Hot Set

by Ivy Blake

  His fingers inside my pussy were like a time bomb going off in my body. Inch by inch, the rougher his movement got; I knew that I was on the brink of coming.

  I dug my nails into his back and bit down on my lip as I tried to hold back for a few minutes longer. He wanted me to come. His stroking became rougher by the second, his fingers played with my folds, his thumb stroked my clit. I could feel my juices sticking to his fingers, and he slipped deeper into my pussy.

  With one hand, his free one, he shoved my shirt off my shoulders. My breasts were on full display for him now, and quickly he took one nipple into his mouth. That was about all I could take. I weaved my fingers into the hair in the middle of his head. I held on to him by twisting my hand around it. His mouth continued to suck on my nipple.

  “Thorn, please, I’m about to come,” I screamed, as I felt my body slipping out of my mind’s control.

  His fingers had reached that spot deep inside me, that spot that was going to set my orgasm in motion now. Repeatedly, his fingers stroked me, the friction against the walls of my pussy was too much to bear.

  “Come for me, princess,” he growled again, and that was all I needed.

  With his fingers still inside my pussy, I felt myself explode. My juices trickled out of me, his fingers slipped in them, and now a wet slapping sound filled the air in my apartment while he fucked me with just his fingers.

  My jeans were wet from my own cum, my panties were soaked, and my body was shaking out of control. I was standing on my tiptoes now, while I sank my nails into his jacket. His mouth remained on my breasts, sucking one nipple and then teasing the other with his teeth. He didn’t stop thrusting his fingers into me till I had finally stopped coming.

  My breathing was hard, I wanted to collapse right there to the floor, but I managed to hold myself back. Especially because Thorn still had a grip on me. Slowly, as the voice of reason started to return to me, I felt him slide his fingers out of my pussy, and then out from my jeans.

  Thorn stepped away from me, not concerned by the juices that covered his hand.

  I knocked the back of my head against the wall. My breasts were heaving, I could still feel my swollen throbbing clit recovering in my panties. Every time we had sex, I felt exhausted. Like I had given all my energy to him, and I had none left to keep going.

  “I really should get going,” Thorn said, and when I gazed down to the front of his jeans; I could see the bulge. He was turned on, but he didn’t want to stay. Something told me that he was making a firm decision on this. He didn’t want to spend any more time in my apartment than absolutely necessary.

  Was making me come a necessity?

  I drew the stray strands of my blond hair away from my forehead and could feel the beads of perspiration that covered my face.

  “Yeah, sure, hope you have a nice night,” I said and tidied up my jeans.

  Thorn was watching me intently like he was trying to figure me out from my behavior. I tried to be as cool as I could pretend to be.

  I had asked him to fuck me. Now he was leaving. Did he consider giving me orgasms a part of his job? Did he think that I needed them to keep me sane and relaxed?

  I didn’t want him to read it on my face; that ‘s what I was thinking. I wanted him to think that none of this affected me as much as it really did.

  When I looked up at him and met his eye, I saw that he had clenched his jaw.

  “I’m going to be working,” he replied to my earlier statement, and I nodded my head. We were not in a relationship. He didn’t owe me an explanation of what he was going to be doing tonight. I was paying him and his crew to provide me with their protection, and as far as I could tell, he was getting the job done.

  “Sure, no problem,” I said, feeling stupid as soon as the words left my mouth.

  Thorn said nothing more. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans, the same hands that were in my pussy just minutes ago. Then he turned from me and walked to my front door.

  “Hope you sleep well tonight, Ensley,” he said, holding the door open.

  My face was flushed, I could feel the back of my neck growing hot, and I nodded my head. Of course, I was going to sleep well, he had made sure that I did. The question was, did he consider it a part of his duties to do that?

  “You too, Thorn,” I said, just before he shut the door behind him and I was left alone in my apartment again.

  Chapter 21

  Thorn

  I sat at the coffee table in the small hotel room I’d rented near Ensley’s apartment. I could still see the disappointed look in her eyes when I told her that I was going to give her some privacy for the night. She looked disappointed, but she didn’t ask me to stay. Which was a good thing, because I would have agreed to that in a heartbeat.

  The truth was that we both needed some time apart. I needed some time so that I could get to work on her case. While Ensley needed some time so she could wrap her brain around what was going on between us. To say that things were moving a little too fast for us, was an understatement. It was moving at lightning speed, and I didn’t want her making any decisions that she would later regret.

  I had the file, which Brooks had put together on Ryan from the NYPD, scattered around me. I knew he was a good researcher, and he was working hard on trying to find out more, but I wanted to do some digging of my own. It wasn’t like I was going to be able to sleep tonight anyway, I had gotten used to having her around me all the time and even though I didn’t want to admit it-I was missing Ensley.

  I was looking for any clues based on Ryan’s history in his file, about where he could possibly be at this point. If Brooks could hack into his bank account and find out more, that would be even better.

  I’d also found Ryan’s social media account online, which I had already browsed through, but the medical report of Ensley’s bruises now had my full attention. I kept coming back to examine them, as much as I tried to focus on other things.

