HUSBAND: Guardian #2

by Blake, Remy

  Ivy aims the tines of her fork in my direction. “Don’t eat my food, or I’ll have to stab your grabby hands.”

  “You don’t want to injure these magical digits.” I wiggle my fingers, popping my brows up and down.

  “You don’t want to tempt me,” she grits between clenched teeth, and I know this isn’t really about the piece of meat I stole from her plate. She’s pissed I contacted Jude.

  Sighing with frustration, I rake a hand through my dark hair. I had the best of intentions when I reached out to him. I thought maybe he’d have some insight into why Ivy is stalling the wedding planning. But Jude didn’t reveal any secret information to help me out. He did tell me the harder I push, the more she’ll push back. However, I already know that firsthand. Ivy is stubborn with a capital S.

  We got engaged a year ago, and I imagined we’d be married no more than six months later. But I should’ve known it wouldn’t go that smoothly. You’d think after all the time we’ve been together, I’d learn that Ivy does what Ivy wants and not a second before she’s ready. This is one of those situations where the difference in our ages is apparent. I’m thirty-nine and Ivy is twenty-two. I’m ready to start a family with her. I’ve been as patient as I can be, but dammit, I want her to be my wife. And I want it soon.

  “How’s work going, Brock?” Jude asks. “Have you removed any killers from the Florida streets lately?”

  “Work is good, thanks. And actually, my partner and I just solved a homicide. So, yeah, I guess you could say we got a killer off the streets.” I’m not one to toot my own horn, but he asked, and I enjoy my job as a detective.

  “Wow, man, that’s amazing. Congratulations and thank you. I feel safer being here.” He holds his fist up for me to bump.

  “How long are you visiting for?” I’m curious how many days I’ll have to share Ivy with him.

  “I’m playing it by ear.” His vague answer is dissatisfying.

  “You should check out some of the graphic design firms in the area while you’re here. Maybe you can land a job and move down once you graduate.” Ivy’s eyes light up as she voices the idea.

  What? No. Bad idea, Jude. Say no. I barely keep my head from shaking emphatically.

  Jude smiles. “I could do that. But I’m not sure I can handle summers in the south. Growing up in New Hampshire, the heat and humidity down here is enough to melt the skin from my bones.”

  “It is fucking hot as hell.” I nod. “Sometimes I can barely tolerate it. And I’ve been here for years.”

  “Please.” Ivy dismisses our words with a wave of her small hand and a roll of her chocolate orbs. “I grew up in the same place as you, Jude, and I’m handling the weather fine. Your body adjusts and it doesn’t bother you as much. Besides, you love the beach, and Florida has plenty of that to offer. And everyplace is air conditioned. Not to mention the best reason for you to move--me. We’d get to hang out all the time.”

  “I do love the beach. And the idea of being able to surf more is definitely appealing. And seeing you doesn’t hurt.” He smirks at Ivy.

  “Yeah, but it’s hot as fucking hell for half of the year,” I offer. You don’t want to move here, Jude. “And the mosquitos are the size of small birds. We also have poisonous snakes and spiders,” I continue offering negatives.

  “Please.” Ivy holds her hands up like she’s praying.

  “I’ll think about it and see what I decide.”

  “Oh good. I can work on convincing you.” Ivy laughs and my stomach lurches. Great. Jude, her ex-fuck buddy and best friend, will be moving to Florida as soon as he graduates. It’s practically a done deal seeing how he’s as much of a sucker for pleasing her as I am.

  “Maybe Jude has a girlfriend he needs to stay up north for,” I mention, praying he does.

  “What?” Ivy scoffs. “He would’ve told me if he did.”

  I glance at Jude and he shakes his head. “No girlfriend to keep happy.”

  “Why don’t you have a girl, dude? You’re a good looking kid.” My compliment is a bit backhanded.

  He shrugs. “Haven’t met anyone I really liked enough to pursue something more serious with.”

  “Except me,” Ivy teases.

  “True,” Jude readily agrees.

