so far from the skittish, I’m only in it for sex standpoint. Her toiletries have their own designated drawer in my master bath. A section of my dresser now includes some of her clothes. I’ve even made room in my garage for her to park either her car or motorcycle, and she has a copy of my house key.

  Basically, I’ve eased her into pseudo moving in with me. She spends the bulk of her nights at my house, bringing her laptop and case files with her when she’s working overtime to ensure a new client’s “ditched” process goes off without a hitch. We make dinner and talk about how we tried to use the Word of the Day at some point and if we succeeded or failed miserably. Then, I watch SportsCenter while she catches up on emails and whatever else before we head to bed.

  On the nights we make love—which are the majority of them, thank God—after cleaning up and climbing back in bed, she’ll kiss me good night and fall asleep beside me with one hand outstretched to settle on my chest. What she may not realize is, as soon as she falls asleep, she shifts, scooting closer until her arm wraps tightly around my chest and one slim leg is tossed over mine.

  Ivy snuggles me in her sleep. And it’s fucking glorious because, while she may not want to recognize it yet, subconsciously, she trusts me enough, cares for me enough to do that.

  I can see us together for the long haul, can see us down the road, going for walks with Daisy, showing her whatever project I’m working on, having her by my side every year at the Mayo Clinic’s gala, and falling asleep beside her every night. Will I miss the game? Of course. But the prospect
of having a normal schedule and life with Ivy trumps that.

  Now I’ve got to see if she wants the same.

  I make it home just short of a quarter after midnight. I may have gone a shade faster than the speed limit, but it’s worth it because I need to see my girl and make sure she’s okay with my own eyes.

  As quietly as possible, I step through the door and close it behind me. I set my bags down by the stairs and kick off my shoes on the mat. Hanging my keys on the hook by the door, I pad down the hall toward the living room, zeroing in on the sight of Daisy lying curled up in her doggy bed. From the corner of my eye, I see Chris asleep in the reclining part of the couch. Daisy opens her eyes groggily when I crouch down to pet her gently.

  “Hey, girl. How are you feeling?” I whisper softly.

  She curls deeper in her bed, seeming content with me petting her. When she gives a terrible sounding cough, I tense worriedly, but she simply closes her eyes and dozes, and her doggy snores become the main sound in the quiet room. I straighten and move to tell Chris he’s free to head home but stop short at the sight of the person who’s asleep on the other end of the couch, curled beneath a thick blanket, her hair fanning out against the leather.

  Ivy.

  I don’t realize I’ve whispered her name aloud until her eyes flutter open, exhaustion etching her features.

  “Becket,” she breathes, and the smile that forms on her face literally robs my lungs of air.

  I draw to a stop at the edge of the couch and hold out a hand to help her up. “How long have you been here?”

  She glances over at Daisy. “As soon as I came over and realized she was gone, I called Chris. That’s when he told me she was sick.” Her features wrinkle into an expression of remorse. “I’m sorry I didn’t come over sooner. I was bombarded with work and—”

  I stop her words with a gentle kiss. “It’s not your fault.”

  “I just feel bad.”

  “Chris said she’d be fine.” I tug her close, wrap her in my arms, and bury my face in her silky hair. “God, I’ve missed you.”