  There were harsh mug-shot style photographs taken of Ensley. These were not details she had provided me with. Instead, this was what Brooks had dug out for me. All she had shown me, earlier in her apartment, was the medical report and the restraining order.

  Now I had all the details in front of me, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the bruises. There were images of Ensley holding her arms up so that the cameraman could photograph the bruises on her arms. They were dark, finger-shaped bruises against her pale skin and the more I stared at them, the angrier I grew.

  She had mentioned that he used to give her bruises just by grabbing her, but I hadn’t expected them to be this bad. There were dark circles under her eyes, her complexion was pale, and the photo that was taken last had evidence of the split lip that she had told me about.

  The Ensley in these photographs was not the same vivacious woman I knew and had slept with. She looked like a scared, broken person in these pictures. Someone who had suffered deep trauma at the hands of a man who should have been protecting her and taking care of her. I hadn’t asked, but I was still wondering what had attracted her to him in the first place.

  My hands fisted up the more I went through the details of the statement she had made to the police.

  They were in a fight that night. Ryan was drunk and pushed her against a glass cabinet. He was yelling at her, while she fell to the floor, conscious of the fact that her lip had split open. He had picked her up, bunching her hair in his hands and then slammed her against the wall.

  Ensley claimed in her report that she didn’t fight back. She just cried till he passed out on the couch. That was when she left the apartment and thankfully went straight to the police station.

  I had known enough battered and abused women in my lifetime to know what a brave step that had been. I hated every fucking man who raised a finger at a woman, but I felt like I hated Ryan the most. Ensley hadn’t disclosed just how traumatic her experiences had been, but I could see now, and I wanted to protect her even more.

  I was glad that sh
e had managed to escape that life, and I was determined that she would never have to go through that again.

  My eyes drifted to the computer screen on my coffee table. I could see the asshole’s face on my screen now. On his social media account, he seemed like an ordinary guy with an ordinary set of friends. Dusty blond hair, a narrow face and somewhat of a jokester online.

  I would bet money that none of his friends or family knew exactly the kind of man he was behind closed doors. People rarely did.

  I scrolled through the page, clicking on photographs and re-reading status updates to make sure that I wasn’t missing anything. Ryan didn’t update his social media on where he was, or what he was doing. He seemed to be leading a regular kind of life.

  It was only when I stumbled on one of his recent photographs, that I stopped scrolling. Something had caught my eye, which I hadn’t noticed the previous times that I’d looked at the pictures.

  Ryan was in the photo, it was a selfie, and his face covered most of the frame-which was probably why I had missed noticing it earlier. It was only when I looked closer that I noticed the background. The Santa Monica Pier was behind him, and this fucking asshole was smiling at the camera.

  I stood up with a jerk from the chair and rushed to get my cell phone. I tried Jamison’s number first. He was on shift to watch Ensley’s front door, but his phone rang through. I tried again and no response.

  I was pacing the hotel room, as I rang Topher. He was supposed to be downstairs, watching the entrance to Ensley’s building. He answered the call.

  “What’s going on?” I barked into the phone. Topher seemed surprised by the tone of my voice, which was a good thing, I thought.

  “It’s all good, brother. She hasn’t left her apartment yet and not too many people have gone into the building. Don’t worry, man, we’re keeping an eye on her,” he said and added a laugh.

  I couldn’t stop pacing. I had a bad gut feeling that I couldn’t get rid of.

  “Where is Jamison? I tried calling him,” I growled into the phone.

  “Jamison? He should be up there on her floor. That was where I left him, spoke to him like an hour ago and everything was fine,” Topher replied.

  “Why the fuck isn’t he answering his phone?” I barked.

  “Calm down there, brother. He’s probably just gone to piss or something. Maybe his phone is on silent. It could be any of those things. I told you I’ve been keeping an eye and nothing’s happened,” Topher said, trying to put me at ease.

  “Fuck this. He should be fucking reachable when I need him!” I growled and ended the call.

  I dialed Ensley’s number right after that, still pacing around and waiting for her to pick up.

  She didn’t, and the call ended. I tried her number again, and there was no response.

  “Fuck!” I growled loudly, as I ran to pick up my leather cut and my helmet. I was out of the hotel room door in under a minute, and I didn’t stop trying Jamison and Ensley’s phones. Neither of them was answering. This couldn’t be good!

  I ran out of the hotel and jumped on my bike. With my phone still stuck to my ear, I kept calling as I rode towards her apartment building.

  This was a fucking mistake. I shouldn’t have given the responsibility to any of the other guys. None of them had as much at stake as I did.

  What did I have at stake? The thought jolted my brain as I rode closer and closer to her place. We were just beginning to get to know each other. I wasn’t the kind of guy she should be with, to begin with. Wasn’t it just sex between us anyway? Sex and a job. That was all.

  And yet, as I parked my bike outside her apartment building, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that if I lost Ensley; I would never be able to forgive myself.

  Chapter 22

  Ensley

  I knew I had to distract myself. I couldn’t just be sitting alone in my apartment, thinking about Thorn and what he might have been doing that night. Wondering if he was even thinking about me. Chances were that he wasn’t. He might have even been with another woman, what right did I have on him anyway?