  “But she’s taken,” I cut in.

  “I know she is.” He nods.

  “Right. I was waiting for you to add that part,” I explain, scowling.

  “It goes without saying,” Jude states.

  “Does it?” I raise a brow.

  Ivy slaps the side of my arm with the back of her hand. “Brock, don’t be a jealous ass. Especially since you’re the one who invited him here.”

  “I’m not. I just want to make sure Jude knows his place.”

  “Brock, you should know me by now, man. And more importantly, you should know Ivy well enough to realize how much she loves you. She would never disrespect you that way.”

  Shame floods me, washing over every inch of me. I’ve been acting like a jealous, wet-behind-the-ears schoolboy.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “No worries. Ivy’s always had a way of making guys act like idiots, myself included.” I guess Jude just served me a backhanded compliment, and I respect him a little more for it.

  “I don’t make anyone act any way. Men are just crazy,” Ivy states innocently.

  I bark out a laugh and wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her into my side. “Men take one look at you and lose their goddamn minds. I can’t be blamed for my jealous behavior.”

  “So you’re saying it’s my fault?” Her hand rests on her chest, calling attention to her stellar rack. My gaze lingers on the generous swell before rising to meet hers. Leaning forward, I press a kiss to the tip of her pert nose.

  “Baby, you can’t help how irresistible you are.”

  3

  Ivy

  Lying on the couch with my head in Jude’s lap, we enjoy our last night together watching Sons of Anarchy reruns. We had plans to go out for dinner, but since Brock got held back at work, we decided to stay home instead.

  Brock and I have been walking around on eggshells for the last five days. And the truth is, I’m kind of exhausted from it all. I know the second Jude leaves, the last bits of our charade will be over, and we’ll need to talk about whatever it is that’s eating him up enough to have called for backup.

  “Are you thinking about what you’re going to say to Brock?” Jude asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  I turn my head to look up at him. “What, are you living inside my head now?”

  “You wouldn’t need to find excuses if you just put the guy out of his misery and married him.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I groan in irritation. “I am marrying him. I have the ring on my finger to prove it.”

  A loud sigh leaves his mouth. “Stop being so dramatic, Ivy.”

  Just as I’m about to argue, the sound of a key sliding in the lock forces me to stop.

  “Hey,” Brock greets us, his eyes taking in Jude’s and my position on the couch. His jaw clenches, and I see the quickest rush of jealousy wash over him. It’s irrational, and he knows it, but after all this time, my closeness to Jude still gets to him.

  I don’t rush to get up or worry I’m doing something wrong. Instead, a small thrill rushes through me as I anticipate his next moves.

  “Thanks for staying, man.” He juts his chin toward Jude. “It’s been nice having you here.”

  “Subtle much,” I murmur under my breath.

  “And on that note, I’m definitely ready to leave,” Jude announces. “It was great seeing you both.” He hops up off the couch. “Be sure not to call me until you two sort out whatever this,” he gestures between Brock and me,“is.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” I offer.

  “To the door is fine.” He holds out his hand to Brock and they awkwardly shake hands. When we’re standing in the doorway, Jude wraps his arm around my shoulders and kisses the side of my head
. “It was great catching up.”

  “Thank you for coming. For both Brock and me.”

  “You’re my best friend, Ivy, and nobody is going to love you more than that old guy in there.”

  We both chuckle at his joke and finish off saying our goodbyes. When I turn back into the house, Brock is sitting on a dining room chair. Legs spread wide, he loosens his tie with one hand and runs his hand through his hair with the other.

  He’s tired. It’s written all over his face, and it’s all because of me. Guilt trickles in my veins, and I’m torn between wanting to fix him and wanting to be true to myself.

  His gaze locks with mine, and it’s all it takes for me to push aside the heavy stuff. I love him and he needs to know, no matter what we’re disagreeing about, that hasn’t changed.

  It takes me less than two seconds to reach him, his eyes roaming over my whole body with every single step.

