by Blake, Remy
7
Ivy
I’m an idiot. He’s trying. He’s trying so fucking hard, and he doesn’t even need to be. The reasons I’m saying no, not now to the wedding, are out of his control. For the most part, it’s just about timing.
It sure as fuck isn’t about him being a bad fiancé. Or any of his bullshit about who loves the other more.
I love this man with everything I have, more than I ever thought I could love anyone. This life was never in the cards for me, but I wouldn’t change it for anything.
Brock always puts me first. He might be a bit of a neanderthal and ridiculously possessive, but it’s the way Brock is. It’s our love language, and it works perfectly for us.
Whether he says the words or not, this is his way of showing me how much he loves me, and just how good it could be. Showing me the husband my man could be, if I let him.
I take a slow sip of wine, our eyes still boring into one another. When I lower the glass to the table, I lick the taste off my bottom lip.
His gaze darts exactly where I want it to before flicking his hungry stare back to mine. He rises from the chair and storms into the kitchen. Determined to sidetrack him, I follow.
“You sure you want want to hold out for dessert?”
He turns at the sound of my voice, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I put a lot of effort into it.”
I tilt my head to the fridge. “Go get it.”
He raises his arm to reach for the handle but stills as I tug at the straps of my dress and let the material fall enough to expose my bare breasts.
“Fuck. Ivy,” he growls.
“Aren’t you going to get whatever it is you prepared?” I peruse his body, stopping at the hard length now pressing against his pants.
He catches me looking and palms himself teasingly. “I was trying to be a gentleman.”
“Lucky for you, I don’t want anything gentle tonight.”
“Put your dress back on,” he orders. I raise an eyebrow in question. “I bought it so I could be the one taking it off you.”
“Unbuckle your belt,” I challenge. “I want to taste your dick.”
“Your mouth is so fucking filthy.” Undoing his pants, he slowly drags down the metal zipper and pulls his thick cock out of his boxers. He starts stroking himself, and my body heats up in response. “Dress on, Ivy.”
I rearrange my straps and strut closer to him. My hands wrap around his, mirroring his movements. “My turn now.”
Brock shifts, his body now backed up to the fridge. “I’m sure there is some rule about sex and hygiene in the kitchen,” he breathes out.
“Your attempts to thwart my plan are cute,” I tease. “But I’m on a mission.” Slowly and carefully, I sink to my knees, the tiles cold on my skin. One hand slides up and down Brock’s erection while the other drags his slacks and underwear to the middle of his thighs.
I tilt my head up, catching his heated stare. Watching him watch me like this never gets old; the juxtaposition of me being on my knees in order to bring my man to his.
In my peripheral vision, I catch Brock clenching and unclenching his fists, desperate for control. Smirking to myself, I move closer to the head of his dick and swipe at the tip with my tongue.
A loud groan echoes around the kitchen, coercing me into continuing. I circle his crown, tasting his precome, before slipping him into my mouth.
I bob up and down his shaft, taking him slow and deep, our eyes never swaying, focused on the prize.
“Fuck, Ivy.” His large hand sinks into my hair, guiding me the way we both like. “Fuck, you’re so good.”
Sliding my hand down to his balls, I roll them around while sucking him all the way back to my throat.
“Fuck that,” Brock shouts hoarsley, pulling me off his dick. “I need your pussy. I need to blow.”
I straighten my body just as Brock roughly raises me off the ground and places me on the kitchen counter.
“I thought you were worried about this being unsanitary,” I joke, holding my body up with my elbows.
Focused, a hand pulls at the straps of my dress while the other bunches the skirt to my waist. “Of course you’re fucking naked under here.”
Fingers slide up and down my opening, and I shudder at his touch.
“So wet,” he mutters.
Without any warning, his hands grip my thighs and drag me to the edge. On my back, my heated body feels relief lying on the cool surface.
His mouth teases my clit before passing over the material bunched around my middle and feasting on my breasts. I arch into him as his tongue lashes at each of my nipples.
Moving up my neck, he settles on my lips, surprisingly slow and languid. He plunges his tongue into my mouth as the slick head of his cock thrusts into me.
“Yes,” I moan breathlessly. He recklessly rocks into me, and I stretch around him, feeling his presence everywhere.
He fills all of me. My body, my thoughts, my heart. My past, my future, everything revolves around him and us, and it’s the only way I ever want it to be.
“Harder,” I demand. “I’m so close.”
Firm hands move to my waist, holding it, sliding me up and down his slick cock, my clit getting just the right attention with every stroke.
“Brock,” I cry out. “Please.”
He grunts and I feel him thicken inside me. My mind releases its hold on my body and we both tumble over the edge. A heap of bliss, euphoria, and pleasure, I feel the perfection of our imperfect relationship from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
Good or bad, this is all I’ll ever want.
Clammy and stuck together, we stare at each other. Our breaths long and hard, sated exhaustion settling between us.
“I love you.”
