CHAPTER NINE #2
“Agreed.” I swig the last of my scotch. “We still have a lot of work ahead, but Liam was on the right track. You all deserve to celebrate. This win belongs to us all. It’s been an intense five years, but the payoffs will be endless. So, enjoy your night, gentlemen. I have a bride to satisfy.”
On that last word, my eyes float to Ivy, who still sits at the bar, a man beside her with his goddamn hand on her waist. She’s trying to remove it, and Rena’s stool is empty.
“The fuck?” I charge toward them, watching him tug her against his side while she gently nudges him away. Her passivity in this situation baffles me—so unlike my girl.
In a brief attempt to evaluate the situation and an extreme act of patience, I halt behind her, barking my question at the asshole beside her, “Problem? ”
“Nah, man. My girl’s a little drunk. Need to get her out of here,” he says, tugging on her waist again.
His girl? Motherfucker.
In less than three seconds, I scan the bar in front of them, noting the shot glasses, no other drink for him, her three-quarters-consumed glass of champagne, and most importantly, the precise distance of the asshole to the bar.
On the third second, I knock his arm off her by snapping the elbow backward, wedge myself between them, clutch the back of his head, and smash his face into the wooden bar top with a satisfying thwack.
Blood gushes from his nose and mouth with a garbled shriek, but that is no longer my concern.
Gage and Axel move in to take over while I throw Ivy over my shoulder.
The tulle of her dress bunches and bristles against my heated cheek as I rush through the crowd toward our penthouse.
When we reach the elevator, she giggles, head still dangling at my mid-back. “You fucked that guy up. I probably shouldn’t think it was funny, but I didn’t like him at all.”
“Me neither, Little Storm.” I set her on her feet before me when we step inside, allowing her to melt into my chest, my heart pounding out in rage. “I’m not fond of your slurring either.”
Her speech pattern isn’t really that bad, but the thought of that asshole’s hands on her and her disobedience is infuriating.
“Sorry.” She pouts, ending our conversation, which is wise.
I’m so pissed off that I can barely see straight, my blood boiling. I told her not to drink. And where the hell was Rena? I send a text to Ty, telling him to check on her, right before we arrive at our suite.
We were all there, but so caught up in our celebration, not one of us had eyes on her.
Fuck.
She clings to me as we meander through the living space, dragging me with purpose toward my room. Wordlessly, I follow along, intrigued by where her drunken thoughts will take her while also trying to regroup. My rage can wait. The fucker isn’t going anywhere .
Once inside my bedroom, I shrug off my suit jacket, and her hands sail up to my jaw, fingertips skimming my stubble, thirsty eyes frolicking all over my face.
“Thought we’d stay in here tonight.” She spins, facing away from me, kicking off her heels and dropping four inches. “I need help out of this.”
I wrap my arms around her, resting my chin on her head. Indecisive. This isn’t the clearheaded honeymoon night I wanted for either of us. But, Christ , she smells divine.
Sweeping her hair to drape over one shoulder, I unzip her wedding dress, catching a glimpse of white lace lingerie as a quiet whimper escapes her.
My sentiments exactly, Little Storm.
I press my lips against her neck with gentle kisses and nips. “What was that sexy little whimper for?”
She tilts her neck in a subtle invitation for more. “Been waiting for my wedding night.” The words are clumsy, surely heading toward an unintelligible slur as the alcohol sets in, but her reaching behind herself to graze my cock is an abundantly clear message.
I move her hand, unfastening the buttons—a painstakingly slow process—and ruck the dress down her small form, revealing shimmery peaches-and-cream skin, perky tits spilling out of her strapless bra, and a round, plump ass on display beyond her bridal thong.
A fucking goddess before me.
Snaking my arm around her bare waist, I remove my tie and push to see how far she’s willing to take this. “Is that right? What exactly did you have in mind for our wedding night?”
“Hoping to … come,” she whispers, which garners a chuckle from me. Bold little thing. Drunk but bold nonetheless.
Scooping her up, I throw her onto the bed. She squeals in surprise, and before she can catch her breath, I climb in after her, pull her panties to the side, and glide my fingers down her sweet, freshly shaven cunt while I hover over her. “So wet for me, Little Storm. ”
“Mmhmm. For you,” she purrs, and something feral inside me kicks in. Something I need to tamp down. For now .
My fingers circle over her clit as she arches and writhes, moaning as she grows closer to climax. So quick. I smack her wet pussy, and she lets out a yelp.
“Wells,” she groans.
“You disobeyed me, Ivanna. Did you really think I’d carry you back here and make you come?”
