5. Ivy
5
IVY
I wake slowly, consciousness drifting back like morning fog. Silk sheets whisper against my skin as I stretch, feeling deliciously sore in all the right places. Sunlight filters through heavy drapes, casting the unfamiliar room in a soft glow.
Julian's scent lingers on the pillows along with the smell of sweat and sex that has my body reacting in a way I didn't expect. My fingers trace over the marks he left - tender spots along my neck, shoulders, the inside of my wrist where his grip held me. All down my body. Each one sends warmth through me as I remember how they got there.
I've never experienced anything like last night. Never knew I could feel so much, want so desperately. The intensity in his ice-blue eyes as he wrung every bit of pleasure from my body.
I never knew that I liked pain with my pleasure. No one has ever treated me like that, like they wanted every part of me. But Julian wanted everything I had, all my pain, all my pleasure, and he took it. It was…intoxicating.
The bed feels empty without him. I sit up, wrapping the sheet around me, and scan the vast bedroom. Dark wood furniture, minimalist decor, everything expensive but impersonal. No sign of Julian.
"Hello?" My voice echoes in the silence.
Maybe he's making coffee. The thought of seeing him again makes my heart race. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the pleasant ache, and pad across thick carpet. I find his shirt on the chair by the door and I slip it on, hoping he won't mind, and I go to the door.
The handle doesn't budge.
Ice replaces the warmth in my veins as I try again. And again. The door is definitely locked.
"Julian?" Louder this time, less hopeful.
I rush to the windows, bare feet silent on the floor. The handles there don't move either. Through the glass I can see Chicago sprawled below - I must be at least twenty stories up.
I don't have my phone, I realize. It's still in my car, parked at the bar from last night.
All the pleasant feelings I had this morning transforms into something else entirely as reality crashes in. I'm locked in a stranger's penthouse, no way to call for help, no way out.
What kind of man locks someone in their bedroom?
Suddenly, the door clicks open and Julian fills the frame, his presence commanding the room. He's already dressed in a crisp black suit that makes his pale eyes more striking.
"Do you want to shower?" His deep voice wraps around the word like silk-covered steel. It doesn't really sound like an option.
I clutch his shirt tighter around me. "Oh, hey. I was starting to think-"
"The bathroom's through there." He gestures to a door I hadn't noticed. "Fresh towels are waiting."
I nod, knowing it's not really a suggestion. Everything with him is like this, a command. But I don't mind it. I'm a mess and I really do need a shower.
My legs shake as I walk past him, catching a whiff of his cologne. The same scent that's all over his shirt, all over me.
The bathroom is bigger than my entire apartment's living room. Marble and chrome everywhere, a shower big enough for four people. Maybe the locked door was just... rich people being paranoid about security? He probably has the whole place on some automated system.
Hot water cascades over my shoulders, washing away the evidence of last night. Steam rises around me as I use his expensive body wash, replacing sex and sweat with sandalwood. My mind drifts to the way his hands felt on my skin, how commanding his voice was when he told me exactly what he wanted.
I panicked this morning. The door wasn't locked on purpose. It couldn't have been. Not with everything that happened last night.
I step out onto heated floors, wrapping myself in the softest towel I've ever touched. On the counter sits a pile of clothes I didn't notice before - designer jeans, a silk blouse in deep burgundy, even matching underwear. All in my size.
The tags are still on everything. Brand new. He must have sent someone shopping while I slept. That's what rich people do, right? Make problems disappear with money?
I slip into the clothes, each piece fitting like it was tailored for me. Much better than that ridiculous Santa dress that I'm not sure I want to see again. The one currently lying somewhere in his bedroom.
Maybe this is just how the other half lives. Maybe I'm reading too much into everything, and he's just not trying to send me home as an absolute mess.
"Breakfast?" Julian's voice cuts through my thoughts. My head jerks up to see him standing in the doorway. His expression remains unreadable, those ice-blue eyes giving nothing away.
I nod, not trusting my voice. For some reason…I don't feel like I can say no to him. I'm sure many people in his presence feel this way. And honestly, I need food, so why turn it down?
With a hand on my low back, he guides me through double doors into a hallway that takes my breath away. Everything sparkles. A twelve-foot Christmas tree towers in an alcove, dripping with crystal ornaments and white lights that catch the morning sun. Garland winds up the banister, studded with silver bells and white roses. The scent of pine and cinnamon fills the air.
My feet sink into plush carpet as we pass artwork worth more than my yearly salary. Another tree stands in the living room, identical to the first in stature but only decorated in white lights. Perfect white presents nest underneath, wrapped with military precision, each bow crafted just so.