His eyes soften. “I love you too.”
“I applied for summer school,” I confess. He shifts to move, confusion written all over his face, but I lock my legs around his waist. “I figured if I finished sooner, we could get married sooner.”
“Okay.”
“But, I see you trying, Brock.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “I see you trying to understand, working to compromise, and I don’t want the next two years while I finish to be like this between us.”
“What are you saying?” Brock asks, his voice tight and strained.
“I’m saying let’s get married. I don’t want you to wait anymore. I want to plan our wedding, and soon.”
The relief I expect doesn’t radiate off him. It doesn’t even make an appearance, and my stomach begins to coil into a heavy knot. “Brock.” He tries to move, and I keep myself tethered to him. “Brock,” I repeat.
“No,” he says.
“No, what?” I ask, worry heavy in my voice.
“No, we won’t be getting married now.”
8
Brock
“What do you mean we won’t be getting married now?” Her legs release their hold on me and I tug my pants up. “Aren’t you the same person who’s been trying to get me to commit to a wedding date for months?” She slips from the counter, righting her dress.
“I don’t want to get married now.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“Brock, what’s going on?” She looks worried. I want to soothe her concern, but I’m angry and frustrated.
“Nothing.” I shrug, downplaying my feelings.
“Talk to me. Explain what your change of heart is about, because I don’t fucking understand.” Her tone climbs with every word until it ends in a wail.
“All I said is we’re not getting married any time soon. I didn’t say never.”
“What makes you think it’s okay for you to control when we do? Maybe I want a say too.”
“I run this show, Ivy. This is my house and my rules. You’ve known that from day one.” I know I’m being an asshole right now, but I can’t seem to help myself.
Her hands perch on her hips. “Is that so?”
“Yep.” Her eyes
narrow into anger filled, dark slits. A smart man would cut his losses for now and walk away. Unfortunately, I’m too upset to think clearly. “And you know what? You like it that way, whether you admit it or not. You want me to take care of you and keep you in line.”
She gasps with outrage. “I’m not some child who needs to be taken care of and disciplined when I don’t do as you tell me. You’re not my guardian anymore, Brock. You’re supposed to be my partner.”
“Then you need to act like an adult and make solid decisions for the right reasons.”
“You’re an asshole. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” She throws her hands in the air exasperatedly. “All I wanted was to make you happy, and you’ve ruined everything.”
What she doesn’t understand is that I don’t want her to choose a wedding date because she wants to pacify me. She’s throwing me a bone by agreeing, and that’s not how I want the rest of our lives together to begin.
Ivy never does anything until she’s ready, no matter what I say. I can dominate and push her, but when it comes right down to it, she’s too fucking strong to bulldoze over. And I wouldn’t want her any other way. Her strength is just as attractive to me as her natural beauty.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m trying to look out for you, whether you believe me or not. When you marry me, it will be because there’s nothing you want more than to become my wife.”
“But I do want to be your wife.”
“You do, but your real motivation is to make me happy. Knowing that we got married when you aren’t one hundred percent ready is not going to make either one of us happy, Ivy. Those are the kinds of things that marriages end over.”
“None of this makes any sense, Brock.” She presses her palm to her head. “I’m not hungry for dessert anymore. I’m going to get some sleep.”
“Ivy, it’s only eight-thirty.”
“What about it?”
“You never go to bed this early.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” she tosses the words over her shoulder as she walks away. I catch hold of her arm, pulling her back toward me and spinning her around. Cupping both sides of her face, I stare down into her conflicted orbs.
“I love you. I didn’t say no to marrying you now because my feelings have changed or lessened. I love you more each day.” Tears gather on her lower lashes and she chews on her bottom lip, avoiding my gaze. “Never doubt that.”
“Can I go now?”
My hands fall from her cheeks to clench at my sides with frustration. “Get some sleep.”
Ivy whirls around, her long tresses flying in her haste to escape our conversation. I press the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, my teeth clamped tightly together to keep me from barking out words I shouldn’t say. Sliding my hands up, I rake my fingers through my hair. “Fuck.” This night isn’t ending the way I imagined at all.
Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I pop the cap off and wander into the living room. Sinking down onto the couch, I take a deep pull of the cool liquid and ponder the uneasy state of my relationship with Ivy. It seems like the more effort I put into “fixing” us, the more other issues appear. When are we going to get back to our normal ebb and flow that used to come so naturally?
And what if we can’t? What will happen then?
Raising the bottle to my lips, I swallow down a large gulp. I don’t want to think about a future without Ivy. I refuse to do so. There has to be a way for us to return to our normal, solid footing. Is it something time will take care of on its own?
God, I hope so, because I have no fucking idea what to do about our situation. I’m like a blindfolded man trying to find his way out of a maze.