  The electricity between us, like always, is palpable. After all this time together, the passion has never dimmed. We use our bodies to keep us grounded, to remind us that at the end of the day, it’s only him and me.

  My hand extends to his tie, undoing it completely. Next, I unbutton his shirt, letting the white fabric frame his delectable chest.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly.

  My hands roam over his shoulders, pushing the material off him. “I just want to press pause for a second.”

  Strong, firm hands grip the back of my thighs, guiding me to straddle him. “I think it might be a bit longer than a second.”

  I lower myself onto his lap, the hard length of his dick pressing right against the seam of my jeans. The instant contact ignites our arousal and our lips clash together hungrily. Tension fuels the kiss; hard mouths and forceful tongues

  My hips grind against his erection while his hands grip the edge of my tank, lifting it up over my head.

  Brock wastes no time, sliding his tongue in between my cleavage as his dexterous fingers unclasp and remove my bra. Large hands cup my breasts while he devotes all his attention to my hard, sensitive nipples. Engulfed in an unwavering heat, my body tingles as he sucks on one and lazily rolls his thumb over the other.

  “I need to touch all of you, and I can’t do that on this chair,” Brock says. Without any warning, he rises from the seat, taking me with him. My arms wrap around his neck and my legs around his waist.

  With a firm hold on my ass, he walks us to the other end of the house and straight into our room.

  Laying me down on the bed, he kisses my mouth, then works his way down all of my exposed skin. I weave my fingers into his hair, guiding him as low as possible.

  Brock raises his head, a cheeky smirk aimed my way. “You want my mouth on you?”

  “Fuck you,” I bite back while undoing the button on my jeans.

  His fingers hook into the waistband and slide the material down my legs. “Sorry, baby, but that’s my job.”

  My thong is added to the growing pile of clothes as Brock takes off his shirt and shucks off his own pants.

  His cock springs free, standing rigid against his lower stomach, hard and strained. I flick my gaze up to his. “You want my mouth on you?”

  “Oh, Ivy.” He shakes his head. “Two can play this game.” Sitting up, I try to scoot back on the bed, but he grabs my ankle, stopping me. “My house. My rules. Remember?”

  “Your house, huh?” His eyes challenge me, daring me to speak up, to argue that I live here too––to give him some kind of hint. I don’t. “And what does the man of the house want?”

  “You sure you want the answer?” I don’t miss the double entendre, and I never back down from a challenge. So much for pressing pause. I raise an eyebrow at him expectantly, but he doesn’t bite. His next words surprise me because, clearly, Brock is playing it safe. “I’ve had a long day at work. I come home to find you snuggling up to Jude, and right now I just want to bury my face in your pussy, and then watch you ride my cock.” My body slides against the covers as he drags me down to him by my foot. “Whose cock, Ivy?”

  “Yours,” I respond breathlessly.

  “Only ever mine, right?”

  My chest tightens at the hint of insecurity in his voice. Fuck, this is so much worse than I thought. “Only ever yours.”

  4

  Brock

  Burying my face in her pussy, I slick my tongue from her entrance to her clit, swirling back and forth over the hard bud. Ivy’s fingers clench my hair, tugging hard enough to hurt, firing me up even more. I suck on the swollen flesh until she’s thrashing. Hooking two fingers inside her, I press on the spot that makes her go off like a rocket. I know her body better than my own. “Mine,” I growl as she unravels beneath my mouth.

  “Yours,” she gasps, and I can’t wait a second longer. My hands grip the top of her thighs, spreading them for my hips to slip between. Entering her in one hard motion, I expel a deep groan. “Fuck, Ivy. You feel incredible.” My large hands clasp her curvy hips, drawing her back on my cock each time I thrust inside her tight heat.

  Ivy’s fingernails dig into the top of my shoulders and her heels push into my ass, urging me on. We’re like two feral animals. Wild and untamed, we’re lost in our passionate love making. Rolling to my back, I take Ivy with me, reversing our positions. “Ride me, baby girl.”