"Your home is beautiful." My voice comes out smaller than I intended.
Wreaths hang on every door we pass. The mantlepiece could be straight out of Architectural Digest - more garland, more lights, mercury glass candle holders that sparkle like diamonds. Not a single pine needle out of place.
It's Christmas perfection. Too perfect. Like a department store display where nothing's meant to be touched. My family's mismatched ornaments and badly wrapped presents feel shabby in comparison.
We enter a kitchen bigger than my entire apartment. Stainless steel gleams everywhere I look. Another tree stands in the corner, completing the winter wonderland theme. The breakfast bar holds covered silver dishes, steam curling from beneath their edges.
"Sit." He pulls out a chair, his hand brushing my lower back as I settle in.
The touch sends electricity through me, memories of last night flooding back. But something feels off about all this pristine holiday cheer. Like I've stepped into a beautiful cage where everything's too bright, too perfect.
I perch on the edge of the chair, feeling small and out of place among all this calculated luxury. Even the table setting looks like it belongs in a magazine - white china rimmed with silver, crystal glasses catching the light.
Julian lifts the silver dome from my plate, revealing a perfect eggs benedict with fresh fruit on the side. Steam rises from perfectly poached eggs, hollandaise sauce glistening. He takes the seat beside me, close enough that his thigh brushes mine.
My stomach growls at the sight. I haven't eaten since before the holiday party yesterday.
"Eat." His voice carries that same silken command from earlier.
I pick up my fork, cutting into the first egg. Rich yolk spills onto an English muffin as I take a bite. The flavors explode on my tongue - buttery hollandaise, perfectly seasoned eggs, Canadian bacon with just the right amount of crispness.
"Good girl." His praise sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. "I love how obedient you are." I give him a small smile as I look at him, loving how he's here, staring at me like my every movement enraptures him. "Keep going. You'll need your strength."
I freeze mid-bite, fork hovering. "What do you mean?"
"We need to discuss the rules." He takes a sip of coffee, watching me over the rim. "You're staying here. Your car's already been moved to my private garage."
The fork clatters against the plate. "I- what?"
"You're not leaving the penthouse. I told you last night you were mine and you agreed."
I stare at him, gaping. His gaze hardens, and shockingly, my stomach tightens at that. I don't want to displease him.
"When I'm here, you'll do exactly as I say." His tone remains conversational as he continues, like he's discussing the weather. "Follow my rules, and I'll make it very worth your while. Just like last night."
My mouth opens and closes. Part of me wants to scream, to throw the plate at his perfect face and run. But where would I go? I'm trapped twenty stories up in clothes he bought me, my phone and car keys who knows where.
Another part of me remembers his hands on my skin, his voice in my ear, the way he made me feel things I never knew existed. That part wants to lean into him, to feel that intensity again.
"I have work," I whisper. "My family-"
"Everything's been handled." He cuts through my protests like they're nothing. "Eat your breakfast, Ivy."
I stare at my plate, torn between terror and a sick thrill at his commanding tone. My hand shakes as I pick up the fork again.
I take another bite of eggs benedict, but the rich flavors turn to ash in my mouth as reality crashes over me. The holiday party was supposed to be my last event before I took time off for the holidays. And now, with everything that happened with Travis, they'll all assume I went home or something to get away from him, and they'll be busy anyway. No one will question my absence.
Julian watches me eat, those ice-blue eyes tracking every movement. My body responds to his attention with a warmth that conflicts with the panic clawing at my chest. How can I feel both terrified and aroused by the same person?
Last night he'd made me feel things I never knew possible - pushed me past limits I didn't know I had. The memory of his commanding voice, his strong hands, sends heat pooling low in my belly even as fear freezes my spine.
The perfect Christmas decorations mock me from every corner. I'm trapped in a winter wonderland with a man who radiates danger and sex in equal measure. A man who can make my body sing with a single touch, who treats me like his personal toy - and god help me, part of me loves it.
My fork scrapes against the plate as my hand trembles. I shouldn't want this. Shouldn't feel this electric tension every time he looks at me. He's essentially kidnapped me, and yet... When he called me a "good girl," my whole body lit up with pleasure. All I want to do is make him happy.
What's wrong with me? I should be screaming, fighting, trying to escape. Instead, I'm sitting here in clothes he bought me, eating breakfast he ordered, while some traitorous part of me wonders what other commands he'll give today.
Travis never made me feel like this - this intoxicating mix of fear and desire. He…ignored me. Cheated on me.
And Julian… he's making me the center of his everything.