* * *
Ivy and I have barely spoken more than a handful of token words to each other in the past few days. We’re like new roommates who don’t want to get in each other’s way, so we avoid being home as much as possible. I’ve been staying late at the station, and I even went out with the guys from work last night for a couple of drinks. I’m doing anything and everything I can to distract myself from how miserable I am without her company. But it seems like giving Ivy some space right now is the best thing to do.
Walking into the house, I find Ivy curled up asleep on her side. The television is on and one of her textbooks is open on the end table next to the couch. Leaning down, I press a kiss to the top of her fragrant hair. “I miss you, baby,” I whisper, before straightening up to my full height once more. I watch the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest as she slumbers deeply. She’s been late to bed and up with the dawn since our argument. She’s burning the candle at both ends and she needs this rest. If it weren’t for that reason, I’m not sure I could tear myself away from the tempting picture she presents in her tiny gym shorts and tank top. There’s nothing I want more than to strip her naked and taste every inch of her. I want to connect in the one way we always fire on all cylinders. But I can’t be selfish when her health is at risk.
Instead, I head to the kitchen and set about preparing dinner. When she wakes up refreshed she’ll need sustenance, and it just so happens that I like taking care of her.
Bustling around the space, I try to be as quiet as possible to not wake Ivy. I make spaghetti and meat sauce with garlic bread and salad. I eat alone in the kitchen and prepare a plate for her to have later. We may not be speaking much, but I can still show her how much I love her in other ways.
After I’ve cleaned up, I change into shorts and an old t-shirt and head to the gym. It’s time to work some of this sexual tension off. The last three nights, I’ve woken up numerous times with my cock cushioned against Ivy’s ass. I only have so much restraint when it comes to her. If I can’t sink inside her sweet pussy, I need to do something to wear myself out. Looks like it’s going to be five miles on the treadmill for the third day in a row.
9
Ivy
“Ivy, baby, it’s time to wake up,” Brock whispers in my ear. “Ivy.”
“What time is it?” I mumble.
“It’s early, and we’ve got to get going.”
My brain tries to process his words, as well as the heat and warmth of his body pressed against mine. We haven’t woken up this close in weeks, and we haven’t woken up at the same time in even longer.
Having lost my will to argue with him, Brock and I have been on autopilot, and this is the first sign he’s shown to making amends between us.
After telling him that I wanted to get married and him turning the tables on the whole situation, I feel like I don’t even know him anymore.
I thought compromising was what marriage was all about, and I have no regrets about changing my school schedule. It’s what was best for both of us––or so I thought.
When I told Brock I had been confirmed for summer school, he didn’t say a word. Either way, I’m now on the fast track to finish, and that’s a priority for me. I can focus on my next step, and our next chapter as a couple, with absolutely no regrets.
Soft lips pressing against my shoulder interrupt my thoughts. “Have a shower and meet me downstairs, okay? I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Taking my chances, I respond. “Do I need clothes for this surprise?”
A light chuckle leaves his mouth. “For the first part, yes. Something comfortable.”
Huffing, I throw back the sheets and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Looking back at Brock, I notice he’s already dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. “How long have you been up?”
“Come on. Ask questions later.” He tips his head toward the en suite. “You do your thing. I’ve got breakfast covered.”
* * *
Freshly showered, and somewhat more awake, I make my way downstairs and notice two large suitcases at the bottom of the stairs. “What are these?”
“It’s spring break, we’re going away for the weekend.”
“Should I even bother asking?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll tell you everything on a need-to-kno
w basis. Just trust me, okay?”
His request is heavy and unsure, as if these new circumstances between us could potentially mean everything about us has shifted.
“Of course I trust you,” I respond honestly. “I just don’t know if I like surprises.”
“I think you’ll like this one.”
Unsure of what to do next, I reach for one of the suitcases, wanting to be helpful, but large hands cover mine. “I’ve got this, baby. Go to the kitchen, your food is going to get cold.”
I look over to the kitchen and see the familiar brown McDonald’s bags sitting on the bench. “You got me McDonald’s breakfast?” I ask, excitedly bouncing toward the food.
“According to you, it’s the only way to start a road trip.”
“You know me well, Brock Marshall.”
His serious gaze meets mine. “I know you better than anyone.”
The seriousness of his words, and the desire in his eyes, ignite a fire in the pit of my stomach. Missing his touch, missing us together, missing that spark between us, I place all my faith and hope in whatever he’s got planned. Because I want my rainbow after the storm. I want my happy man, my full heart. I want my happy ever after.
Abandoning my mission, I walk back to where he is and hold his face tightly. “I love you, Brock.”
Expressive eyes return the sentiment, keeping us momentarily cocooned in this moment of impasse. I press my lips to his before turning around and focusing back on my breakfast.
Half an hour later, I’m full, Brock has packed the car with everything he says we need, and we’re heading for the highway.
“Am I allowed to know how long the drive is?”
“It shouldn’t take us longer than two hours. If traffic is good.”
“Have I been there before?” I probe.
He flicks his gaze between me and the road. “I’m not telling you anything except that it’s a first for both of us.”