“Shouldn’t have expected anything from you. None of this is how it was supposed to be.” She’s trying to be indignant, but there’s a sadness threading those words that chokes me.
I crawl toward the headboard and prop myself against it, sliding her up between my legs, her back to my chest. “What isn’t?”
“This.” She flaps her hand between us. “You. Me. I was gonna be in love. Gonna make my mom and dad proud. He’d give me away. She’d cry. I’d finally lose my virginity to a man who couldn’t bear to live or breathe without me. Magical. You won’t even keep touching me.”
My chest tightens. “You keep talking, and I’ll keep touching.”
“ ’Kay,” she hums as I start stroking and dip one finger inside her. The smell of her arousal, mixing with her delicious vanilla-raspberry fragrance, has my cock jerking against her lower back. She croons a sultry little whine, so I check her eyes and find them slowly losing focus.
“Stay with me, Ivy. Have you ever been touched? Has someone finger-fucked you?”
She’s so innocent. Mine to find. Mine to protect.
Mine to shatter.
Mine.
“Yes … no.”
I smack her pussy once more, causing her to cry out. “Let’s try that again. Which is it?”
“Yes,” she whispers .
My molars grind at the thought, rage filling me again. “Names? I’m going to need the name of anyone who’s touched you.”
“Don’t wanna talk about him when your fingers are inside me.”
So, just one. One too many, but manageable. It’s not the guy she bit. He never got that far and didn’t live to touch anyone else. Fucking rapist. My feisty girl was a force he hadn’t been prepared to go up against.
“Fair enough. We’ll come back to that later.” I plunge my finger inside her, adding a second and drawing out the most erotic gasp from her. She’s so goddamn tight, but I focus on talking. “Why did you wait for your wedding night, Ives?”
“I … wanted to wait until I was with someone who …” Another whimper as she inches closer to her climax.
“Someone who what?”
She ignores me as she edges toward the precipice, so I smack her pretty pink cunt again, causing her to scream out in exasperation rather than discomfort.
Her body seems roused by the smacks actually, ignited by the stings.
My virgin girl enjoys pain with her pleasure.
It’s the sudden halt of friction infuriating her.
“Ugh. You’re the worst, Wells. Please. ”
Leaning down, I nuzzle my lips to her ear. “Please what , Little Storm?”
“Let me come,” she begs—a sight and sound forever imprinted on me.
Jesus.
Ghosting my fingers over her sopping panties that sprang back into place, I tease her into compliance. “Answer me then. What were you waiting for?”
She sighs. “For someone who … don’t know … I’ve never had anyone make me feel both safe and excited, except some mystery guy in a mask.”
Interesting.
A sharp cackle spills out of her. “It’s so stupid when I say it out loud. Might as well tell you I fantasize of being tied up and choked and all kinds of other stuff that make me completely messed up.”
Fuck , she’s making this difficult. I’m frozen with that salacious image tormenting me, balls tightening, cock irate at being caged behind my zipper.
“No, baby. You’re not messed up. Not at all.
You’re fucking perfect. But let’s not talk about fantasies right now.
” My fingers start moving beneath her wet thong again, slowly massaging and thrusting inside her, as I will myself to be content with just this.
I’m not going to fuck her while she’s drunk.
“Good girl, answering. Tonight could’ve been so much fun if you’d simply done as you were told. ”
Her head rolls against my chest with a groan. “What didn’t I do?”
Having her here like this—nearly naked, hungry, in my arms—like I’ve envisioned a thousand times, is a culmination of unfathomable patience and restraint. And yet, instead of me reaping the reward, I see her on the verge of passing out.
My jaw clicks. “I told you not to get drunk, Ivanna. This might not have been everything you wanted, but I wanted to give you—I had planned on tonight—”
“I didn’t drink.”
Another smack to her weeping heat. “You’re clearly drunk.”
She throws her fist into my thigh with a grunt, her bony knuckles stabbing my muscle with a sharp jab. “Only had a half glass of champagne after you left me. Alone. On our wedding night. A real husband wouldn’t … and now, you’re torturing me. But I get it. I don’t mean anything to—”
“The glass was closer to three-quarters empty, but that champagne flute was your only drink?” My every muscle tenses, lungs heavy, stomach burning.
“Yep,” she hisses through gritted teeth. She hums, glancing up at me with a furrowed brow. “Maybe I didn’t eat enough. I do feel weird.”
I start touching her again, softening my tone. “One more question, and I’ll let you come, Ives. Do you remember anything that guy said to you?”