CHAPTER FIFTEEN #2
Not wanting to lose the mystique that I built my entire birthday around, I don’t ask him any questions and instead look back at the pond and answer his.
“I was angry, but I love it out here, no matter the weather. The way the sunrise colors the water and the moonlight whispers across it. The way something as small as a pebble can change it. I always feel hopeful out here, like maybe—even though in the grand scheme of the world, I’m somewhat ordinary—I can make big changes.
I don’t need to be the pond. I like the element of surprise in being the tiny pebble who shakes it. ”
Even with his mask on, I can feel his eyes on me, raking over my body. My pulse races, my cheeks heat, and a pool of warmth wets my panties. I’ve never been so affected by a man. Maybe because I’ve only been around boys. Or maybe because the mask adds a bit of danger.
He moves closer, and my breath catches when his hand glides over the small of my back.
He smells like smoke and alcohol and leather—a lodge.
Not a combination I particularly like, and yet, somehow, it works.
His lips brush against my ear. “Happy birthday. You are absolutely magnificent. ‘’Never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary. ’ ”
“Thank you. That’s a quote by Oscar Wilde. ”
He releases a hushed chortle, an audible grin, and even without seeing it, I feel victorious for having earned it.
“See. Magnificent, Ivanna.”
And poof. He’s gone.
A butterfly’s kiss.
My heart will never be the same.
“Ivy.” Wells’s voice skates across the glint of that memory. “You took a little vacation. Where’d you go?”
“I was thinking about my parents’ home, the pond. I’ve always thought of myself as ordinary, not in a bad way, but my life …”
He saves my nonsensical rambling. “There isn’t one tiny cell in you that’s ordinary. You’re—”
My lips press into his, craving his touch even more than his beautiful words. He’s a dream I hope I never wake from. He deepens the kiss, holding my face, sliding his tongue against mine, nibbling my lip, until his fingers trickle down beneath the waistband of my yoga pants and into my panties.
“So wet,” he praises.
“For you.” I smile against his lips. “But we can’t. I have shooting practice, and you have your call.”
He plunges a finger inside me, steamrolling over my objections. “I have three minutes to make you come, so your pretty pussy doesn’t forget me while you’re out there.”
“I never forget.” A moan escapes me as his thumb circles my clit, sprinkling in some inciting flicks and pinches.
“Shh. Your sounds are for me only, and I can’t very well gag you in the library. Whose are you?”
“Yours,” I purr, biting back a whimper.
“Mine. All mine, Ivanna.” He picks up his pace, and my back arches as I draw nearer. “That’s my girl. Come for me now, baby.”
His command flings me over the edge, his lips crashing into mine to swallow the moans I can’t contain.
And while I quake with aftershocks, he holds me, mouth still on mine, fingers threaded in my hair, thumb caressing my cheek with a tender stroke. I’m undone. Gavin Wells can shatter my universe in three minutes flat, simply by canoodling me in a library chair.
Too soon, we go our separate ways. Ty is driving us out on the golf cart to shoot and then passing me off to Liam to run back.
This is the way Wells and I have been, the way I hope we’ll always be.
Sneaking off and stealing moments. Unable to get enough of one another.
As demanding as he is, my submitting to him is always worth it.
He rates my pleasure far above his own. I wake up with him between my legs and find him there several times throughout the day.
Brisk reminders. As if any part of me could forget, least of all my lady parts, which are constantly sore in the best of ways.
He’s inscribed in my marrow now, essential to my makeup, a vital part of every move I make.
And he wasn’t kidding about my noises. He had our bedroom soundproofed last week, which led to an endless stream of taunts from the guys, but he claimed it was worth it as soon as we took it for a test run—uninhibited screams for the win.
I hold my stance, feet shoulder width apart, eyeing the target through the red-dot scope, elbows slightly bent. In the month I’ve been training, it’s become second nature. I unload my rounds into the silhouette, and Ty surveys my target.
“Fuck, Freckles. That was incredible.”
I beam, excited I’ve become so consistent. It’s odd how confident this bizarre training has made me. Sometimes, I miss painting and think about asking for supplies and a day off to create, but I’ve come to enjoy this even more.
We move to throwing knives next. That needs some work, but I’m definitely improving.
“Are you training me to be a circus performer?” I tease.