  Hands sliding down my chest, she rakes furrows into my skin before her fingertips land on her own nipples. Transfixed, I watch her pluck at the taut peaks. My tongue slips between my lips, savoring the leftover taste of her as she bounces on my cock. She’s mine. She needs to remember that.

  “Tell me you’re mine.”

  “I’m… yours,” she moans.

  “You’re. Goddamn. Right. You. Are.” My orgasm hits and my hips jerk through my last strokes while I grip her fair skin hard enough to leave marks. She stills with me buried to the hilt inside her warmth as I come inside her.

  Moving Ivy to her back, I lean on my forearm and brush a kiss across her pouty lips. Cupping her face with my other hand, I sweep my thumb over her pleasure-flushed cheekbone and stare down into her shining eyes. I hate how off we’ve been lately. I know I’m just as much to blame as she is. The more I push her, the more she balks. But I can’t seem to stop. It’s an unhealthy cycle we seem to be caught up in.

  Having Jude visit made Ivy happy, but it was a double-edged sword. They have a history--an intimate history. Most of the time, I can forget about it, but not when I see them together.

  Ivy stares up at me, her eyes swirling with an unnamed emotion. “What are you thinking, baby?” I’m not sure I’m going to like her answer.

  “Why do you want to marry me so badly?”

  Her question is not what I expected. “Because I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “I feel the same way, but we can spend every single day together for the rest of our time on this earth without being married.”

  I scowl. “Why are you so against marriage now? What’s changed?”

  “I never said I was against it. But why the big rush for us to be married?” She throws a challenge back at me, her eyes flashing with anger. “You knew when you asked me that I wanted to graduate from college and be settled into my career before we had a wedding. I’m only twenty-two. What’s changed in the year we’ve been engaged?”

  “I love you more now than I did then.”

  “That’s sweet, and I feel the same about you. Being married to me isn’t going to change how much we love each other, Brock. It’s only a label.”

  “It’s not a label, Ivy. It’s a vow before God that we’re going to be together.”

  “Suddenly you’re mister religious?” she taunts.

  “I didn’t say that. But I do respect the sanctity of marriage. There’s no doubt being married to someone is more of a commitment than being engaged.”

  “I disagree. I’m as devoted to you now as I would be if we were married. My level of commitment isn’t going to ch
ange just because I’ll have your last name and another ring on my finger.”

  “Why are you being so argumentative about this?” I sit up, raking my fingers through my hair. “It’s the natural progression for our relationship.”

  “Says who?” Ivy jumps up and begins to dress. “Shouldn’t we be the judges of what’s right for us?” She tugs a t-shirt over her head.

  I throw my hands up with frustration. “I’m saying what’s right for us.”

  “No, you’re telling me what’s right for you. I think you’ve forgotten how to include me in the decision-making.” Shaking her head, she slips a pair of yoga pants on. “Since we can’t seem to agree on this subject, and I have schoolwork to do, I’m going to the library. I’ll be back later.”

  “Ivy,” I call out, but she marches across our room. Bolting out of bed, I have my hand on her arm before she steps into the hallway. “Ivy, look at me.” She lets me turn her to face me. “Be careful.” Leaning down, I press a kiss to her forehead. “No matter how much we may butt heads, one thing will never change--I love you.”

  She nods slowly and solemnly. “I know you do.” I can see there’s more she wants to say.

  “But?” I question.

  She shrugs. “I just hope our love is enough to get us through this rough patch.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Brock, there are plenty of people who love each other but their relationships fail.”

  “That’s not us.”

  “If you say so.”

  “You’re not convinced?”

  “I hope you’re right, but who can say for sure?” She rubs her palm over my chest. “I’ll see you later.”

  * * *

  Ivy’s last words before she left ring through my mind. “I hope you’re right, but who can say for sure?” Before tonight, I didn’t realize she was having doubts about us. I knew she was resisting my marriage pressure, but the fact that she voiced her uncertainty shook me. I’ve always assumed we’d be together forever, no matter how much we might disagree on a topic. And now I’m wondering if she’s ready to break off our engagement.