  I wanted to scream because every part of my body was aching for him. Ever since I first met him, I wanted him, and he had obliged. He made sure that I was satisfied, that every sexual craving I had for him; was fulfilled. But there was more to give than that, and he withheld it from me.

  I remembered the night when we had fallen asleep together. How frightened I had been, till he held me in his arms. He had the capacity of making me feel safe just by being there in the same room as me, but he didn’t know it. He didn’t know how he made me feel and I was too bruised, and too emotionally wrecked to tell him.

  What would be the point of telling him anyway? I knew he was the kind of person for whom this could never go beyond the point of what it was right now. I would be a fool for expecting anything more from him.

  These thoughts were whirling around in my head, and I knew that if I didn’t find a way to distract myself; then I would go crazy very soon.

  The idea came to me, to go through my lines.

  Shooting for the next season of the sitcom was coming up in three days, and no matter what the situation was with Ryan-I had to be there for the shoot. My contract, my livelihood, and the production house all depended on it, and I wasn’t about to let them down.

  I had done everything I could in this situation. I had hired a group of men who were more than capable of keeping me safe. If Thorn and his MC couldn’t keep me safe from Ryan, I knew that nobody else could. Now, with the men watching over me, I had no excuse to turn up on the set, but I wasn’t prepared for it.

  With the busy schedule I’d had for the past few weeks, I barely had time to look at the script.

  I sat down on the carpeted floor of my living room now, and I pulled the script out of the box. It was a thin enough script. A few hours of practicing and I’d be up-to-date with my lines.

  The more I read through it, the less I was thinking about Thorn, and I was relieved to remember that I had a life outside of this apartment. That Ryan had not been able to take that away from me yet. And Thorn was going to make sure that it remained that way.

  I swirled the glass of wine I poured for myself, and re-read the first page again, trying to say it aloud so I could practice my expressions.

  There was a knock on the door, and I looked up with a jerk. Thorn! My heart was racing. I knew he would be back! Was he feeling everything that I had been feeling? Was it as hard for him to stay away from me, as it was for me?

  I put the glass of wine down beside the script on the carpet, and I walked over to the door. There was a heavy smile on my face, and I didn’t even try and cover it. I was already rehearsing all the things I would tell him when I found him on the other side of the door.

  I didn’t want to pretend anymore. I didn’t want to pretend like what was happening between us was just a professional thing. Thorn was way more than just a bodyguard. I wanted him with me, I wanted to be with him, and I couldn’t believe he was here. It was like the Universe kept bringing us together.

  I opened the door wide, my face bright with anticipation and excitement. But my smile quickly faded when I saw Ryan instead of Thorn.

  He had been standing close to the door, biding his time until I opened it. He was wearing a thick dark hoodie, covering his head and most of his face too, but I would have recognized him anywhere.

  In the split-second that it took my mind to register what was going on, he pushed the door further back with his knees, and I stumbled back into the apartment.

  “No!” I shrieked, as loud as I could, but he had banged the door shut behind himself.

  “No! No! Ryan, you have to leave!” I screeched. My voice was muffled by my hands on my mouth, while he pulled the chained lock on the door and then turned to me.

  What happened to the guy from the club that was supposed to be outside my door?

  I had moved as far away from him, back into the living room as I could. I could feel my hand
s going cold. My knees were shaking with fear. I had dreaded this moment when I might see him again. I had nightmares about it. But I had never imagined him just walking into my apartment; me just opening the door to him!

  I never opened the door without looking through the peephole. I should have waited to hear Thorn’s voice before I opened the door, but I had been so caught up in my daydreams of being reunited with him; that I had completely fucked this up.

  “Were you expecting someone else, Ensley?” Ryan asked, stepping threateningly towards me. I kept backing away from him, my body shuddering with fright. He looked the same, if not a little more muscular. He had that same look of rage in his dark eyes, the same several-day-old stubble on his cheeks. His shoulders were wide, and his neck was short, like a body builder’s.

  When I was a teenager, just a nineteen-year-old trying to rebel against my parents; it was exactly this look of his which had drawn me to him. I had mistaken his attitude for masculinity, his possessiveness for love and how tightly he gripped my arm for strength. It was only a few months later, when he had forced me to cut off all contact with the outside world and kept me trapped in our apartment; that I realized how gravely I had misjudged him.

  “I thought you’d be happy to see me, sweetness. I’ve come to take you away from all this nonsense. I told you, Ensley, you would never have to work another day in your life if you’re with me,” he hissed.

  I didn’t want to stay and hear the rest of what he had to say. Instead, I whipped around from him and ran towards the bedroom. I could feel my socks slipping and sliding over the floor as I ran. Ryan was fast on my heels, and when I tried to shut the bedroom door on his face, he knocked his forehead right into the wood.

  I screeched and flew away from the door. He was in my bedroom now, and I could see a bright red bruise on his forehead where he had hurt himself on the door. He didn’t give a shit. He was on a one-track mission, and the mission was to make me his.