Ty chuckles, handing me a knife. “Nope. Go again.”
I throw, hitting a smidgen right of the center, which garners an impressed whoop from him. “Assassin?” I ask.
“Nope.” He smiles, his brown eyes gleaming with a razzing twinkle. “But I’m sure Wells would appreciate an all-black catsuit.” He points to the next knife. “Again.”
“For about three seconds,” I say with a smirk as I let that one fly. Left of center this time. I overcorrected. “Then, he’d rip it off.”
He laughs. “I’m sure.”
“Is this all on the chance that we’ll be sucked into another dimension where Braveheart is our reality?”
That one pauses him. He stares at me for a beat, hands on his hips, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Yep. That’s it,” he deadpans, “but don’t tell them I told you.”
“Time travel. Should’ve known.” I set the last knife back down, worrying my lip as I dare to poke my nose where it may not belong. “Can I ask you something else, something serious?”
He heaves a deep breath, fingers kneading his forehead. “Sure. I’ll answer, but I won’t talk about it. You’ll have to be okay with that.”
I nod. “Of course. I don’t want to pry. I—”
“My father died when I was six. My mother raised my two younger sisters and me on her own, eventually remarrying when I was fifteen. A couple of years later, I noticed things seemed off with him, with my sisters.” He clears his throat, his spine wooden, face growing pallid.
“Long story short, I found out he was abusing them. I confronted him. He said he’d come clean with my mom and leave her to get help.
Instead, he killed the three of them and himself that afternoon while I was at baseball practice. ”
The image of that is gutting. I hunch, arms across my middle, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I don’t … I shouldn’t have asked.”
He tugs me into his arms, pressing me into his chest. “Don’t apologize for being a friend. Just let us take care of you. Okay?”
My wet face burrows into his shoulder in agreement, but I find it all so backward. These men have all endured unspeakable loss, yet they insist on taking care of me. Gage’s rage makes far more sense.
“What the fuck kind of sissy Mary training is this?” Liam’s voice cuts through our moment, which, by the relieved expression on Ty’s face when he steps back, is perfect timing.
“Looks like you’re good”—he gestures to the knives stuck in the target—“but not tear-worthy, High Society. Maybe we should work on fighting techniques instead of running. Someone needs to toughen you up.”
Ty chuckles and smacks his back. “That’s your funeral, man.”
“Seriously?” Liam’s eyes bulge in incredulous offense. “She could fit in my pocket.”
I scoff. “I am nearly average height. Thanks. And Ty means because Wells said only he trains me to fight.”
“Right. So we don’t get too close and personal .” He waggles his brows and fingers in flawless synchronicity, which makes me laugh.
Ty looks between us, scratching his chin with a reluctance to leave, but I assure him I’m good, so he hops into the golf cart and heads back.
Liam stares me down for a minute. “Let’s get this over with. There will be no cry-fest for me. It’s clear you had one with Ty. Probably Wells too. My story isn’t sad.”
“Oh. That’s good.” I strut toward the obstacle course, feigning apathy, where we’ll climb the walls, nets, and ropes before our run. “Confusing but good.”
“That’s it?” he balks behind me. “No curiosity?”
I spin. “Didn’t it kill the cat?”
He yanks on my ponytail with a smirk. “Cute.”
“I only want to know if you want me to. I shouldn’t have asked—”
He cuts me short with a firm grip of my chin, although his eyes crease with compassion.
“Rough stories, sure, but they wouldn’t tell you if they didn’t want to.
Don’t ask Gage. You might not survive.” He drops his hand while still pinning me in place with an odd intensity rolling off him.
“But, like I said, mine isn’t so bad. Single mom, died when I was three.
Spent my childhood in the system, and then I found these guys. ”
“Okay. Thanks for telling me.” I take off for the course, mind racing with the inability to adequately process all I’ve learned in one day.
I need a quiet minute. My muscles burn, joints aching, as I push myself to scale and swing, jump and crouch.
Liam stays in step. He could easily pass me by, but he doesn’t, in case I struggle.
When we both touch ground after using the rope to climb down from the high tower wall, I stop to catch my breath, hands on my hips.
“Just because you don’t have a dramatic moment to mark when you lost everything,” I argue, “doesn’t mean the lack of family is any less tragic.”